A-Pan was sent into the tent of that nobleman from Wei Guo in the winter of the third year of Huai Wang’s reign.
That winter, Zhongshan Guo fell.
All the people of Zhongshan were taken captive—the men driven to Wei Jing as slaves to build the Great Wall, and the women captured and brought to Wei Ying, shackled in irons and forced to serve as Yingji.
Snow fell in thick layers across Wei Jing that winter, like a frozen cellar of ice and sky—truly cold.
A-Pan and Yun Jiang huddled together, shivering with the others as they awaited the Wei people’s judgment.
The Wei people were numerous.
By day, they saw squads of soldiers file into the tents seeking pleasure; by night, shadows upon shadows pressed into the tents of the prostitutes.
Snow pellets rattled against the tent flaps, and the pleas and wails of the daughters of Zhongshan rose and fell in turns, mingling with the laughter and curses of the Wei men—a clamor that struck terror into the heart and allowed no peace.
Amid this chaos, suddenly the sound of hurried footsteps arose, and then the tent flap was thrown open. Someone stepped through the snow into the tent, casting a rough glance over the daughters of Zhongshan by the faint candlelight.
The crowd cowered as if before a tiger, weeping and shrinking back, their shackles clashing together in a clamor of fear.
When there was no more room to retreat, they pressed outward against the tent cloth, their bodies bulging the fabric like trapped beasts in a sack—nowhere left to hide.
The newcomer narrowed his hawk-like eyes and sneered, “All of you, stand up! Let this Guan take a look!”
A-Pan’s heart pounded with terror; the shackles around her wrists and ankles, nearly frozen solid, grew ever more numbing, making her afraid to even move.
In her panic, someone covered her head—a tattered sleeve just barely shielding her face, pale from the cold.
It was Yun Jiang, her elder sister.
She could hear Yun Jiang’s rapid breathing and her pounding, erratic heart—Yun Jiang was just as afraid as she was.
The crowd kept their heads buried low; no one dared to rise.
Immediately, four or five Wei men stepped forward, drawing their great blades and raising them to strike. The crowd screamed and scrambled to their feet, crying out in unison, “Spare us, Commander! Spare us!”
That General Guan surveyed each of them in turn, then pointed at a woman with a fine figure and ordered, “Out!”
The woman dared not delay, shuffling forward in terror. The general seized her chin and demanded, “Is your body clean?”
The woman’s face went white with fright as she stammered, “This… this slave… this slave has a husband…”
General Guan scoffed in disgust, spat at her face, and said, “Drag her off to reward the troops!”
The woman looked as if struck by lightning, collapsing to the ground on the spot. Armored soldiers immediately seized her arms and dragged her out like a chicken.
Even after she was far beyond the tent flap, her heart-wrenching cries could still be heard: “This slave is clean! This slave is clean! Please, Commander, don’t give this slave to the troops! This slave will serve well! Commander! Commander…”
The crowd trembled in fear, holding their breath and keeping their heads low, not daring to utter another word.
General Guan laughed. “Daring to deceive this Guan—this is what you get! No need to be afraid. A nobleman has come and mistakenly drunk a cup of Luxue Jiu. He’s quite drunk now, so we’re looking for someone with a clean body and a good appearance to serve him. Serve him well, and if the nobleman is pleased, perhaps he’ll keep you. That would be a tremendous stroke of fortune!”
Indeed—compared to becoming a nobleman’s concubine or maidservant, who would willingly remain a Yingji, ridden by a thousand men?
The women exchanged glances, silently calculating. Soon, one stepped forward eagerly to offer herself: “Commander, look at this slave! This slave is pure! I was originally the niece of Zhongshan’s prime minister, and I have a fine face besides. The nobleman is sure to like me. Please, Commander, take this slave to see him!”
General Guan shook his head with a mocking laugh, pressing the hilt of his blade against her chest. “Too small.”
The women of Zhongshan, who had been trembling with fear moments before, now surged forward, thrusting out their chests in competition, crowding around him with eager self-recommendations: “Commander, look at me! This slave has the best figure!”
