The blizzard began to fade as the two figures reached the banks of the Mei Waters. A warmth took hold beneath the heavy black sable, melting the frost on his lashes and brows into icy tracks. The white fur at Qu Fongning’s throat was wet and matted. He cast a glance at Yujien, noting that the General’s prime uniform was likewise drenched. A jovial crease appeared at the corners of the youth’s eyes. And he remarked, “Why does a man of the General’s stature need to endure such misery in the frozen wastes alongside a mere subordinate.”
Yujien’s right arm remained draped over the boy’s head like a protective mountain ridge. A thin glaze of ice had formed over the black leather of his glove where it gripped the edge of the cloak. He looked down, his gaze heavy and inscrutable. “What misery? Everything I do, I do with a willing heart.” Seeing a collapse in the riverbank ahead, he steered the youth away with a firm, guiding hand.
Qu Fongning tilted his head, searching his memory for the last time Yujien had treated him with such patience. The riverbed sunk into whiteness, merging seamlessly with the surrounding plains like a soft felt. Beneath this great blanket, the insects and the withered grass slept a gentle sleep. A sudden impulse stirred within him. “I wonder,” he murmured, “if the star chart the General once drew for me still remains?”
This stretch of the water was the very place where he had first learned the art of the bow from Yujien. The General looked up; seeing the Mother Tree upon the slope draped in winter’s silver, a rare tenderness softened his heart. “When the spring comes, I shall go find it with you.”
The great tree and the river brought to mind the Oyghrmuki’s rambling songs. Both men recalled that raucous voice at the same time. And he heard Yujien whisper: “I wonder… will my little skylark return when the spring arrives?”
Qu Fongning felt a tremor in his soul. Sensing the General’s pace faltering, he caught sight of a discreet marker for a snow-well in the drifts to his right. With a swift turn of mind, he bolted toward it. As expected, the ground gave way beneath his boots, and he plummeted into a pit the height of a man. In the instant of his fall, he felt a touch against his back—quick as a spark—but the hand hesitated, allowing him to descend into the cold.
The well was less than five zhang across, filled with soft, packed snow that cushioned his landing. Yujien appeared at the rim, watching as the boy struggled to right himself. He chuckled. “A little monkey fallen into a well—fishing for the moon?” He knelt and extended his hand.
Qu Fongning composed his face stern and grasped the hand. Bracing his boots against the well’s wall, he channeled the weight of his lower body into a sudden, violent yank.
Unprepared for this betrayal, Yujien tumbled into the snow, nearly landing atop the youth. It was a clumsy, undignified fall, entirely devoid of his usual commanding presence. Qu Fongning, seeing the Great General so utterly caught off guard, could no longer contain himself; he collapsed against the wall in a fit of laughter. And seeing Yujien standing in the pit with an unreadable expression, the boy’s laughter fell into a sheepish silence. “My hand slipped,” he offered an excuse. Then, seeing the gaze did not soften, he confessed: “I… I was only playing with you. Don’t be ire.”
Only then did Yujien allow a smile. “That you seek to play with me is a joy I can hardly contain. Why would I be ire?” He leaned closer, wanting to touch the boy’s face. “…It is no easy task these days, coaxing a smile from you.”
Qu Fongning flinched instinctively. The cold leather of the glove brushed his ear for a fleeting second before Yujien withdrew, vaulting back to the rim and pulling the youth up after him.
But now that he was in the General’s grasp, there was no further escape. He lost one of his buckskin gloves in the snow, Yujien took the boy’s hand into his bare palm and led him forward.
Qu Fongning walked behind him, eyes cast down, watching their footprints in the deep snow. Yujien’s stride was heavy and certain, each step treading the snow into a firm print. The youth began to step precisely into the General’s prints, following the winding path, looking like only one person had traversed the waste.
So absorbed was he in this game that he failed to notice the General had stopped. He collided into that broad, unyielding back. Yujien turned, a trace of weariness in his voice. “The station yurt.”
