General Changning— Chapter 11
Jiang Hangyuan arrived at Yunluo.
Yunluo was not large—a small city beneath the snow mountains, with only a few thousand households. It was so tranquil. Wherever one stood, a glance upward revealed the southern peaks, perpetually capped with white snow. On clear days, the lake below mirrored the mountains, reflecting the faces of Yunluo’s daughters, as beautiful as blossoms.
More than twenty years earlier, during the wars among the Central Plains states, the Northern Di tasted victory by seizing Shuo, Heng, and Yan from Jin. Greedy for more, they turned their eyes toward Great Wei’s western frontier, seeking to claim the cities there as vassals and block Wei’s western gate. Yunluo, lying at the strategic choke point, was the first to suffer.
Jiang Hanyuan’s maternal grandfather led two thousand warriors in desperate resistance while sending pleas for aid to Wei. Emperor Shengwu, though occupied elsewhere, could not ignore such provocation. He dispatched troops north, driving back the invaders.
The general he sent was Jiang Zuwang. Born into a military family, gifted in command, he had already won renown by eighteen, carving his name into the Emperor’s campaigns. Like many noble sons of founding clans, he was young, ardent, and eager to leave his mark upon history.
This young general from Wei, handsome and bold, caught the eyes of many Yunluo maidens. He fell in love with the most beautiful among them—Lady Yan—and married her, bringing her back to the capital.
The beginning of the story was bright. The young couple loved deeply. Though often parted by war, they shared happiness. A few years later, Lady Yan bore a daughter, delicate and lovely. Hoping for peace, she gave the child a milk-name of longing: Zizi—after the ancient beast *Si*, symbol of a world made whole.
The capital’s splendor far outshone Yunluo, yet Lady Yan began to miss her distant home by the snow lake. When her father’s birthday came, Jiang Zuwang, then back in Chang’an, sought leave to escort her home. Thus, the couple, with their infant daughter, set out.
All went smoothly—until one day, news arrived. The newly widowed Princess Nankang had left the capital for her fief, but midway changed course, coincidentally toward their road. Her carriage halted at Wucheng, summoning Jiang Zuwang to audience.
Lady Yan knew well why. In the capital, the princess had shown him favor. Jiang Zuwang, unwilling yet fearful of her power, dared not refuse. He left his wife and child at Changle, a city allied with Yunluo, promising to return.
But disaster struck. The new lord of Changle, swayed by Northern Di envoys, plotted betrayal. Lady Yan was warned by an old friend of her father. She disguised herself and fled with her child. Yet pursuers soon closed in.
At last, with only a few guards left, Lady Yan stood at a cliff’s edge, her infant in her arms, no retreat possible. Below lay jagged rocks. Fierce in spirit, she would not be taken, nor used to threaten her kin. She bound her daughter tightly, prayed to the snow mountain spirits, and hurled her into the forest canopy below—before leaping herself into the abyss.
Half a month later, Jiang Zuwang returned. Lady Yan’s body was found shattered, gnawed by beasts, only scraps of cloth and bone remaining. The baby was gone. Only wolf tracks and a torn swaddling cloth were discovered. All believed she had been devoured. Yet months later, miraculously, she was found alive—discovered by a hunter in a lone wolf’s den, filthy, sleeping beside the she-wolf. Jiang Zuwang recognized her by her birthmark. When the wolf was driven off, it followed long, unwilling to leave, until at last it howled in grief and vanished.
The princess’s “urgent matter” had been a mere fear of beasts on the road, seeking Jiang Zuwang’s escort. He fell ill with grief and coughed up blood. Later, the Emperor offered him marriage to the princess, but Jiang Zuwang refused, bound by oath to his late wife. The Emperor relented.
Afterward, while his peers won glory in the Emperor’s wars of unification, Jiang Zuwang chose exile at the northern frontier, guarding against wind and sand for twenty years, never returning to the capital.
That was the end of his story.
Last year, Jiang Hanyuan’s grandfather—the old city lord who had defended Yunluo all his life—passed away. Her uncle Yan Chong succeeded him. Loud-voiced, hot-tempered, he inherited the family’s courage and loyalty. Proud of his niece, he rode out himself to welcome her when he heard she had come.
At the city gates, people saw her and stopped whatever they were doing. From all directions, they rushed forward, vying to bow in greeting.
Her strange childhood—seen by outsiders as ominous, even terrifying—was, to the people of Yunluo, proof that she was a daughter blessed and protected by the gods.
Indeed, how else could an infant survive such peril and grow into the fierce general who now makes enemies gnash their teeth in hatred?
