General Changning— Chapter 15
“Jinmei, it’s getting dark. Why not wait until tomorrow?” Chen Lun glanced at the setting sun and urged.
Shenhui—his courtesy name is Jinmei, chosen to echo his given name?
Jiang Hanyuan recalled a book she had read months before, distracted for a moment, until the young prince’s voice sounded again: “Zhao Yong quelled chaos, raising Zhao Yong among the Seven Powers of the Warring States by his own strength. To call him a heroic king is no exaggeration. If we wait until tomorrow, we’ll return the day after, delaying our return to the capital by two days. Since the thought has come, and we can reach it overnight, not to pay respects would be a regret.”
He explained thus to his friend.
Chen Lun, styled Zijing, heir of Duke Zhu, was older than Prince Anle. Last year, he married Anle’s cousin, the daughter of Prince Xian, and was granted the title of Prince Consort Yongtai. He and Anle were close, companions and friends, often calling each other by name. Knowing Anle’s nature, he did not press further.
Jiang Hanyuan had not wanted to guide them. She thought they only asked directions, planning to leave tomorrow, so she pointed casually. She had not expected Prince Anle to set out at once, riding through the night. Had she known, she would have said she did not know.
Silent, she tried to find an excuse—perhaps claiming she could not recall the way. But before she spoke, he misunderstood, thinking she feared punishment for late return. His gaze fell on her face: “Do not be afraid. When we return, if anyone asks, I will explain for you.”
The sunset’s golden glow lit the young prince’s handsome face, his features touched with radiance.
Looking at that face, Jiang Hanyuan found herself unable to refuse. She opened her mouth, then closed it, and finally mounted her horse in silence, leading them toward Lingqiu. They rode all night, resting briefly, and at dawn reached the burial mound.
The majesty of ancient Zhao had long since scattered with the winds of time. The king’s tomb was now but a lonely hill in the wilderness.
It was late autumn in the north. Pale dawn light, a waning moon still hung above the peaks. From the high platform, the wilds stretched vast and desolate. Autumn wind swept the grasses, foxes and hares darted, all was bleak.
Though they had ridden all night, Prince Anle showed no weariness. Facing the chill wind before the earthen mound, he stood long. Jiang Hanyuan heard him sigh softly: “Once glory unmatched, now only autumn grass. Pour wine upon the king’s soil—only the green hills endure.”
He drew a flask from his saddlebag, uncorked it, raised it high, and poured upon the mound.
“Let’s return.”
When the libation was done, he turned. Chen Lun called for the guards. Jiang Hanyuan followed. Suddenly, a wild goose flew south overhead.
The prince’s interest was stirred. He halted, gazed upward, and raised his arm.
A guard understood, fetched his bow from the saddle, and handed it to him. He drew, arrow nocked, following the bird’s shadow. The goose cried sharply, sensing danger. Just as he was about to release, another goose flew from the clouds, calling as it chased. Soon, the two joined, wings beating together.
Jiang Hanyuan watched. He held aim, then slowly relaxed, lowering the bow. Yet his brow lifted, unwilling. He raised the bow again, this time without hesitation, drew full, and loosed. The arrow streaked upward, white against the sky, passing cleanly between the pair, soaring until spent, then fell far away.
The geese, startled, cried and flurried, feathers drifting, then fled south in panic.
Prince Anle lowered his bow, smiling.
Chen Lun was puzzled. “Jinmei, what did you mean by that?”
The prince tossed the bow back to the guard. “I thought it was a lone goose, but it was two. In this cold northern land, the road is perilous. To fly together, watching over each other, is rare. Better to let them go. Yet once an arrow is drawn, it cannot be recalled. So I loosed it, only to frighten them. No harm done.”
Chen Lun, steady in nature, was struck by the youthful gesture, unsure how to respond. At last, he said, “Your archery has improved greatly.”
Prince Anle laughed heartily. He seemed a man who loved to laugh.
“Zijing, you jest. Of all skills, archery is the only one in which I can still match you.”
Chen Lun laughed too. “I dare not claim so! Your Highness is too modest.”
As they joked, the guards brought horses. The prince mounted, reins in hand, then glanced back at the soldier who had led them through the night.
Jiang Hanyuan still stood, watching the geese vanish.
It was a bright northern autumn morning. In the southward sky, dawn light painted clouds with rose, the deep blue heavens tinged with pink, like a sea of spring blossoms.
She had risen countless times to train at dawn, learning the arts of war and killing. Yet for the first time, she lifted her head and saw such a radiant morning.
“Onward!” a guard called.
Startled, she turned. Prince Anle and his men were mounted, watching her. She stepped forward, but he raised a hand, beckoning. She stopped before his horse, looking up. “What does Your Highness wish?”
“Can you keep up?”
“I can.”
Chen Lun added: “Jiang Zuwang’s training shows its worth.”
The prince said nothing, only lowered his gaze. His eyes swept over her frost-damp hair and soaked collar. Then he shrugged off his smoke-colored brocade cloak and tossed it to her. It fell upon her shoulders, still warm from his body, carrying a faint fragrance of incense.
Accustomed to the smell of sweat and mud, she stiffened, unaccustomed to the sudden clean scent enveloping her. She froze, breath held. The cloak was too large, slipping from her shoulders. She startled, seized it tightly before it fell.
Her appearance must have seemed amusing to him.
He shook his head, laughed again, and beneath the frosty dawn sky, his face shone like morning light.
“Little one, you ride well, and you led the way well. Enough—let’s return!” He spoke in a tone of praise, then left her behind, spurring his horse away.
