Chapter 12

Li He maintained this posture, forced to accept the outcome that he couldn't convince himself of. Moonlight still shone across the village, the eaves, and the mounds of earth he could see when he looked up. He only knew that the person lying there would never wake up again, that he would never see a living person in this village again, and that the lump in his chest would never disappear.

He felt a deep fear on the full-moon night. The wind in Longxi was so cold that his flesh and blood would freeze into thick ice, mute the sound of its movement. The peace and tranquility of victory were all a false veil, covering up the joy and joy of every person who died in the wilderness, covering up the excruciating pain of their wounds, covering up their fear. Those on the battlefield died by the sword, and the people and families they cared about were also destroyed by the same sword.

Li He wondered, why must war be fought? Without war, there wouldn't be such frequent and harsh grain taxes. Without war, his father wouldn't have gone away and never returned. Without war, he wouldn't have to endure the silent pain and the bloody separation between life and death. At this point, he couldn't go back. He couldn't imagine what his life would have been like if he hadn't fought the Hu people. These fantasies were so far away from him that he couldn't even grasp them in his dreams.

He held out his hand, the flickering firelight illuminating his grimy palm. Li He's gaze rested on it, savoring the fear and uncertainty this night had brought him. He needed to face this fear, to live with it from now on, day and night without rest. He clenched his fist, as if still digging at the soil in the pit, as if still kneeling there, using his last bit of strength to bury the last person connected to him.

But he truly couldn't catch anything. The dark red smell of blood attracted passing birds and beasts, who devoured the dead. The birds and beasts seemed innocent, desperately searching for edible carrion to survive. The sands of Longxi buried countless dead, and aside from the household registers that counted them, no one would remember them anymore. Even he, if he ever walked through those wastelands again, might not remember whether they had won or lost the battles there, or when they were buried.

Terrified by this fear, he trembled all over. He felt worse than the birds and beasts struggling for food. At least they could distinguish between hunger and pain, at least they toiled for their own sake, and at least they wouldn't die by the sword. But the swords they used to kill were made by themselves, and it was difficult for him to let go of the hand holding the sword or knife. He shook his head, trying to free himself from this thought.

Life and death are determined by fate, this is what they often say. What is this heaven? Is it the cloudy or sunny sky above their heads? Is it the full or crescent moon hanging high above their heads? Is it the bright or dark days that weigh on them? Yes, yes, he stopped, looking up blankly at the full moon shining on him, the sky that would darken and he would never be able to touch it again. He had found it, he had saved himself. It was fate, it was all fate.

It was fate. The victory without reason was due to fate, the night attack and defeat by the Hu people were due to fate, the death of the old man and the youngest son were due to fate, and his own survival was also due to fate. Their deaths were due to their fate, and the death of the Hu people was due to the fate of the Hu people. If one day, the sky above their heads collapses and kills all the people living under such a sky, it is also due to fate.

He subconsciously reached for the knife discarded at his feet, his fingertips tracing from the handle to the tip of the blade. The newly gushing blood flowed, and he smeared it on the ground, where the gravel scratched it painfully. He repeated the facts he had just thought of, the lives of so many people, and then closed his eyes, telling himself that his own life was no different.

In his own destiny, the time for his death has not come yet, but it should not be too far away, not so far away that he has forgotten what convinced him that it is fate. Because in his destiny, his father and mother died early, his uncle and youngest son have also died, who will be the next one?

He tasted the bitterness of life and the pain of death, and finally came to his senses. He was living his own life and his own destiny.

Li He lay down, his back pressed against the sand. He attributed the immense fear he faced to his fate, and told himself that if he hadn't died by the sword, it meant fate had told him to keep going. He would keep going, toward Yumen, to places he had never been before, to continue fighting, winning or losing, until he could finally rest.

He didn't know how far into his death fate had destined him. He truly resented himself and the fate he had to accept. Yet, he felt he should be the first to resent it, because the fate he accepted explained everything he was experiencing, the peace he couldn't understand and the fear he couldn't escape. He had to have deep faith in his fate and everything it had destined for him, whether in the past, present, or future.

