Volume One: Flames of War on the Border Chapter Fifty-Six: Spring Mountain Travelers

He Yu instantly guessed the turmoil in Murong Shanshan’s heart. After a brief reflection, he tentatively asked, “Lady Murong, are you regretting that you saved me?”

Murong Shanshan hurriedly shook her head. “You saved me first; it was only right that I saved you in return. Besides, I… towards you…” She blushed, stammered, “I only feel you are a good person, and I cherish you deeply…”

Her sincerity touched He Yu in a way he could not explain. Unable to restrain himself, he gently took her hand and continued, “Then are you worried that once I leave tomorrow, I will stand against the Murong clan at every turn?”

Murong Shanshan whimpered softly, nodding.

He Yu spoke kindly, “My enemies are only Murong Kai, Murong Lin, and Murong Shao. Now Murong Kai is dead; only Murong Lin and Murong Shao remain. From what I can tell, those two will soon pose a threat to your father, the Prince of Fanyang. So, by seeking revenge, I’m doing you a favor, not harm.”

“Murong Chui’s reckless warmongering, his single-minded attack on Tuoba Wei—if I’m not mistaken, even without my intervention, disaster will soon befall your Xianbei Murong clan. This is fate, not something human effort can avert.”

Murong Shanshan listened, half believing, half doubting, and hesitated. “You mean my sixth and seventh brothers will harm Father? What should I do?”

The Xianbei Murong clan was notorious for fratricide and patricide. Though young, she had witnessed such things herself. Hearing He Yu’s grave words, she grew anxious for her father’s safety, wishing she could return to his side immediately and warn him.

He Yu comforted her. “Do not worry, Lady Murong. The Prince of Fanyang is no fool; he must already be on guard. And as I see it, Murong Lin and Murong Shao don’t dare act against your father yet. You must be careful yourself, though. You are his only daughter, his sole weakness. If anything were to happen to you, your father would be greatly affected. I hope you understand my concern.”

Murong Shanshan nodded hesitantly. “I think I understand. If you truly act as you say, and do not indiscriminately kill my clan, I will gladly do whatever you ask of me.”

She held little affection for Murong Lin or Murong Shao, and Murong Kai’s death was not unexpected. He Yu’s gentle persuasion resolved her worries. Trusting him completely, and sheltered from the world, her sadness quickly faded, replaced by a smile and the lively spirit of a young girl.

She brought a small table to the side of the wooden couch and prepared brush, ink, paper, and inkstone. “I’ve heard that the literary culture of Jiangnan flourishes. Since you’re from Jinling, do you have a fondness for painting or calligraphy?”

He Yu enjoyed reading and had dabbled in calligraphy, though hardly mastered it. As for painting and music, he knew nothing at all. Embarrassed, he replied, “I fear you’ll laugh at me, Lady. I’m just a warrior and only practiced calligraphy a little, not enough to be skilled. As for painting and music, I know nothing.”

Murong Shanshan was surprised, then smiled. “You have lofty ambitions; you don’t waste time on trivial skills. That’s the mark of a true hero.”

Even with his thick skin, He Yu felt a bit uncomfortable. “Murong Shanshan speaks sincerely. Women are strange: when they love someone, even his flaws become virtues; when they don’t, even his virtues turn to flaws.”

“The Wei and Jin era is seen as an age of self-awareness and literary awakening—a renaissance in our culture. If I am to build a future in Jiangnan, these arts—music, chess, calligraphy, painting—are vital for socializing, gaining fame, and entering officialdom. I can’t neglect them; I must study seriously.”

Not wanting to dampen her spirits, He Yu smiled. “I may not paint well, but I enjoy watching others. If you feel inspired, please let me admire your skill.”

Everyone said Murong Shanshan favored the style of the southern people and excelled in painting and calligraphy—a true talent. Her bedchamber contained dozens of books. In these times, books were far rarer than in later ages, with no printing presses yet; every volume was handwritten, making them precious.

Murong Shanshan obliged, spreading paper and grinding ink. She painted freely, her technique refined. In no time, a slender stream and distant mountains appeared on the paper. He Yu feigned amazement. “Lady, your skill is truly extraordinary!”

Murong Shanshan smiled shyly. “You flatter me, sir. This is hardly exceptional. My master says that Gu Kaizhi from Jiangzuo excelled at both figures and landscapes; that is true skill.”

He Yu thought, “Gu Kaizhi is called the Saint of Painting—of course Murong Shanshan can’t compare.” He rolled his eyes and joked, “You are only sixteen. Gu Kaizhi was already fifty when he made his mark. Given time, you may surpass him!”

Murong Shanshan tilted her head, smiling. “I always thought you were so serious, but you can be quite amusing.”

He Yu pretended to be hurt. “I have two sides—sometimes calm, sometimes playful. I’m afraid I’ve disappointed you.”

“Not at all. To glimpse a side of you unseen by others—how lucky I am.” Murong Shanshan laughed softly and handed him the brush. “The painting is finished. Please add an inscription to grace it.”

He Yu could not refuse. He studied the painting: peach trees, a boat, flowing water, distant mountains, travelers. He commented, “Judging from the mood, this could be called ‘Spring Mountain Travel.’”

