Volume One: Flames on the Border Chapter Fifty-Seven: Tales of the Journey to the West

Seeing that He Yu was not angry, Murong Shanshan felt much relieved. She brought some food for him, then went to the central command tent to mourn her royal brother.

Murong Shanshan took Bi'er and Zhu'er along, for as it was the princess's tent, no one aside from her personal maids could enter without announcement. Thus, He Yu hid within, unnoticed and undisturbed, with nothing to worry about.

After about two hours, Murong Shanshan returned, bringing with her a set of heavy cavalry armor. This armor had a face screen; once He Yu donned it and stayed by Murong Shanshan's side, none would recognize him.

With battle imminent, it was best to transport Murong Kai's coffin away as soon as possible. Therefore, Murong Lin decided to send five hundred soldiers the following day to escort the coffin back to Zhongshan. As his cousin, Murong Shanshan was entrusted with the entire mourning and escort arrangements. She left her two maids in the mourning tent to keep vigil, so the vast princess's tent was left with only He Yu and Murong Shanshan.

As dusk fell, Murong Shanshan lit the lamps and candles, illuminating the tent. After supper, she brought over the medicine chest, changed He Yu’s bandages, and checked his wounds, saying, “Sir He, your wound has healed. Rest for ten days and you’ll be well.” With no maids present, they spoke openly, much more at ease than the day before.

Murong Shanshan removed her makeup, helped He Yu wash, then attended to her own ablutions. Draped in a deep pink robe, she sat beside He Yu, casually flipping through a book. It was a handwritten copy of the Book of Songs, opened to “A Green Bamboo Grove by the Qi River,” reading:

Behold the banks of Qi, green bamboo luxuriant.
A noble gentleman, as if shaped and polished, as if carved and refined.
Serene and dignified, radiant and resplendent.
Such a noble gentleman, never to be forgotten.

Behold the banks of Qi, green bamboo verdant.
A noble gentleman, ears adorned with jade, cap shining like stars.
Serene and dignified, radiant and resplendent.
Such a noble gentleman, never to be forgotten.

Behold the banks of Qi, green bamboo as mats.
A noble gentleman, like gold and tin, like jade scepters and disks.
Broad and generous, composed and measured.
Witty and playful, never cruel.

Murong Shanshan mused, “This poem praises the refined gentleman; compared to Sir He, it suits him perfectly.” Thinking of her impending separation from her beloved, she could not help but feel sorrowful.

Tomorrow they would part, and who knew when they might meet again? Upon their next meeting, would they be friend or foe? Both pondered this question, yet neither spoke.

At last, Murong Shanshan broke the silence: “Sir He, tomorrow I return to Zhongshan. Will you remember me? Will you recall what happened these past two days?”

He Yu let out a deep sigh, his voice full of emotion: “Your great kindness, madam, I shall never dare forget, even unto death!”

Murong Shanshan put down the Book of Songs, stared at He Yu, and asked again, “Once I return to Zhongshan, I may never leave again. If you have the chance, would you come to Zhongshan to find me?”

He Yu thought, “Murong Shanshan is a princess, the only daughter of the King of Fanyang, cherished beyond measure. Once she returns to the royal mansion, it will be near impossible for her to leave. Even if I am willing to visit her, our difference in status makes it unlikely I could see her; I might not even get past the gatekeepers.”

Not wishing to see her sad, he smiled and said, “Within three years, I will certainly come to find you, madam. If you refuse to see me, I shall sit outside the King of Fanyang’s mansion, and not leave even if beaten to death.”

Murong Shanshan’s eyes grew moist, and she barely held back tears: “A gentleman’s word is as unyielding as four horses; Sir He, do not forget today’s promise.”

He Yu nodded firmly: “I dare not forget.”

If memory served, three years hence, Later Yan would fall apart. Murong Shanshan, as a princess of peerless beauty, would likely face many troubles; in both sentiment and reason, he ought to help her.

Murong Shanshan was somewhat reassured, and asked, “Sir, when you leave tomorrow, you will surely seek vengeance against my sixth and seventh brothers. My father, the King of Fanyang, is old now and still in the army. If you meet him on the battlefield, could you spare him for my sake?”

Murong De’s reputation was not bad, nor did he have personal enmity with He Yu. Historically, he became the founding emperor of Southern Yan, and was good to the common folk—a wise and virtuous ruler.

Considering this, He Yu replied solemnly, “I promise you, madam, I will never trouble the King of Fanyang.”

Hearing He Yu’s promise, Murong Shanshan’s joy showed on her face. She murmured, “Such a fine gentleman; it is a pity he cannot serve my Great Yan.”

She was, after all, a member of the Murong royal clan, and subconsciously believed, “If He Yu could serve the court, with his talent and my family background, rising to high office would not be difficult. Then our marriage would be natural.”

“He Yu is a young hero; my father would surely like him. But fate has played its hand—after the battle at Chenjiawu, Sir He has been pushed to the opposing side of Great Yan.”

She had witnessed He Yu’s deep love for Deng’er, and knew it was impossible for him to abandon his quest for vengeance.

He Yu naturally understood Murong Shanshan’s intentions, thinking, “Later Yan will soon collapse; even without the Chenjiawu affair, I would return to Jiangnan and could not serve the Murong clan.”

He was already aware of the course of history; he would not invite trouble by boarding a sinking ship like Later Yan.

He Yu knew all this, but could not explain it to Murong Shanshan—even if he spoke, it would be tantamount to revealing heaven’s secrets, and likely no one would believe him.

