(Yong’an, Year Fifteen — Second Month of Spring, Mobei…)
A Hu man… yet he spoke fluent, perfectly natural Han Chinese? Jiang Congyan was startled.
Then he must have understood everything I just said.
The hand she had kept trembling inside her sleeve gradually stilled, and even her forcibly suppressed heartbeat eased.
Facing such a dire life-and-death crisis for the first time, it wasn’t that she wasn’t afraid. Without the veil of her hat, she wasn’t even sure she could hide the flicker of fear in her eyes.
But she was their leader—she absolutely could not show weakness. Otherwise, how could she command her guards?
She turned around, lifted her chin, and with a sweep of her sleeve pointed to the cart beside her.
“If it’s only wealth you want, take it yourselves. I will not stop you.”
She said this deliberately.
Zhang Zheng, seeing only that the man was a fierce Hu warrior, instinctively regarded him as a formidable enemy. But Jiang Congyan noticed something else.
After the Qiang bandits appeared, everyone had abandoned the valuables to gather around her carriage for protection. This man had come from the rear of the convoy—those goods had been right in front of him for quite some time, yet he had made no move. Clearly, wealth did not tempt him.
Moreover, they wore animal hides over their faces. Either it was some tribal custom, or they were concealing their identities to carry out something. Jiang Congyan believed it was the latter.
If they wished to remain hidden, they likely did not want unnecessary trouble.
Her speaking up was not reckless bravado. On one hand, she meant to boost morale; on the other, she was sending a message: We are ready to fight to the death—do you truly want to get involved?
It seemed she had guessed correctly. The other side likely would not attack.
Tuoba Xiao, hearing her calm tone—as if she had already anticipated his choice—felt a hint more admiration for her.
He burst out laughing.
“No need for your wealth. Better you compensate me for my wasted time… with heads.”
A follower behind him understood his meaning and rode forward, whispering, “My king, since we’re concealing our identities, shouldn’t we avoid conflict?”
He spoke in the Hu tongue and softly—Jiang Congyan could not understand—but judging by the man’s casual wave, he had dismissed the suggestion.
In the next instant, he pressed his legs to his horse and charged forward, spear in hand.
The guards instinctively raised their weapons, shielding Jiang Congyan. Xizi and Aunt Ruolan even used their bodies to block her completely.
The man approached at lightning speed—yet in a flash, he had already passed her, riding straight into the fray.
The wind from his galloping horse whipped her sleeves and veil into the air.
Jiang Congyan recalled that brief crossing glance. Even from a distance, she had known he was tall—but nothing compared to seeing him up close.
Mounted on a towering steed, the man seemed like a mountain himself, charging down with overwhelming force. Beneath his horse’s hooves, everyone looked as small as ants.
When she came back to her senses, he had already plunged into battle against the Qiang bandits.
His black horse thundered forward. With a silver spear in hand and immense strength, he fought like a dancing serpent—lifting bandits clean off the ground, spinning them midair, then hurling them aside. Bodies struck the earth hard enough to leave dents, blood and flesh splattering everywhere.
Those who tried to surround him all failed.
He was like a ferocious tiger loose among sheep—unstoppable.
No one dared approach him anymore.
The twenty or so riders behind him, seeing their leader charge first, followed into battle.
The Qiang bandits were mere roaming brigands—no match for trained fighters, let alone someone like Tuoba Xiao. In moments, half their number was cut down. The rest tried to flee, but Zhang Zheng’s men blocked their escape.
It was a one-sided massacre.
When the fighting ended, the bandits were annihilated.
Aside from a few minor injuries, Jiang Congyan’s side had suffered no deaths.
Zhang Zheng and the others had been prepared to die—yet the tide had turned unexpectedly.
The one who had changed everything… was that Hu man.
He tried to match him in his mind against known Hu generals—but none fit.
With the battle over, Tuoba Xiao wiped the blood from his spear and prepared to leave. Just as he was about to mount, a gentle female voice called out behind him:
“Please wait!”
He turned. “What is it?”
His gaze fell from above onto her veiled hat, studying her.
Though simple, his words carried an inexplicable pressure. Jiang Congyan paused instinctively, then steadied herself and walked toward him.
Up close, she felt again just how tall he was—she barely reached his chest. Nearly two meters tall, clad in fitted black Hu attire, his body was straight and powerful. The lingering scent of blood clung to him, almost tangible.
Her stomach churned slightly, the brutal images resurfacing—but she forced herself to endure.
