Metaphysics’ Public Enemy 75

Chapter 75:

Jiang Henian (Part 5):

Yu Lin, a Fool Drunk on Love…

The Jiang army camped on the plains ten miles from Yaque Fort, their red banners with golden dragons fluttering in the wind, a sea of red amidst the swirling dust, the horses’ hooves pounding the earth in unison.

The nights were like deep winter, the Beimu barbarians favoring night raids, cunning and ferocious wolves, their horsemanship honed on the grasslands, a thorn in the Jiang Dynasty’s side. For lasting peace, their power had to be broken, their cavalry defeated. On the cold, open plains, facing the wolves of the north, the Jiang soldiers would drink two bowls of wine before drawing their swords.

Jiang Wan had learned to drink, the battlefield no place for a princess, no room for delicate sensibilities. She embraced their rough ways, earning their respect with her skill and courage, her sword, the Hegemon Sword, a blur of motion, her battle cries as loud as any man’s, her presence a force to be reckoned with. The chaos of battle, the deafening roar of the clashing armies, the swirling dust and sand, the fear and the adrenaline, a heady mix.

She had seen death firsthand, the blades piercing flesh, her comrades falling, the fear and the hatred fueling her rage, her body a vessel for its power, her hand steady as she swung her sword, the stench of blood and death no longer a deterrent.

She had been injured, a deep gash on her arm, the pain a sharp reminder of her mortality, but it only fueled her determination.

After the first battle, she sat by the fire, bandaging her wound, the dirt beneath her a silent witness. Yu Lin offered her a flask of wine, sitting beside her, his voice quiet. “Are you afraid?”

“Afraid? Only when I’m sitting here, alone, the memories flooding back,” she replied. “On the battlefield, there’s no time for fear, only rage.”

“You’re injured too.” She tossed him two small jars. “Healing balm and wound medicine, from the East Palace. Keep them, I know you write to Brother every month, and he’ll worry if he knows you’re hurt.”

“And you don’t need to assign guards to protect me. I don’t want anyone dying for me. If I die, Brother will grieve, but he’ll also be proud.” She smiled. “As long as I earn enough merit, my name recorded in history, what does it matter if I die on the battlefield? You’re skilled, but I’ll catch up to you someday.”

Princess Zhaoping, a woman of the court, yet a fierce warrior on the battlefield, her voice as loud as any man’s, her presence a force to be reckoned with. Some were born for battle, the dance of life and death, the thrill of combat, their swords their truest companions.

They had won, many times, even against overwhelming odds, the Beimu’s casualties always greater than theirs.

Rain was rare in the border regions, a welcome respite, the mud slowing the horses, forcing a temporary truce.

Yu Lin, his strategy planned, addressed his troops. “All those who can read, regardless of rank, remain behind.”

Many entered the tent, a mix of veterans and new recruits, their gazes fixed on their commander, his hand gripping his sword, his eyes sharp, his fingers playing with the sword tassel.

Few under his command were both literate and skilled in combat. He looked at the unfamiliar faces, his voice calm and steady. “I have a question. Whoever gives me a satisfactory answer will receive half a sheep.”

Lamb was more valuable than gold here.

“Ask your question, General!” The soldiers, their mouths watering at the thought of roasted meat, their eagerness evident, waited for his words.

“My lord’s birthday is approaching, what should I write in my letter?”

“My lord?”

The words were a subtle clue, his loyalty to the Crown Prince well-known, no other “lord” worthy of his attention.

“Is the general trying to flatter the Crown Prince?”

Yu Lin glared at the outspoken soldier, his displeasure evident.

“Nonsense! This is a serious matter! If you have nothing intelligent to say, get out!” His sharp rebuke silenced them, their expressions turning serious.

“What exactly do you want to express, General?” someone asked.

Yu Lin exhaled slowly, his brow furrowed, the words in his mind clear, but his vocabulary limited.

“Sincere, unique,” he said.

“And… touching.”

“…”

He hadn’t read many books, his literacy limited to military commands, his vague description met with silence, the soldiers, their faces weathered and scarred, their expressions troubled. This was more difficult than fighting a battle.

Two hours later, they emerged from the tent, their faces grim.

Half a month later, the East Palace received a letter, arriving on the prince’s birthday, a simple affair due to the ongoing war.

Jiang Henian opened the letter, his eyes scanning the single line written in Yu Lin’s hand:

May your wishes be fulfilled, and peace prevail.

He looked at the barren tree in the courtyard, the moon bright in the autumn sky.

In the twenty-seventh year of Jiang Wuwen’s reign, the King’s health declined, the war against the Beimu nearing its end, and Crown Prince Jiang Henian traveled to the border to boost morale.

To secure the throne, one needed the support of the military and the people. He knew his father’s intentions. As his carriage reached Yaque Fort, Yu Lin’s men were there to greet him.

He wore simple white robes, his arrival understated. He hadn’t seen the entire army, twenty thousand strong, only the soldiers from the Chongwu Battalion, gathered here to meet him.

“You are the true masters of this battlefield, there’s no need to bow before me,” he said, his voice carrying through the ranks.

“I’m here to honor the fallen, to bring their spirits home.”