After more than half a year since crossing over, many events had tempered He Yu’s ambition. Now his only wish was to use the advantages of his journey to seek benefit and avoid harm, live well, and do some good for the people. As for changing the course of history single-handedly, it was too difficult and, perhaps, unnecessary.

The two lay side by side, fully clothed, conversing. He Yu, as usual, placed the great sword between them—a precaution, avoiding skin contact and reminding himself to stay disciplined.

Murong Shanshan resembled Deng’er in spirit, but she was not Deng’er. With Deng’er’s body still cold in the grave, He Yu could not betray propriety, in both sentiment and reason. Besides, Murong Shanshan’s status was special; after tomorrow’s farewell, who knew when they might meet again? Life was unpredictable—they might never meet in this lifetime. To let her fall in love was already a mistake; to harm her further would be unforgivable.

Murong Shanshan did not know what He Yu was thinking. Instead, she felt his restraint and propriety marked him as a sincere and upright gentleman.

Neither felt sleepy; they chatted idly. Suddenly, Murong Shanshan said, “Everyone says the scenery in Jiangnan is like a painting, and its people are graceful. Sir, you are from Jiangnan—could you tell me about it?”

He Yu secretly smiled: “I am from Jiangnan, but from the Jiangnan of the twenty-first century. As for the poetic elegance of Eastern Jin’s Jiangnan, I have never seen it and cannot describe it.”

So he changed the subject, “Hearing is not seeing. When I return to the lands east of the Yangtze, I will invite you to visit Jiangnan with me—how about it?”

“Oh?” Murong Shanshan was a little disappointed. She knew well that unless He Yu avenged his wife, he would not return. The invitation to Jiangnan was likely just an excuse.

Seeing her flagging interest, He Yu felt sympathetic. An idea struck him: “I once heard a tale in Jiangnan, the story of the Monkey King’s journey to the West. It is quite amusing. Let me tell it to you now.”

“Ah, please tell me, sir!” Murong Shanshan knew her master, Faxian, had long vowed to travel west for Buddhist scriptures, though had not yet set out. Now He Yu was about to tell the Monkey King’s pilgrimage, which piqued her curiosity; she urged him to begin.

He Yu chuckled, then recounted the story of Journey to the West in vivid detail. As a modern man, he was intimately familiar with the tale, so he spoke fluently, weaving a story clear in plot and rich in twists. Murong Shanshan listened, utterly absorbed; at times nervous, at times delighted, her emotions rising and falling with the story, utterly captivated.

In the Eastern Jin, the novel had not yet matured; only short tales of scholars and supernatural events existed, nothing like the lengthy chapter-novel of later generations. It was as if one accustomed to simple fare was suddenly served a grand banquet.

Murong Shanshan listened with relish, frequently interjecting with questions, brimming with enthusiasm. She sighed, “No wonder everyone wants to go to Jiangnan—the tales and anecdotes from there are far more interesting than those of the north.”

He Yu playfully asked, “What books do you usually read?”

Murong Shanshan replied, “Mostly Confucian texts, also Daoist and Buddhist scriptures.”

He Yu praised her, “Madam, you have read quite a lot. Which is your favorite?”

Murong Shanshan answered honestly, “The Book of Songs.”

Then she added, “Even so, the Book of Songs is not as interesting as your stories.”

He Yu could not help but laugh, thinking, “To compare the Book of Songs with Journey to the West is wondrous indeed. At that time, learning was the domain of noble families, and knowledge spread slowly. Though Murong Shanshan had read much, she had not fully grasped the classics. Now, with the cultural center shifting to Jiangnan and the north torn by the chaos of the Five Barbarians, culture is in decline.”

The two conversed until dawn, and though reluctant, the time for parting had come. Murong Shanshan helped He Yu wash, then attended to her own toilette and applied a light touch of makeup. After breakfast, a servant arrived to inquire when the princess would depart.

The departure time was set; Murong Shanshan’s expression dimmed. In silence, she helped He Yu into the heavy cavalry armor.

He Yu reached out, took Murong Shanshan’s hand, and comforted her, “Do not be sad, madam. Remember our three-year promise—perhaps I will come for you before that.”

Murong Shanshan lifted her tear-filled eyes, “Sir, come soon; I will be waiting for you in Zhongshan.”

At precisely the hour of the dragon, the cavalry escort for Murong Kai’s coffin assembled, ready to depart.

Murong Shanshan wore a narrow-sleeved Hu-style robe beneath a blue cloak. Though dressed for mourning, she looked all the more refined and ethereal. She led He Yu out of the tent.

He Yu pulled down the face screen, revealing only his eyes. Upon exiting, he saw a yellow warhorse waiting at the entrance.

Murong Shanshan worried for He Yu’s injured leg and hated to see him walk, so she had prepared the horse in advance.

He Yu cast her a grateful look, mounted the horse in a single motion. Having been cooped up in the tent for two days, he felt refreshed at seeing the world again.

The two palace guards at the door thought their eyes deceived them—how could a heavy-armored cavalryman suddenly appear from the princess’s tent?

Princess Xingguo was upright in conduct and would never hide a lover. What was going on? The two exchanged glances, puzzled but dared not speak.

Murong Lin and Murong Shao, both in mourning attire, emerged to pay their respects to their brother, then gave Murong Shanshan a few instructions before signaling the procession to begin. Murong Kai was highly esteemed; to avoid affecting morale, the army had not held public mourning.

After bidding farewell to her brothers, Murong Shanshan boarded the carriage, drew aside the curtain, and beckoned He Yu to stay alongside.

He Yu urged his warhorse forward, riding abreast of the carriage.