Jiang Hanyuan stood stunned for a moment, then hastily gathered up the cloak, mounted, and chased after them.
By evening they returned. Jiang Hanyuan, unwilling for him to learn her identity, waited until they reached the place where they had met the day before. She caught up from behind, returned the cloak, and turned aside to leave the column.
“Stop!”
She had barely gone a few steps when his voice called out. Turning, she saw him unfasten a jade pendant from his waist and toss it to her.
“Little one, this is your reward for guiding us! You are too young to serve in the army. You look dull and slow—if real battle comes, you’ll be killed. If poverty drove you to enlist, take this home. Find the highest official, say it was given by me, and you can exchange it for land enough to farm. Then serve your parents well, marry in a few years, and live better than wasting your life in the army!”
The young prince spoke, then urged his horse forward. Chen Lun followed, and the rest thundered after, vanishing into the distance.
Suddenly cheers surged in Jiang Hanyuan’s ears. Her carriage slowed, then stopped. She knew: her long journey had reached its end—the place once called Prince Anle’s residence, later Prince Qi’s, now the Regent’s mansion.
Soon the door would open, and Shu Shenhui himself would lead her down. Ceremony complete, the long night would begin, with only the two of them.
She closed her eyes again, calculating the time of return.
The Regent’s mansion gates stood wide, red lanterns hung high. Inside, a long passage lined with blazing torches shone like daylight, a dragon of fire.
The Regent dismounted, walking toward the bridal carriage to lead his new bride inside.
Chen Lun, both consort and commander of the capital’s Gate Guard, accompanied as always. Yet his nerves were taut, never relaxing.
Since Shu Hui’s sudden “death” last autumn, accusations against Prince Cheng and his faction had not ceased. Even Jiang Zuwang had once been implicated, said to be close to Prince Cheng. Only after news spread that the Regent would marry Jiang’s daughter was Jiang Zuwang cleared. Later, Prince Cheng was accused again of raising troops. Cornered, he rebelled in Qingzhou, but within half a month was defeated. He killed himself; his clan and allies were executed, the rest exiled forever.
Though the rebellion was crushed, remnants might still lurk. On such a crowded day, Chen Lun dared not relax. From Weihe Bridge to the Regent’s mansion, thousands of hidden sentries watched the crowds and rooftops, guarding against assassins.
At last, the grand procession reached the mansion gates. Once inside, the wedding would be complete.
Chen Lun scanned the scene. Officials from the Ministry of Rites and the Court of State Ceremonies stood ready, robed, awaiting the bride. Everyone present had been thoroughly investigated. The open space left no blind spots. He exhaled slightly—then froze.
At a nearby street corner, among the crowd held back by barricades, a child slipped free. Six or seven years old, he seemed mischievous, hopping toward them.
Before Chen Lun could order, two guards rushed to block him. But the child stumbled, fell, then curled into a ball, rolling swiftly beneath one guard’s legs, spinning forward with uncanny speed.
Chen Lun’s pupils contracted. He saw clearly: this was no child, but a dwarf.
Such performers were common in Chang’an’s taverns, earning coin by jest. But tonight, disguised as a child, his intent was obvious.
Other guards reacted, rushing to surround him. The dwarf was trapped—yet at that instant, he drew a crossbow from beneath his clothes.
A bolt shot forth.
Though a crossbow’s range was shorter than a bow’s, its speed and force at close distance were greater. A specially crafted bolt could pierce straight through a man’s chest and out his back—its power terrifying.
Chen Lun, desperate, lunged toward the Regent, who stood not far away. But it was already too late. Even with all his strength, he could not outrun the arrow. He watched helplessly as it flashed past his eyes like lightning. In that instant, the dark iron tip traced a ghostly blue line in his vision—the color of poison. The deadly shaft sped past the unsuspecting officials of the Ministry of Rites, straight toward the figure standing before the bridal carriage.
Chen Lun’s heart nearly burst with despair and terror. He could even hear the roar of blood pounding in his ears.
Inside the carriage, Jiang Hanyuan bent low, skirts gathered, lightning-fast as she drew the dagger she always carried, ready to leap out. But at that moment, the driver—who had seemed invisible after stopping the carriage—sprang from the shadows. His hand flashed, pulling a blade from beneath the seat.
The bolt, already at close range, split in midair. The shaft spun down, clattering to the ground, while the poisoned tip veered aside, its force undiminished, and struck deep into the shadows beside the carriage, leaving only a broken fragment protruding from the earth.
Torchlight revealed the man’s face—it was General Liu Xiang of the Imperial Guard. Tonight, he himself had taken the role of driver for the Regent’s wedding carriage.
All this had happened in the space of a single breath.
At the mansion gates, the officiants of the ceremony only now realized what had occurred. The chief and his attendants froze in shock. The crowd at the street corner, blocked by guards, saw nothing—only thought the soldiers were chasing a mischievous child, and murmured in confusion.
Jiang Hanyuan stopped just behind the carriage door. Soon she heard the interrupted ceremonial words resume. Attendants stepped forward to open the doors. She quickly retreated, bent low, and hid her dagger. Before she could lift her head, light flooded in—the brilliance of the torches blazing within the Regent’s mansion.
The two doors, painted with golden cloud patterns, swung open.
Regent Shu Shenhui stood before her, robed in ceremonial dress. As the doors opened, he lifted his gaze, looking into the carriage.
Her fingers released the dagger’s hilt. She raised her head.
Their eyes met.
The torchlight, and his shadow cast at the door, reflected in her pupils.
As if nothing had happened moments before, his gaze was steady, unwavering. He reached out his hand toward her.