Due to the urgency of the war, the bodies of the fallen soldiers hadn’t been returned to their families, buried hastily in the desert sand, simple wooden markers their only memorials, like barren branches in a desolate landscape.

He stood before them, a solitary figure in white, his posture straight and unwavering, his gaze not cold, but filled with compassion, the setting sun casting a golden glow on the sand, his presence like a silent bell, a distant echo of the palace’s elegance.

He had never been to the battlefield before, the reports and dispatches not conveying the true horrors of war.

He looked down, seeing the discarded arrows, the bloodstains on the sand, knowing the desert would eventually reclaim it all.

He saw the spirits of the fallen.

Their bodies wounded, riddled with arrows, some missing limbs, their blood staining the sand, some headless, their ghostly forms clinging to the wooden markers, silent and still.

He looked at them, standing between life and death, between the mortal world and the underworld.

He sighed, scattering a handful of earth.

He couldn’t bring their bodies home, so he had brought earth from the capital, mixing it with the desert sand, the wind carrying it to their graves.

“Soldiers of the Jiang Dynasty, you are home,” he said, his voice echoing through the silent ranks.

Tears flowed freely, the soldiers’ grief and longing for home a shared burden.

Yu Lin would always remember this moment, the prince’s tall, elegant figure, his face calm and serene, his compassion evident. Did celestial beings weep for mortals? He didn’t know.

But he saw the god before him, his grief a silent prayer.

The prince sat on the ground, the soldiers still in their armor, the cold, heavy metal a familiar weight, the warmth of the fire and the shared bowl of wine a welcome comfort after a long and arduous campaign.

Jiang Henian, aware of his presence, its formality a barrier, raised his bowl, offering a toast to the soldiers, his face flushed from the wine, then retreated to his tent.

Jiang Wan, drunk, her face wet with tears, fell asleep, her head resting on his lap.

Yu Lin had her carried to her tent.

He never knew what to say, and now, alone with Jiang Henian, he said, “The princess has suffered a great deal.”

“And you?” Jiang Henian asked, his gaze not intimidating, but comforting. “Xiao Wan tells me everything, good and bad. Why don’t you?”

His concern silenced Yu Lin, his usual confidence faltering.

“I’m not afraid of hardship,” he said.

Jiang Henian smiled. “Truly fearless?”

“I’m not a saint, of course I have fears,” Yu Lin replied.

“What do you fear?”

Yu Lin gripped his wine bowl, drinking deeply, the strong liquor burning his throat.

To confess his feelings would only bring rejection.

He would wait, until the prince ascended the throne, the kingdom secure, an heir born, his duty fulfilled, his fears replaced by regret.

He might confess then, or he might not.

“I only fear unfulfilled desires,” he wiped his mouth, his breath warm against his hand. “I have three wishes.”

“First, peace for the kingdom, prosperity for the Jiang Dynasty.”

“Second, health and happiness for Master, a life free from worries.”

“Third, a peaceful return home.”

He smiled self-deprecatingly, avoiding Jiang Henian’s gaze. “Master, you must be tired from your journey, you should rest. I’ll take my leave.”

“This is your tent, where are you going?” Jiang Henian’s voice was soft, but his words clear. “If you don’t mind my company, we can share this bed.”

“We’ve been master and servant for years, yet we rarely speak from the heart. Isn’t tonight a good opportunity?”

“As Master wishes,” Yu Lin replied, his head lowered, his breath catching in his throat, his surprise and joy a heady mix, the wine, stronger than he had realized, warming his blood, his face flushed, his mind giddy, a foolish smile on his lips.

He answered Jiang Henian’s questions, his words clumsy and hesitant, until the fire outside died down, the voices fading, and they finally retired for the night.

Jiang Henian removed his outer robe, Yu Lin his armor, and they lay down on the bed.

Jiang Henian lay on his side, his long hair spilling across the pillow, his neck, exposed, like a delicate white lotus root, a sight Yu Lin carefully etched in his memory, their proximity a forbidden intimacy, grateful that Jiang Henian didn’t turn, allowing him to savor this moment in secret.

He couldn’t sleep, his eyes fixed on Jiang Henian’s face, until his breathing evened out, the night deepening, his heart pounding, his desire overwhelming him.

He was so close, he could smell the clean scent of his skin, hear the soft rhythm of his breath. He leaned closer, his hand clenching into a fist, his body tense.

He held his breath, not wanting to disturb him, his touch lighter than a feather, his lips brushing against the back of Jiang Henian’s neck, then quickly retracting.

A kiss.

A silent confession.

His lips trembled, his desire a painful ache, a forbidden longing.

He wasn’t a homosexual, he didn’t love men, he loved a person, and that person happened to be a man.

But he didn’t know that Jiang Henian had been awake all along.

His eyelashes had fluttered at Yu Lin’s touch, his eyes still closed, his senses heightened, the brief contact, the warmth of Yu Lin’s breath against his skin, a startling intimacy.

Yu Lin, a fool drunk on love, and he, a fool pretending to sleep.

The wind howled outside, the cold air unable to extinguish the fire in their hearts, a night of shared secrets, a silent understanding. What harm could a little indulgence bring?