Volume One: Flames of War at the Border Chapter Nine: Sudden Calamity

He felt his face grow hot and stole a glance at Deng’er. At that very moment, her eyes flicked over to him as well. Their gazes met, and Deng’er hurriedly looked away, a blush blooming across her delicate cheeks.

He Yu bit his lip, summoning his resolve. “Grandfather, I will not marry the physician’s daughter. I wish to take Deng’er as my wife!”

With those words spoken plainly, He Yu’s heart pounded as if it would leap from his chest. Glancing at Deng’er, he saw her cover her face with both hands, her shoulders trembling in a mix of excitement and shyness.

At that time, society was governed by strict ritual and law, marriages arranged by parental command and the word of a matchmaker. What He Yu had just done—proposing face to face—was a breach of custom, almost scandalous.

But Lin Su seemed unbothered by such things. Turning to his granddaughter, he laughed heartily and asked, “Deng’er, Yu wishes to marry you. Do you accept?”

“Oh, Grandfather!” Deng’er protested softly, her voice barely above a whisper, “Granddaughter will leave the decision to Grandfather.”

A daughter’s natural shyness made her words subtle yet telling. For instance, when parents inquired about their daughter’s wishes in marriage, if she replied, “I will let my parents decide,” it meant she had accepted and the match would succeed. But if she said, “I wish to serve my elders for a few more years,” it meant she refused, and the matter would not proceed.

Similarly, when a beauty was rescued by a hero and offered her hand in gratitude, if the hero replied, “Do you truly mean it?” it meant mutual affection. If he said, “This cannot be,” he was either displaying noble restraint or, more likely, was simply not interested.

With Deng’er’s answer, Lin Su understood and laughed heartily, his heart filled with joy.

Clapping his hands, Lin Su declared, “Since that is so, as your grandfather I shall decide it. Deng’er is promised to Yu. We’re a modest family and need not stand on ceremony. Tomorrow, I’ll go into town to buy wedding goods, choose an auspicious day, announce it before Heaven and our ancestors, bow to Heaven and Earth, and invite our neighbors for a meal. That will suffice for a wedding. Then, as your grandfather, I can look forward to holding a great-grandson.”

“Grandfather, what nonsense! You’re growing less proper with age!” Deng’er chided, her hands still covering her face as she darted away to the next room, too shy to remain. He Yu, sitting nearby, was also abashed and could only mumble.

The next morning, Lin Su rose early, hitched the ox cart, and set out for the county town to buy the things needed for a wedding.

At home, only He Yu and Deng’er were left. With their feelings confessed, they were now betrothed. Deng’er was still a bit shy, but He Yu was elated, finding her all the more endearing.

After breakfast, He Yu prepared to go to the small training ground to practice his martial skills. Deng’er walked him to the door and instructed, “Brother Yu, come home early for lunch. Don’t tire yourself out.”

Seeing no one around, He Yu caught Deng’er’s small hand and pressed a gentle kiss to her lovely cheek. “I will, my wife,” he said.

Deng’er laughed as she pulled free, flustered and angry, her ears turning red. Though the discipline of the Eastern Jin had grown lax, and Deng’er, being from a military family, was more free-spirited than most well-bred ladies, society still held to custom. For He Yu to openly kiss his betrothed, if word got out, would surely cause a stir.

For the first time, He Yu had stolen a kiss and was in high spirits as he practiced at the training ground all morning. After lunch at home, he returned to the grounds to continue.

He had trained for less than three hours when a boy of eleven or twelve came running, shouting from afar, “Brother Yu, something terrible has happened—Grandfather Lin Su was attacked! The servants just brought him back to your house—hurry home!”

Stunned, He Yu wasted no time and sped back as fast as he could.

The small courtyard was already crowded with villagers, who parted to let him through.

He Yu went straight to the east room. There, Lin Su lay on the low bed, covered in blood, breath faint as a whisper, a deep wound at his neck oozing dark, purplish blood. Deng’er sat collapsed on the ground, beyond tears. Several close neighbors stood by, helpless.

Lin Su, catching sight of He Yu from the corner of his eye, coughed violently and, with great effort, raised his hand, clasped Deng’er’s, and placed it in He Yu’s, using his last strength. “Grandson Yu, I am done for… be kind… be good… to Deng’er…” With that, his head lolled to the side and he passed away.

He Yu knew his grandfather had clung to life only to see him one last time.

Memories flashed before his eyes. Tears welled up. His birth family had been dreadful—his grandparents cared only that he was fed and clothed, with little warmth or affection. Only here, with Lin Su, had He Yu known the fullness of family love. Though it had only been six months, he already felt that Lin Su and Deng’er were the most important people in his life.

His grandfather was dead—murdered. The household had lost its pillar. But He Yu knew this was not the time for tears; he must shoulder this burden and care for Deng’er.

Lin Su had gone out that morning, cheerful, to buy wedding goods, and in just a few hours, disaster had struck. What had happened?

The truth was not complicated, as He Yu pieced together from the scattered accounts of those who had been with him.