Her uncle laughed heartily at the sight, raising his whip to point at the crowd: “Zizi, look! Our people of Yunluo honor warriors. They honor you even more than me, their own lord! Everyone hopes you will stay here forever. This is your home!”
Jiang Hangyuan smiled, thanking the townsfolk. Amid their cheers, she rode into the city.
Qingmuse Pass was of great strategic importance, but had been seized by Wei. Because of that defeat, Prince Nan Wang Zhishu now personally guards the northern territories. Last year, when her grandfather passed away, Jiang Hanyuan had been leading her troops against a Di army bent on retaking Qingmuse, and could not come. This year, she had meant to arrive early for the memorial, but delays kept her until now.
Yan Chong prepared to accompany her to the rites.
“Uncle, let me go alone. I missed last year, and again this year. I want to spend a few days with Grandfather.”
Knowing her deep bond with the old lord, he did not insist and nodded.
The old city lord’s resting place lay in a valley outside the city, where generations of the Yan clan were buried. On clear days, from the valley mouth, one could see the snow mountain and Mirror Lake.
Jiang Hanyuan stayed alone in a simple hut, sleeping on the ground beside her grandfather—and beside the mother whose face she could not remember. Yet she knew her mother had truly lived. In that grave lay scraps of cloth and broken bones. She should have had the fragrance of orchids, warm skin, and a gentle voice. She had been the most beautiful woman beneath the snow mountain. The mirror lake had once reflected her lovely face.
Yes, Jiang Hanyuan could see it all—as if in dreams she still saw the she-wolf that had nursed her.
A baby wrapped in swaddling, carrying her mother’s blessings, fell through the treetops, caught in tangled branches, hanging there alone for a day and night. Hungry, she cried ceaselessly, remembering that crying always brought a warm, fragrant embrace, a soft breast, sweet milk. But this time, no one came. At last, she struggled free and fell into the thick brush below. For the first time, she faced the world alone, crawling, crying until her voice broke, until she lay dying. Then a mother wolf appeared. She was young, a first-time mother. But returning from the hunt, she found her own cub gone, only blood left in the den. Grief and pain from her swollen milk made her frantic. Searching, she found the human infant. She pounced, claws raking the baby’s back. Just as she lowered her jaws to the child’s throat, the infant smelled the milk dripping from her teats. It was the scent of mother. Driven by hunger and the will to live, she forgot the pain, latched on, sucking desperately. The sudden relief of flowing milk stilled the wolf’s killing urge. She stood quietly, letting the child nurse. When the baby slept, she licked the blood from her back, then carried her away.
The dream shifted. Jiang Hanyuan saw a beautiful woman clutching her baby, fleeing in panic, cornered at a cliff’s edge as pursuers closed in.
Stop. Don’t dream further. She tried to wake, but the dream held her fast, like a whirlpool.
“You killed Aunt! They said so! She was hiding, the bad men had passed, but you cried and gave her away! You killed her!”
A boy of four or five sobbed, shrieking at her. He could not understand why his grandfather and father favored his sister, who had not spoken for years, more than him.
Stop. Don’t dream further!
But the dream dragged on. Jiang Hanyuan saw Tiejian Cliff again outside the western camp. She leapt, as she had so often in dreams. The pool below turned to jagged stone. She struck, blood spraying, body shattered, every bone aflame with pain.
That gentle woman—her mother—must have felt this agony when she died. Blood poured endlessly, mingling with comrades’ and enemies’ alike, until the rain of blood drenched her, turning her into a figure of gore. The stench seeped into her very pores, never to leave.
Her body convulsed, curling tight like frozen stone.
Do not cry. The dream-self reminded her.
Since learning her cries had doomed her mother, she had sworn never to weep again.
Mount the horse, draw the strongest bow, wield the sharpest blade! Only thus could she protect all who needed her.
Her eyelids twitched. Before opening them, she drew her knife, sitting bolt upright from the nightmare she had relived countless times.
“Elder Sister! Wake up!”
“It’s me.”
In the fading light, a thin boy stood a few steps away, startled, retreating slightly.
“Father sent me to bring you back.” Yan Cheng looked nervously at her bloodshot eyes, still fierce.
It was her younger brother.
The killing aura faded. Jiang Hanyuan glanced around, dazed. The sun was sinking. She had fallen asleep beside her mother’s grave. She closed her eyes, exhaled slowly, and sheathed her blade.
“Is there news from Father?” she asked, voice hoarse, frayed like torn silk.
“Yes. General Fan has come to fetch you.”
“He says the envoys from the capital have arrived—to escort you to your wedding.”