Looking closer, she saw his eyes were not dark brown but faintly green, deep and unsettling—inviting yet intimidating.
Under his probing gaze, she calmly lifted a wooden box and held it out.
“Just now, in that moment of danger, thank you for your help. Since you did not seek wealth, and I noticed some of your men were injured—my family has fine medicine effective for wounds. Please accept this as a small token of my gratitude.”
Regardless of anything else, he had saved them. She was sincerely thankful.
Yet he seemed indifferent.
Even through the veil, she could feel his gaze sweep over her face before pausing briefly on the box.
“‘Righteous man’?” he repeated, amused. Then he chuckled. “You Han people are interesting.”
He reached in, grabbed a few porcelain bottles, tossed them to his men, and mounted his horse in one smooth motion.
Tilting his head slightly, he said, “I’ll accept your thanks.”
With a neigh, the horse reared, then galloped off, kicking up dust.
Jiang Congyan stood on the brown earth, watching their departing figures, her lowered gaze thoughtful.
Since the Han dynasty, merchants from the Western Regions had traveled east along the Silk Road. Hu people were not uncommon in the Central Plains. After the chaos fifty years ago, many had migrated south—even serving Han rulers. Yet broadly speaking, harmony was rare; most relations were hostile. Especially in recent years, as Liang declined, tensions had only worsened.
She could only hope… that a man like him would never become an enemy.
She returned to the carriage, stumbled slightly, and pressed a hand to her chest.
Zhang Zheng approached to ask how to handle the bandits’ corpses.
Suppressing her nausea, Jiang Congyan lifted her veil and looked at the blood-soaked land—the withered grass stained crimson under the harsh sunlight.
Closing her eyes, she said coldly, word by word:
“Leave them exposed in the wild—to deter those with ill intent.”
After cleaning up, the convoy resumed its journey.
Back in the carriage, Jiang Congyan removed her veil, revealing a pale, sickly face, her limbs weak.
Ruolan hurriedly wiped the sweat from her forehead and checked her temperature, worry etched on her face.
“I want some water,” Jiang Congyan said hoarsely.
Xizi poured from the thermos, then frowned. “Aunt, it’s gone cold.”
Ruolan frowned.
The carriage couldn’t easily make fire, and Jiang Congyan’s health had always been delicate. Ruolan usually prepared warm water for her—but today’s delay had ruined that plan.
Ruolan considered warming it with her hands, but Jiang Congyan sighed, took the cup, and drank.
“I’m not so fragile that I can’t even drink cold water.”
The coolness eased her nausea.
In her previous life, she had been ill for twenty years—living cautiously every day. In this life, after ten years and careful recovery, her health had improved.
For once, she wanted to live freely.
To run, to ride horses, to laugh without restraint—to truly live.
“Don’t worry too much,” she said, holding Ruolan’s hand.
Ruolan looked down at her slender, pale hand—so fragile, yet no longer that of a helpless child.
“If only Her Ladyship could see you now…” she began, then fell silent in grief.
Years ago, Jiang Congyan’s mother had died in a tragic accident during childbirth.
Words were useless. Jiang Congyan simply held her hand tighter.
Near midnight, they reached a relay station to rest.
Along the way, they found a starving orphan by the roadside. Jiang Congyan ordered that he be fed some porridge to keep him alive.
Xizi asked, puzzled, “Before, when refugees begged for food, you refused. Why help this child?”
Ruolan explained, “If you feed one among a crowd, the rest will riot. But this child is alone—it’s safe to help.”
Kindness—so long as one first ensured their own safety.
Nearly ten days later, they finally reached Chang’an’s Xichang Gate.
The towering walls rose high, guards patrolling above, inspectors checking entrants below. Though Liang was declining, its capital still bustled with grandeur.
A long line had formed at the gate.
Just as Jiang Congyan’s carriage neared the entrance, a distant rumble broke the stillness.
Not thunder—hoofbeats.
She looked out.
Dust rose in the distance, banners flickering within it.
The sound grew louder—like a beast charging across the plains.
A cavalry force—over a hundred strong.
Then two riders surged ahead, shouting:
“The King of Mobei arrives—!”
“The King of Mobei arrives—!”
Tuoba Xiao.
As recorded in the Book of Liang:
“In the fifteenth year of Yong’an, in the second month of spring, the King of Mobei, Xiao, sent an envoy to Chang’an. Emperor Ping married Princess You’an to him, forging an alliance between the two states.”