The Later Yan was preparing to attack the Northern Wei, massing troops at Yanmen Commandery, readying for a major offensive the following year. Thirty thousand Xianbei cavalry, under the command of Prince Murong Kai of Taiyuan and Prince Murong Shao of Chenliu, were stationed there. The discipline of the Xianbei army was notoriously poor, with soldiers often waylaying and robbing travelers.

Lin Su, driving his ox cart, happened upon two Xianbei scouts. Seeing the cart, they attempted to rob him. Lin Su refused, and an argument broke out. Suddenly, one of the scouts drew his blade and struck. Lin Su was gravely wounded and the cart seized. Only after the scouts had left did the accompanying villagers dare to approach and rescue him. But the wound was too deep, and by the time they returned, nothing could be done.

When He Yu heard this, his face was grim, the muscles of his jaw twitching. “Did anyone see what those two scouts looked like?”

A young villager replied, “They come out often, robbing travelers—have already killed or wounded several. They’re easy to recognize—one’s blind in the left eye, the other in the right, both are very tall, armed, and always drunk.”

An elderly man, his beard white, guessed what He Yu was thinking and warned, “Young master, commoners can’t fight the authorities. No matter your skill, you can’t stand against an army. The Sima family has thrown the world into chaos, we Han folk have suffered terribly. Who knows how many have died at the hands of the barbarians—don’t act rashly.”

He Yu knew the old man spoke the truth. In northern China at this time, Han lives were worth less than grass. The barbarian soldiers even used Han people as rations, eating them on the march. It was said that young women, their flesh tender and sweet, were called “not inferior to lamb”; the flesh of children was soft, called “melts with the bone”; old men’s flesh was tough and required more cooking, called “needs extra fire.” Such victims were collectively known as “two-legged sheep”—a horror beyond words. The chronicles recorded, “The northern lands are desolate, the gentry have fled south, the barbarians fill the land, and the sons of Han are nearly exterminated.”

Of all the tribes, the Jie and Xianbei were the most ferocious cannibals. The Murong Xianbei once abducted tens of thousands of Han women from the Central Plains, abusing and slaughtering them as they went. By the time they reached the Yi River in Hebei, only eight thousand remained. Unable to eat them all or set them free, they drowned the rest, the river choked with corpses.

He Yu nodded slowly, so as not to worry the others.

Lin Su’s body was laid out for three days, then the funeral was held. In ancient times, weddings and funerals were marked by elaborate rituals. He Yu, coming from modern times, knew nothing of these customs. But in these troubled days, everything was kept simple. The Lin family was well-liked, and the villagers helped with the arrangements. He Yu, now the head of the household, let himself be guided, bowing and kneeling as required, until the noisy business of mourning was done. The steward of the manor sent a thousand coins for funeral expenses, and the lord of the manor, Chen Jing, came in person to pay his respects.

Chen Jing, barely past thirty, was sharp-eyed, tall and handsome, with the bearing of a great general. He Yu could not help but admire him: “Truly a remarkable man—no wonder he rules this place at such a young age.” The Chen family manor housed over four thousand people within its walls, and another five thousand in the surrounding hills—a force of over ten thousand souls, not to be underestimated.

When the funeral was over and the mourners departed, only He Yu and Deng’er remained.

Night was falling, and at some point, snow had begun to fall again. He Yu stood under the eaves, watching great flakes drift from the sky. His mind wandered to his first meeting with Lin Su half a year before—so many memories, yet the man himself was gone. Grief and anger seethed within him, and with a sudden burst of strength, he shattered the bamboo railing in his hand. The splinters pierced his palm and blood welled up, but he felt no pain.

“Brother Yu!” he heard Deng’er call softly behind him. In just a few days, she had grown visibly thinner, her white mourning robes making her beauty seem even more ethereal, evoking pity at the sight.

This sixteen-year-old girl, having lost father, grandfather, and brothers in succession, had cried herself dry, her heart torn apart, and yet still remained so resilient, so composed. It showed just how strong the Chinese people’s capacity for survival was in troubled times. However great the calamity, as long as there was the faintest hope, they would find the strength to go on.

“Brother Yu!” Deng’er called again, gently binding the wound on his palm. Looking down, He Yu saw that at some point she had hung the alloy dog tag he’d given her around her neck, glinting softly in the light.

“Deng’er, I swear to you—if I do not avenge Grandfather, I am no man,” He Yu said, gripping her roughened little hand tightly, his voice thick with hatred.

Deng’er pulled her hand away and looked up at his angry, contorted face, her eyes shimmering with tears. She spoke softly, “Uncle Liu was right. Commoners cannot fight the authorities. Whether or not you can avenge Grandfather, Deng’er only wishes Brother Yu to be safe…”

The next day was the twelfth of the first month; only two days remained until the Lantern Festival contest on the fifteenth. Deng’er, keeping household mourning, was excused from her duties. He Yu returned to the training ground to practice with bow, horse, sword, and spear. After a morning’s drill, he returned home for lunch.