Chapter 2698: The Capital (Part 54)
Leng Ningyun existed in perpetual twilight within the room, unable to distinguish sun from moon, having lost all sense of time. The shutters outside the windows had been fully lowered, and an additional layer of black cloth hung on the inside. A lamp burned constantly, its steady flame his only marker of the passing hours—though even that proved useless for tracking time.
When exhaustion overtook him, he would extinguish the oil lamp to sleep. Upon waking, he always found it lit again, the wick trimmed low.
Three meals arrived each day, delivered by someone through a doorway veiled with double curtains, inside and out. No light penetrated from beyond, and he could see nothing of the world outside.
Apart from this isolation, his kidnappers treated him remarkably well. The three daily meals were refined and delicious, and the room was stocked with "Australian books" published by the Wanbi Bookshop. Fresh clothes arrived daily, and two maids attended him personally—serving tea, pouring water, helping him wash and dress. They played chess or cards with him, sang songs, or played the qin. If he showed any restless urges, they were available to serve in bed as well.
Leng Ningyun had grown accustomed to living like a grand master at Delong, but being attended to with such meticulous care while kidnapped was a first. He truly didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Fortunately, his background in finance had exposed him to all manner of strange situations.
The other party appeared to be a transmigrator as well. Presumably, they wouldn't be excessively cruel. They had kidnapped him to negotiate peace; at least for a while, his life shouldn't be in danger.
Given the Senate's ethos, a Senator's life was paramount. Whether through diplomacy or force of arms, he believed that once they received his letter, arrangements would be made swiftly.
Thus, he ate and slept well. Since he couldn't go anywhere, he could only do "prisoner fitness" exercises in the room, or perhaps engage in some "two-person combat."
One day—he couldn't say when—someone entered and bowed. "Please, Master, we are moving you to a new location." Others followed and bound his hands and feet with ropes—not tightly, just enough to restrict his movement. A gag was placed in his mouth, and finally, a black cloth hood was pulled over his head.
In this darkness, he let others lead him by the hand, taking small, shuffling steps. Someone ahead guided him to lift his feet over thresholds and down steps. Suddenly, cool air touched his skin and a slight breeze blew past—he was likely outdoors.
"Please enter the sedan chair, Master." Someone guided him into a sedan. Shortly after, he heard a low voice command: "Lift the sedan!"
The sedan rose and swayed along the journey. Outside, all was quiet; occasionally, a cat yowled or a dog barked, but there was no sound of the night watchman's clapper. They were likely passing through a desolate village. As time passed, the sedan began to pitch and heave, and he caught the occasional low warning calls of the bearers. The wind outside grew stronger, and the air carried the raw, green scent of vegetation.
Have we entered the mountains? Leng Ningyun wondered. The air also bore a faint smell of rotting aquatic plants, suggesting the presence of lakes or rivers nearby.
After an unknowable stretch of time, just as drowsiness began to overtake him, the sedan stopped. Someone helped him out, and once again he entered a building, ascending steps into a room where his restraints were removed.
The hood came off. Leng Ningyun opened his eyes, but the flickering lamplight stung them. He closed them again, waiting a moment before reopening them to adjust to the dimness.
Though the furnishings differed from the previous room, all the necessary furniture and items were present. However, everything here was rougher and simpler, and the beams and pillars lacked decoration. The ceiling hung significantly lower as well. Simple though it was, the structure was still built of brick and tile, resembling the home of a well-off rural landlord.
The windows, as before, were tightly sealed. Outside, dead silence reigned.
He estimated he had ridden in the sedan for about two hours—one shichen—so he couldn't be too far from the original location. He had heard almost no pedestrians along the way; he was likely in some remote corner of the countryside.
A square table stood before him, upon which sat an Australian oil lamp. In front of the lamp rested a bowl of medicinal soup, its curling steam looking hazy and blurred in the halo of light.
Leng Ningyun stretched his neck. Turning his head slightly, his gaze caught a long sword leaning against a chair to the side.
Immediately, a voice sounded from behind him: "Do not turn around." The voice was gentle and warm, yet impossible to identify as belonging to a man or a woman.
Leng Ningyun's neck stiffened instantly. "Yes," he replied.
The voice spoke again: "You have had a hard journey, Sir."
Leng Ningyun said nothing, listening in silence.
The voice continued: "Blocking your view today is only to allow you some ease of mind. Mr. Leng, you are accustomed to a life of luxury and possess a delicate constitution. Now that you find yourself in adversity, I fear anxiety might seize your heart and the hardships of travel might prove unbearable. You are a man of consequence, Mr. Leng; you must not die. Before you is a soup to calm the spirit, dispel internal heat, and replenish qi. Please drink it."
Leng Ningyun obediently picked up the bowl from the table and took a sip. The bitterness made him frown.
The voice went on: "Mr. Leng, in a moment, your two maids will come to attend you—washing your feet, seeing to the chamber pot, bringing tea and food. If you hear a knock at the door, please sit facing the wall and do not look at whoever enters. As long as you follow these arrangements without struggle or trouble, you will remain safe."
"I will follow your instructions, brave hero," Leng Ningyun said.
The voice fell silent for a moment, then spoke again, unexpectedly: "I have read the Australians' books. They are very good—theories for saving the world."
Leng Ningyun's heart skipped a beat. He let out a soft "Oh?"
The person spoke no more. A hand reached past Leng Ningyun and took the long sword leaning against the chair.