Qu Fongning rubbed his nose, muffled a response, and crouched into the tiny yurt. The sentries were gone from the post, and the fire had dwindled to a thread of black smoke and a few red embers. Qu Fongning, coughing from the smoke, expertly retrieved a hidden stash of white charcoal from beneath an old curtain and cast it into the ash. As he knelt to blow the fire into life, there was a knock at the felt door. Yujien held the flap open, smiling in the wind. “Will you not invite me to sit a while?”
Qu Fongning offered hurriedly, “General, please have a seat.” And began to heat a pot of cold oil-tea. Seeing Yujien’s interest in the charcoal, he realized his error and spun a frantic lie: “The nomads gave it to us… No, Lord Has sent it as a reward for our camp.” He shifted his bum to hide the remaining stock. “Only these few pieces left. No more.”
Yujien, amused by this dull attempt at concealment, teased him: “Why such panic?”
“I am not panicking,” Qu Fongning insisted. But the words were punctuated by a loud crash as the hidden charcoal spilled across the floor. Caught in his lie, he bowed his head. “I requested it from the Quartermaster. It was my doing alone. If there is to be punishment, let it fall on me.”
Yujien sat beside him, his voice a low vibration. “When did you become so law-abiding? In the past, you would have offered ten thousand retorts and walked away in a huff.” He cast aside his frozen sable cloak; the ice cracked into a puddle.
I ain’t speaking to you of the past, Qu Fongning thought. He spread his own mink cloak to dry. As the heat of the fire touched him, he realized his legs were numb. He stretched them out toward the flames, only to find the soles of his boots were worn through; his socks were frozen to the leather.
Yujien chuckled and pulled the boy’s feet onto his lap. With a sudden, violent crack, he tore the thick calfskin boots open as easily as if they were made of paper. “How long have you worn these? The leather is frayed to nothing. Since when does my army mistreat its soldiers so? I have heard nothing of this.”
“New boots are too stiff,” Qu Fongning muttered, wiggling his toes in his torn socks towards the embers. “The old ones are comfortable. They fit the foot.”
Yujien pushed up his mask and gripped the boy’s bare ankle. “They say garments are best when new, you’re saying shoes are better old?” he teased him.
“Old ones are comfier!” Qu Fongning nodded.
“I’m ‘old’ too. Why do you not want me?” Yujien watched him, smiling.
Qu Fongning considered this. “Your heart is no good.”
“How is it no good? Have you ever reached in to see it?” Yujien took the youth’s hand and pressed it against his own chest.
A peculiar light flashed across Qu Fongning’s eyes. He shifted his grip, his fingers forming a lethal claw, and thrust with the full strength of his training toward the heart beating beneath the thick military wool.
But his fingers barely brushed the fabric before Yujien caught his wrist in a crushing grip, as though they were merely wrestling. “I know you are formidable,” the General laughed. “Let us stop the games.”
Qu Fongning knew his deficits and withdrew his hand sulkily, thinking to himself: Sooner or later, I shall have it.
“Ningning,” Yujien said, his voice dropping an octave. “You will find few chances to kill me in the light of day. Only when we share a bed, when my soul is lost in you—only then, a strike from below, you can succeed with a single blow. It’s simple. Perhaps you should try it?”
It was just talk, but Qu Fongning looked down as if seriously weighing the tactic. Then he looked up. “I never asked you before… do you enjoy sleeping with me that much?”
Yujien, who had endured a long celibacy and had only recently been haunted by feverish dreams of thrusting into his sweet flesh, felt a surge of heat and had an immediate reaction. Yet he said.
“I told you: I want your heart more.”
Qu Fongning stared into his eyes, unmoving.
“Then why were you willing to give me away to be used by others?”
The lust in the him vanished, replaced by a sudden, biting chill. Yujien grew quiet.
“It will not happen again.”