He finally fell asleep, or rather, fainted from exhaustion. He ignored the pain of his wounds, the coldness of the ground, and Jiang Er, who was still beside him. Just like that, under the full moon, he fell asleep, fainted. Fortunately, he wouldn't dream anymore, and in the darkness of sleep, he could temporarily escape from all the fatigue, all the worries, and all the fate he had accepted. When he woke up again, he would walk towards the tomorrow that fate had arranged for him.

Li He awoke, awoken by the pain all over his body, by the cold wind blowing against him, by what he considered his fate. He rose and drank the soup Jiang Er had prepared, temporarily dissolving the blockage in his chest, melting it into his flesh and blood. He maintained his old silence, and returned to it. He sorted the herbs in the room, giving Jiang Er the ones he could apply to the wound. He rewrapped the rest in the same small piece of linen cloth and stuffed it into his arms.

He thought blithely, thank goodness Jiang Er hadn't said anything, just doing everything in silence. He knelt before the mound, leaned over, and also rang out three times, bidding farewell to the one who had killed him. Li He picked up his crutches and tightened his tattered armor. As before, he supported Jiang Er, "Let's go to Yumen, Brother Jiang." He spoke the first words in days, the first words squeezed out of his aching and bleeding throat.

Jiang Er nodded, put his arm around Li He's shoulder, and pointed the way to Yumen, maintaining the silence Li He desired. Li He followed the direction he pointed, or perhaps it was destiny that pointed them out, and walked forward step by step. Their footprints were left on the frost of the ground, the rising sun shone down on them, and the wind blew past them, blowing the boulders like a wailing sound, echoing across the wasteland of Longxi.

They emerged from the village, passing the dead throughout, only to walk even more silently, towards their destination. They climbed a new mountain, supporting each other, never mentioning the fatigue or the growing pains of their wounds. They spent another night, watching the moon from the top of the mountain gradually wax and wane, until it was finally obscured by the thick winter clouds. Without moonlight, they lay there, drifting off into a deep sleep in the winter night. Such cold wouldn't kill them, but such pain would only wake them up after a few hours.

They woke up in the morning, brushed off the frost on their armor with their hands, picked up their walking sticks again, and walked down from the top of the mountain. When they reached the foot of the mountain, they used broken flints to build a fire and burned dried herbs and nearby weeds to fill their stomachs. They slept at the foot of the mountain again. Tonight's moon was even more crescent, with a more broken corner.

Li He felt better. He woke up earlier than usual and chewed some herbs to apply to the small wounds on his body. He didn't seem to have been seriously injured in the defeat.

The wound on his shoulder had scabbed over again, and the itchy new flesh that had grown made it difficult for him to sleep. He threw away his crutches and, supporting Jiang Er, continued walking west. He had heard Jiang Er say that the Hu people's cavalry only needed two days and two nights to reach his home from Yumen. As for the two of them, they could cross this mountain and walk for another day and night to reach Yumen.

This was their first conversation, breaking the silence. Afterward, Jiang Er gradually began to talk more, slowly returning to the feeling of talking to Li He before. They knew each other's concerns about things they shouldn't mention to others, and also about problems they couldn't solve from others. They comforted each other, avoiding the important issues and supporting each other as they walked across the weed-covered plateau.

The grass on the wasteland was tall enough for a person to walk on, and the dead lying there were almost only jagged bones left. They avoided the roads that might approach the dead, walked in the opposite direction of the sun during the day, and walked westward at night following the stars. Until they saw people preparing to go to Yumen to do business in the city.

Li He sat aside, waiting for Jiang Er to go talk to those people and ask for directions. He unwrapped the dried herbs wrapped in the linen cloth, folded them neatly again, and stuffed them back into his arms. It was the only thing they had left, and it was also the only thing Li He had that could prove that he had such a past.

Li He followed Jiang Er, following the directions he had inquired about, heading for Yumen. They sat down to rest under a dead tree, wiping their armor and the scimitars at their waists with weeds. Li He looked up and saw towering, continuous mountains in the distance, and a city that seemed not far away. It was a place he had never been before, a place he would soon reach, a place destined to take him.