From the corner of his eye, Leng Ningyun glimpsed the hand grasping the sword. It was very pale, with a lustrous sheen.
The door behind him closed with a thud.
Leng Ningyun gazed around the dim room. His thoughts drifted to that sword.
Since the Song Dynasty, the long sword had lost its utility as a weapon of war, supplanted by the dao, and had gradually withdrawn from the battlefield to become a decorative plaything for literati or a ritual implement for nobles and generals to display status. Some Ming officials and officers even wore wooden swords merely for appearances.
But that sword was different. It was very long, with a scabbard of red sharkskin over wood. The hilt was hand-and-a-half in length, allowing for either a single or double-handed grip. The guard was carved with scrolling flowers, and the pommel had a hole threaded with a dark red wrist-retention cord. The wrapping on the hilt bore a faint crimson hue—the color of blood-soaked leather—proclaiming it a sword meant for killing.
Leng Ningyun sat in blank contemplation. Among all the martial artists he had seen—whether Ming soldiers, escort masters, or gallants of the jianghu—no one used a jian in actual combat. That was why the sword had left such a deep impression on him.
That sword was red. Red enough to catch the eye, red enough to pierce the heart. Red like an open wound.
Two sturdy mules pulled a large cart, rumbling along the main road. The cargo wasn't piled high, but the wheels crushed deep into the unpaved surface, leaving profound ruts that betrayed a heavy load.
Old Feng, bundled in thick cotton clothes, sat slumped on the mule cart, driving.
He seemed a bit listless, but unlike the man, his whip was exceptionally spirited. The handle was of jujube wood, and where it joined the tanned leather lash, a tuft of fluffy red tassels hung as decoration. At every ditch or bump, Old Feng would give a seemingly casual flick of his wrist, and the lash tip would crack opportunely over the mules' heads, startling them into exerting extra force. One crack of the whip added three thousand pounds of strength. Only the finest teamsters possessed such composure and languor.
A dozen or so fellows in motley attire walked slowly alongside the cart.
Liao Sanniang, Zhao Liangjian, and Liu Chang each rode a horse of miscellaneous breeding. The three spread out in a line, guarding the head and tail of the cart. Little Bazi rode a donkey, trailing behind Liao Sanniang.
Liao Sanniang had been out of the city for some time now. The two empty carts used as decoys had already returned, and she had circled a few times to ensure no one was following before linking up with the silver cart and heading toward the estate beyond the city walls.
When leaving the city, several constables and helpers from the Shuntian Prefecture guarding various checkpoints had seen them. They had likely reported to Judge Liu by now, but the judge had secretly given word that they could "act as they saw fit." As long as they didn't fight or kill within the city or cause a major commotion, the Shuntian Prefecture would pretend not to notice.
Liao Sanniang reined in her horse, pulled out a handkerchief to dab the sweat from her forehead, and glanced back out of the corner of her eye. Seeing Little Bazi following behind with a heavy heart, she couldn't help but find it strange. "You monkey," she asked, "usually you never have a quiet moment. What's wrong today? Did you catch a chill?"
Little Bazi squeezed his donkey's flanks, catching up to stop alongside her. He hemmed and hawed for a while before suddenly looking up and shouting, "Lady Sanniang, I sincerely wish to acknowledge you as my adoptive mother! I implore you to agree!"
Liao Sanniang started, then laughed. "How old am I? How could I take in such a grown son? It would only set people gossiping."
Old Feng glanced over, a half-smile playing on his face.
Little Bazi hesitated for a moment, then suddenly rolled off his donkey. On the dirt ground, he banged his head three times in loud kowtows, shouting, "Since entering the Bureau, I have been indebted to Lady Sanniang's care and patronage. My gratitude runs deep. My family is poor and my life cheap; I have nothing with which to repay you. I can only offer this rascal body. Whenever there is fighting or killing, I will be my Adoptive Mother's vanguard, charging through forests of swords and spears. I will die without regret! Please, Lady Sanniang, grant my wish!"
Liao Sanniang pulled lightly on the reins. The horse beneath her tilted its head, gave a loud snort, and stood still, its front hooves pawing the ground restlessly.
Little Bazi peered at Liao Sanniang from the corner of his eye. Against the light, he could only make out a dark silhouette, unable to read her expression.
The figure on horseback remained silent for a long time. Little Bazi's heart sank; things were going poorly, and his wish today might not be fulfilled.
Drops of sweat the size of beans rolled down Little Bazi's cheeks into the dust. A trace of regret crept through him—he shouldn't have been so hasty. Although Liao Sanniang was heroic, she was still a woman, and her skin likely wasn't as thick as a man's. He should have asked someone else to mediate calmly first; it would have been easier to speak openly once both sides had been sounded out. Acting so recklessly today was akin to forcing Liao Sanniang into a corner. If she rejected him, there would be no room to salvage matters.
Suddenly, a raspy laugh sounded by his ear. "You mischievous monkey," Liao Sanniang said. "I'll take you in. But my eyes are sharp, my hand is hard, and I have many rules. I don't tolerate sand in my eyes, and I don't forgive mistakes. Can you endure a beating?"
Little Bazi was overjoyed. He scrambled to his feet. "Thank you, Adoptive Mother, for granting my wish! My skin is rough and my flesh is thick—I can take scolding, and I can take beatings!"
"Get up," Liao Sanniang said. "Although you are my adopted son, you must still send a formal card and hold a banquet when we return, to be properly counted as having entered my Liao family's door."
(End of Chapter)