“You? Too short in the legs!”
“Commander! Commander, look at this slave! This slave has big breasts and long legs—best at serving men!”
“Waist thick as a bucket!”
Only Yun Jiang held A-Pan close, hiding behind the crowd, letting the others fight and scramble.
General Guan’s sharp gaze swept over them one by one, yet somehow none satisfied him. Finally, he pushed through the crowd to approach them directly and barked, “You two—raise your heads!”
The Wei blades glinted with a terrifying cold light in the candle’s glow. A-Pan’s scalp went numb; she clutched her chest and dared not open her eyes.
But the man’s scabbard pressed against her chin, forcing her head up.
Yun Jiang panicked and quickly stepped in front of her, pleading, “Commander, have mercy! My little sister is young and knows nothing—let this slave go serve the nobleman instead!”
The general held up a candle stand and carefully examined the two sisters. The scabbard traced from A-Pan’s chin down to her chest, then to her waist. At last, he laughed and gestured to the armored soldiers beside him. “Take the little one!”
A-Pan’s body went rigid; she barely dared to breathe.
Yun Jiang tried to block them again, but the general kicked her to the ground and snarled ferociously, “Get lost!”
The two armored guards acknowledged the order and immediately seized A-Pan by the arms, leading her out of the tent. A-Pan turned her head to look back and saw Yun Jiang, tears welling in her eyes, gazing at her with sorrow as she softly urged, “Little sister… do as the noble one says…”
A-Pan’s heart trembled with fear. She thought, yes, if she obeyed the noble one, perhaps she would suffer less.
Yun Jiang was two years older than her—listening to her couldn’t be wrong.
Outside, the wind was fierce and the snow heavy, but the camp’s torches still burned bright enough. All around, the desperate wails of the Zhongshan women echoed, their shackles sinking into the snow, dragging their steps until they could barely move.
Under the guards’ escort, A-Pan stumbled forward, one step deep, one step shallow, winding this way and that for what felt like an eternity, until the violent curses and helpless pleas gradually fell away behind her.
First, she was brought to a small tent, stripped bare, and thrown into water to be scrubbed clean. After changing into fresh robes, she barely had a moment to catch her breath before being led toward the main tent.
Before she reached it, her eyes were blindfolded—a thick silk band tied tightly at the back of her head.
That General Guan warned her, “Keep it on, and don’t you dare remove it. If you so much as peek at the noble one’s face, your eyes will be gouged out! Do you hear me?”
She answered in a low voice, “This slave hears you clearly.”
Darkness fell before her eyes, and suddenly she could see nothing at all.
She only knew that she was inspected thoroughly, from head to toe, and only after they confirmed she carried no suspicious blades was she allowed into the tent.
What blades would she have? She and Yun Jiang had been fleeing for so long that they were too poor to even cover their bodies properly—how could they have spare coin to buy weapons?
The only thing she had was a small broken piece of jade hanging from her neck—their sole possession of any worth.
Blindfolded, she couldn’t see the path, but General Guan, in a rare show of mercy, allowed A-Pan to hold onto his scabbard as she entered the tent.
Outside, clouds churned and snow flew, bitter and freezing. But inside the tent, it was warm and bright like spring—truly cozy.
The charcoal in the brazier blazed fiercely, crackling and popping, shutting out the endless wind and snow and the chaos of war. Even her body, frozen for days, finally began to thaw and relax.
The person on the couch breathed heavily, the scent of strong liquor underlaid by a crisp, cold fragrance of snow-covered pine.
A-Pan didn’t know what kind of person this noble one truly was. She stood before the couch, her heart rising and falling like war drums pounding, her hands clenched inside her sleeves, twisting and wringing until they were a tangled mess.
Then the noble one spoke, simple and direct: “Take it off.”
The voice was low and cold, already scorched hoarse by the fierce wine.
Yet it sounded like the most ordinary thing in the world.