“What will not happen?” Qu Fongning asked softly. “That you will not send me to another’s bed? Or that the next time the state is in peril, you will not sacrifice me for the greater good?”
Silence fell, save for the crackle of the fire and the howling wind. Yujien looked into the boy’s eyes.
“Neither shall happen again.”
Qu Fongning watched him for a long time, then let out a soft laugh. “I intended to make you swear an oath. But then I realized… even when you watched my heart die, you did not stoop to lie to me.” He paused, a smile still on his lips even as a single tear traced a path down his cheek. “In truth… at that moment, I wished you had lied to me.”
Yujien felt a suffocating pain in his chest. He pulled him into his arms and kissed the top of his head. Qu Fongning wept silently against his chest, biting his lip.
“You still do not understand, do you?”
Yujien sighed against the boy’s temple. “I do not. Perhaps I never shall. I do not repent for what I have done, nor do I regret it. But if you speak the word, I will hold you above all else. I will place you first.”
Qu Fongning laughed through his tears, pulling away with a look of mockery. “You have a way of making it seem as though I am the one being unreasonable.”
“Ningning, if you will not yield to me, then I must yield to you. To coax you with flowery lies—that would be truly unreasonable.”
Qu Fongning wiped his eyes. “My brother’s affair… did you tell General Cher?”
Yujien knew the weight of the question. “Brother Ulan had already discovered the infidelity. He intended a quiet murder to hide the embarrassment. I merely asked him to find the right moment to facilitate their union.”
“The timing was too perfect,” Qu Fongning sided a glance at him.
“I wanted to keep you,” Yujien admitted.
“And your bow? Did you break it on purpose?”
Yujien smiled, then turned grave. “No. You hated me to the bone then; I did not dare hope for such things. When Wuliang told me of your anxiety… it was a joy I had not expected.”
“I am not like you,” Qu Fongning sneered. “I care if people live or die. Even if that bastard Uighshön went missing, I would worry.”
Yujien laughed. “So, I am now worth less than a foot soldier? My status in your heart falls lower by the day.”
“Precisely,” Qu Fongning agreed, tapping the floor. “You are here. No, lower.” He gestured toward the dirt.
Yujien watched him, his gaze growing dangerously tender. He pulled the youth’s waist close. Qu Fongning continued to gesture downward. “Ten zhang lower. No, a fathom.”
Yujien leaned in until their noses nearly touched.
“I would descend into the eighteen levels of hell for you.”
Qu Fongning felt a shiver run down his spine. He pulled back slightly but did not flee.
Yujien’s hand moved to the nape of his neck, his lips grazing the boy’s.
“If you are unwilling, say so.”
Qu Fongning’s lips parted slightly, and he closed his eyes. A touch of profound gentleness met his lips—a kiss that lingered for barely a heartbeat before it was gone.
His heart throbbed as if caught in an invisible net. A surge of indignation grew out of thin air, and he only wanted to huff some ugly remarks.
As he lifted his eyes, he felt Yujien’s scalding gaze envelop his entire being, and himself held with a strength that bordered on pain.
“Ningning,” Yujien whispered against his ear, words like a dream. “Don’t fly away again.”
~
When the Ninth Squad of the Spring Camp arrived to exchange the patrol tablets, their captain was nowhere to be found. Just as they prepared to search, Uncle Hwei signaled them to wait, casting a knowing look at the snow. An hour later, two figures on a single horse emerged from the riverbank. Through the white haze, the black armored stallion, Shadow Leaper, was unmistakable. The soldiers scrambled into the tent, terrified of intruding.
“Where are you all running!” Qu Fongning shouted from horseback. “Uighshön, bring me a pair of boots!”
After a good while, a miserable Uighshön scurried out, dropped a pair of fur-lined boots at the gate, bowed to Yujien, and bolted back inside.
Qu Fongning, incensed, began to curse. “Get the fuck out…” And suddenly realizing, he turned, “…stay put, no one move! Wait until this boss come in to kill each and one of you.”
