-Chapter Twenty: Reunion
After seeing Dunhuang, Sui Sui suddenly understood Li Chongjun’s bad temper.
This lonely city was like a jewel set in the desert, filled with countless treasures—lapis lazuli from Iran, jade from Hetian, gold from India, glass from Persia—all glittering, piled high in the markets. Majestic Buddhist temples stood in the Gobi, golden walls painted with celestial beings in flowing robes; on the Singing Sand Mountain, the camel bells of Hu traders rang day and night.
It was a bustle Sui Sui had never seen.
If Dunhuang was already so lively, then Chang’an must be a thousand times more prosperous. And Li Chongjun had grown up in the palace—no wonder, arriving in bleak Liangzhou where even the spring winds did not blow, he had fallen ill.
As a child, Sui Sui had only tasted her father’s millet wine, fiery and harsh. In Liangzhou, grape wine seemed heavenly—sweet and mellow. But in Dunhuang, she found not only grapes but also pears, peaches, mulberries, and even melons, which could be brewed into wine.
Using the excuse of choosing yeast for her wine shop, she spent ten days drinking in the streets, tasting from one end of the grand avenue to the other.
Though she would not admit it, she knew her heart was unsettled.
Why? Perhaps because she had spoken so many ill words of him. Could she be blamed? His temper was foul enough, but in bed, he was even harsher. That day, he had even threatened to sell her to a brothel—even if it was an act, it was outrageous. Yet in the end, he had sent her to Dunhuang, left her with so much money, granting her a dream she had never dared imagine.
She wanted to resent him, yet felt guilty—one cannot eat from a cook’s pot and then curse him.
“Miss? Miss?”
Sui Sui snapped back to herself. A tavern boy in short clothes stood before her, holding a wine jar, with several more on the table. He grinned: “You’ve tried apricot wine, grape wine, peach wine—would you like to try something else?”
Sui Sui was not drunk, but distracted. She rubbed her face: “Oh, no need… your wines are good. Just wrap two blocks of yeast for me—I’ll try brewing at home.”
Before she finished, hoofbeats sounded in the distance, a dozen at least. From the tavern’s second floor window, she looked out. She saw not horses, but many officers in brown robes, swords at their sides, driving people to the roadside, then stepping back themselves, clapping their hands.
Sui Sui was bewildered.
The tavern boy, more worldly, explained proudly: “Don’t you know, miss? Two days ago, His Majesty issued a decree—calling the prince of Liangzhou back to the capital. Look at this procession—it must be him.”
Sui Sui scoffed. In Liangzhou, she had never seen Li Chongjun treated with such honor. But the hoofbeats drew nearer. First came twelve pairs of attendants in black robes, riding tall horses—and among them, she recognized several faces. She shot to her feet, leaning over the window rail, eyes wide in disbelief.
At the head of the procession followed a carriage, larger than a house, its curtains drawn tight so none could see inside. Fortunately, the county magistrate and prefect rode up, dismounted before it, and knelt to block the way.
Two attendants lifted the blue felt curtain, and down stepped a man in brocade robes and jade belt.
It was Li Chongjun.
Had Sui Sui studied court etiquette, she would have recognized the ceremonial attire of a prince—the crown and tassels, the scarlet gauze robe, the white skirt and jacket, the leather belt, golden hooks, pendants, satchels, and black shoes. But she did not know; she only felt that each piece was magnificent, noble, like jade glowing in sunlight—yet cold, distant, unreachable.
It hardly seemed like him. Or perhaps this was always how Li Chongjun appeared to strangers.
They had shared the most intimate acts, yet never truly known each other.
The officials seemed to have no business beyond paying respects, bowing and currying favor. Li Chongjun responded lightly and dismissed them after a few words. They insisted he return to his carriage. He turned, and his gaze flicked toward the silver-red figure on the distant upper floor.
He paused only briefly. From so far away, Sui Sui could not read his expression, yet her hands and feet were already in chaos. She wanted to hide, but her body was nailed to the window, unable to move, watching him turn away and mount the carriage.
The wheels rattled, hooves clattered, fading into the chilly spring wind. The marketplace slowly regained its noise. An old man sold flutes, playing a mournful Qiang melody as he walked.
So that was it?
So that was it—she had escaped Li Chongjun and gained money too. Perfect, wasn’t it?
But they were already gone. Sui Sui stood blankly at the window until the tavern boy called her back: “Miss, miss!”
He was still waiting to do business: “Miss, I’ll fetch your yeast cakes now!”
But Sui Sui stopped him: “Wait!”
She leapt onto the windowsill, one foot on a stool, drew a deep breath: “Bring me a jug of your millet wine—the strongest you have.”
The boy looked her up and down, in her silver-red short jacket and white skirt, eyes bright as autumn water, then laughed with a mix of kindness and scorn: “Impossible, impossible. Our strong wine—never mind a young lady, even Du Kang himself would be knocked flat!”
Sui Sui glared at him fiercely: “Go, quickly!”
Drink until drunk? What a joke. Only Li Chongjun, that weakling, would get drunk—every banquet, she had to shield him from wine. Out of spite, Sui Sui ordered the boy to pour her a full bowl of millet wine. Under his mocking gaze, she tilted her head back and drained it in one gulp.
They say wine dissolves a thousand sorrows. Yet Sui Sui did not feel sorrow—only a faint wistfulness. The fiery liquor scorched her throat and lungs, burning through her tangled past like a storm, leaving her sharper, freer.
She wiped her mouth, exhaled deeply, and told the stunned tavern boy to settle the bill. Then, carrying her oil-paper bundle of yeast cakes, she went home.