He remembered the famous “Travelers Among Mountains and Streams” by the Northern Song painter Fan Kuan and borrowed the idea.

He Yu came from a world sixteen centuries in the future, with foresight and vast knowledge—a tremendous advantage.

“‘Spring Mountain Travel’… Wonderful!” Murong Shanshan clapped her hands. “Please inscribe that.”

He Yu thought, “Chen Jiawu is gone, the north is in turmoil. I must build my future in Jiangnan. I cannot neglect these arts, but mastering all is impossible. It’s better to excel at one than to be mediocre in all. Since I have some calligraphy background, I’ll focus on that and work hard for further progress—for my future career and livelihood.”

Then he considered, “The Eastern Jin is an era of flourishing calligraphy, with many masters and styles. Studying systematically would take decades; I don’t have that time. If I want rapid progress, I must take an unconventional path.”

Suddenly, he recalled the “Slender Gold” style he had practiced for fun years ago—a style invented by Emperor Huizong of Song centuries later, characterized by iron strokes and silver hooks, thin yet strong, highly distinctive. Perfect for standing out.

Though easy to pick up, Slender Gold is hard to master. He Yu, having dabbled for amusement, still remembered the basics. After a moment’s thought, he sat at the bedside and wrote swiftly upon the painting. In the blink of an eye, two lines were inscribed.

Murong Shanshan stared, astonished. She had never seen such a style. Reading the inscription, “Spring water newly born, spring woods newly lush, ten miles of spring breeze are not as lovely as you. Written by He Yu of Jinling, fifth month, tenth year of Jianxing of Great Yan,” she found it unconventional and deeply affectionate.

With worshipful admiration, Murong Shanshan said, “You were too modest, sir. You are a master calligrapher. I’ve never seen this style in my life.”

He Yu, having successfully shown off, was delighted. “This Slender Gold style won’t appear for another eight hundred years. How could Murong Shanshan have seen it?”

He continued, “I stumbled upon this style in a dream. If you like it, I’ll teach it to you now.”

Murong Shanshan was overjoyed, spreading paper and taking up the brush, listening attentively as He Yu instructed her in the Slender Gold technique. It is easy to learn but hard to perfect, requiring great attention to detail. Fortunately, Murong Shanshan had a solid foundation; after an hour, she had mastered the basic form. To acquire a novel style in such a short time filled her with delight and deepened her admiration for He Yu.

Murong Shanshan said, “Sir, your talent is remarkable. Since this style came to you in a dream, why not name it ‘He Style’?”

He Yu quickly demurred. “Its strokes are like iron and silver, sharp as cut jade. ‘Slender Gold’ is a more fitting name.”

He had claimed the invention of Emperor Huizong as his own. If he named it after himself, Huizong might come seeking compensation in the future.

He Yu mused, “Fate is set. Huizong became a fallen emperor, his fate as fragile as paper, and now I’ve stolen his invention before he was born. Truly, life is hard, but one cannot blame the government.”

Their conversation about painting and calligraphy was congenial. With his modern knowledge, He Yu often made startling observations, dazzling Murong Shanshan.

Time slipped by, and soon it was noon. Murong Shanshan again lowered the brocade curtain, hiding He Yu behind her bed.

Two maids brought lunch in a food box and laid it on the small table before leaving. He Yu and Murong Shanshan dined together on a sumptuous meal, especially a roast lamb dish that He Yu devoured eagerly, his hands slick with oil.

After the meal, the maids returned to clear away the dishes. Bi’er and Zhu’er wondered, “The princess usually eats little—why today did she eat three times as much?”

In the afternoon, a servant arrived to report that the Prince of Taiyuan, Murong Kai, had been prepared for burial, and the Prince of Zhao, Murong Lin, was coming to discuss returning the coffin to the capital. Murong Shanshan was startled and said, “Since Second Brother has completed the preparations, I should go and pay my respects. There’s no need for Sixth Brother to come here; I’ll go to him.”

He Yu had warned her that Murong Lin might harm her father in the future, but as there was no sign yet—only speculation—she could not act upon it. If Murong Lin came, He Yu would surely strike mercilessly, and the situation would spiral out of control.

The servant departed, and Murong Shanshan looked at He Yu with a heavy heart.

Upon hearing that Murong Lin was coming, He Yu was delighted, thinking, “Murong Lin wears precious armor, impervious to blade and spear. This time, I must aim for his head.”

“He’s coming to discuss matters with Murong Shanshan, so he won’t bring many guards. I must not let him escape.”

His excitement showed on his face, but Murong Shanshan’s words stopped him cold, turning his anticipation into disappointment.

Murong Shanshan said softly, “Are you angry because I wouldn’t let Sixth Brother come?”

He Yu considered her predicament and reassured her, “Not at all. If Murong Lin were to meet disaster in your chambers, you would certainly be implicated. I would never wish that upon you. Besides, Murong Lin is now a commander; if he disappears, the camp will be searched, and if word gets out, I would have a hard time escaping. So don’t blame yourself. I’ll have another chance for revenge.”