Yujien held him from his back, finding his sharp countenance, chuckled and used his riding whip to hook the boots and bring them to the youth’s hand. He caught the scent of wine and his smile deepened. While the boy was putting on the boots, he whispered by his ear. “The men have worked hard in the cold; the captain should not be so hard on them.”
Qu Fongning glared at him. “I’ve never seen a General encourage men to drink,” he grumbled as he hook on the boots, and leaped off.
“I only wish to encourage you,” Yujien pressed down his voice, leaning close. “I have learned a secret… when you are drunk, you return a kiss.”
Qu Fongning took a moment to come to the realization. His jaws itched, eyes widened with murderous intent. Yujien roared with laughter, and tapped the edge of the boy’s mask with his whip. “Going off now.” He turned the reins and galloped away into the snow.
Inside the tent, there really was a massive pot of mare milk wine and downed to be base. Uighshön’s group had long vanished themselves. Uncle Hwei sat by the fire. He looked at Qu Fongning’s dry, white mink cloak and teased him:
“The white rabbit returns. Are the old ways truly best?”
Qu Fongning made a face. He ate the scorched milk-skin from the bottom of the pot.
Uncle Hwei handed him a skin of private stock.
“Ready to sacrifice yourself for the state again?”
Qu Fongning laughed despite himself, then straightened his face. “ I don’t know what you mean.” He grumbled down a greater skin of hot mare milk wine, let it down on his knees, and stared into the fire. “The manipulation of hearts… I felt it today. If he truly wishes to cast a net, no one can escape.”
Uncle Hwei was unperturbed. He mouthed at Qu Fongning. “If you can’t escape, don’t escape.” He gestured with his scarred hand. “He has a net. Do we not have one of our own?”
Qu Fongning fell silent for a moment, then the clouds on his face seemed to clear. He lifted his hand and reached for the elder’s.
~
Despite his resolve, there remained within him a faint impulse to recoil, humbled by the gap in their respective skills. He dawdled for a few more days, and finally ascended the cliff with a quick determination. Turning the curtains to the great ger, he found a scene of chaos: Roaring flames before his yes, a dozen commanders and quartermasters were trembling before Yujien, who had scattered ledgers across the floor in a fury. Sensing he had arrived at an ill time, Qu Fongning tried to tippy toe away, but Yujien called him back: “Ningning, go to the back.”
He had to answer, finding a dozen eyes unwittingly landing on him, the ones from the Li Ignis Division Commander especially heated. Resigned, he hardened his head to come before Yujien, picked up the ledgers, patted off the dust, and was unsure of who to hand it to. The old Military Affairs marshal exchanged a look with Yujien, and he understood to carefully place the books on the arm of the wolf-head chair. Finding the hot tea untouched on the round table, he pushed a cup toward Yujien’s hand.
Yujien sat straight, watching Qu Fongning’s performance. The General’s austere gaze softened as he looked at the youth, but his voice allowed no resistance. “Go. This does not concern you.”
Understanding he had done his best, he expressed an apology with his eyes and took his Six Blossoms Diagram to retreat. As he entered the inner bedchamber, he found it anew. Four black vine pillars stood at the corners of the bed, topped with golden bronze hands that held massive, glowing night-shining pearls. The bed sat in a sea of soft, floating light, like a boat drifting through a star-lit void.
He jumped on the bed curiously and toyed the pearls. Then his gaze landed on a large round pearl by the bedside, The pearl was just smaller than a fist, pale red, the body as smooth as silk, and the luminance even softer. He sat on the bed, lifting the red thread on the jewel, and dangled it back-and-forth. He yawned, his eyes growing heavy, before a sudden jolt of clarity struck him.
He opened the diagrams, but his mind remained on the ledgers he had seen in the outer room. They were records of war casualties and resource depletion no doubt. Why had he been so enraged? Had the year’s losses cut too deep into the marrow?