Tomb of Sixteen Heroines
The wind in the south of the desert seemed to carry a flavor that had never been there before.
It was no longer the pure stench of sand and animal feces, but a mixture of the warm aroma of rice and a smell that made Ding Guinan's nose sour.
He squatted beside a makeshift earthen stove, holding a large coarse earthenware bowl in his hand. The bowl was filled with millet rice, and a spoonful of stew with oil on it was poured on top. The contents were invisible but it was covered with oil.
He buried almost his entire face in the bowl, picking up food with his chopsticks quickly, and chewing loudly and eagerly, like a starving wild dog guarding its food.
This was the first time in his life that he had a full meal.
The food was not good, the millet was rough and irritating to the throat, and the stew was salty and bitter, but they were hot, clean, and plentiful.
There was a big pot next to it, with turbid but steaming vegetable soup boiling in it. An old soldier from the Southern Dynasty with a tired face but calm eyes scooped him a full bowl of soup.
"Eat slowly, kid, no one's competing with you."
The old soldier looked at the way he ate and muttered something.
He spoke with an accent, and Ding Guinan couldn't understand everything he said, but he could understand the meaning.
He paused for a moment, secretly glanced up at the old soldier, and seeing that there was no usual mockery or disgust on his face, just a normal reminder, he lowered his head again, but involuntarily slowed down his pace.
He finished the second bowl, hesitated, and handed over the empty bowl with cautious pleading in his eyes.
The old soldier shook his head and pointed at his stomach: "No, I can't eat too much at once after being hungry for a long time, or my intestines will be damaged. There's more to eat at night."
Ding Guinan retracted his hand and did not insist.
But the old soldier gave him a bowl of hot soup to warm him up.
He held the bowl of hot soup and drank it in small sips. The scalding liquid warmed his throat all the way to his stomach, and then spread to his limbs.
He curled up in the corner, watching the Southern Dynasty soldiers coming and going, cleaning up the camp after the war. No one looked at him, no one kicked or beat him, and no one forced him to bark like a dog.
They just ignored him.
This kind of disregard was an unprecedented gift to him.
He no longer had to clean up greasy bones or empty smelly chamber pots, and no one even told him to do anything.
He was forgotten and allowed to stay quietly aside, digesting the food in his stomach and this overwhelming "freedom".
He felt uncomfortable all over and didn't know where to put his hands and feet. It was like an object that was used to being thrown around, and suddenly it was gently put down, but it was afraid that the next moment it would fall even harder.
This continued for the next two days.
There is food to eat, a place to sleep, and no one beats or scolds you.
Ding Guinan's fear didn't subside, but grew stronger day by day. He was like a frightened rabbit, shrinking his neck at the slightest noise.
It was not until the morning of the third day that he saw a group of soldiers begin to collect the bodies in the camp.
The bodies of the Han people and the Western Qiang people were piled separately. His eyes involuntarily followed the bodies of the Han female slaves, and finally stopped at one place.
They were laid side by side, sixteen of them, and covered with rags.
Several men who looked like military officers stood nearby with gloomy expressions. Someone brought in a slightly rough but huge bluestone, and it looked as if they were going to erect a monument for them.
Ding Guinan moved over, hid behind the crowd, and stretched his neck to look.
Erect a monument? For these people? A trace of confusion flashed through his muddy mind.
In the years he'd lived, the dead were just dead, dragged out like stray dogs and thrown away. Erecting a monument? That was something only the great could enjoy.
What were they? Slaves and playthings like him, could they even have a tombstone after their death?
But when he saw the Southern Dynasty soldiers who were called the Royal Army, they all had deep anger and solemnity on their faces. He didn't dare to ask, let alone speak, but just watched silently.
A burly general pointed at the corpses and asked his attendants in a deep voice, "They are all the beautiful daughters of our Southern Dynasty! Does anyone know their names? We can't let them become nameless ghosts!"
There was silence all around.
These women came from all over the world and were abducted here. Who can recognize each other?
The general's eyes swept over the corpses, and when he saw Song Yaoer, he paused.
Perhaps it was because of her relatively neat appearance, or perhaps it was because of her eyes that were still looking at the sky until her death.
"What about this? Does anyone recognize it?" Wang Mengzi pointed at her and asked.
Ding Guinan's heart skipped a beat. For some unknown reason, his lips trembled, and a voice as thin as a mosquito uttered from his throat: "Her name... is Song Yaoer."
All eyes instantly focused on this skinny and dirty boy.
Wang Mengzi looked at him, his eyes sharp as a torch: "Song Yao'er? Which character is "Yao"?"
Ding Guinan was stunned. He shook his head blankly and subconsciously hunched his shoulders: "No, I don't know... I can't read..."
Wang Mengzi frowned and pondered for a moment.
He was a rough and crude military commander, and he knew only a limited number of words.
Yao character...
Ning Lingyao suddenly flashed through his mind.
The name used by Ning Lingyi's sister, Her Royal Highness the Princess, is naturally a good word.
"In that case, let's use the character Yao!" Wang Mengzi waved his hand. "The princess deserves it!"
By accident, I wrote Song Yaoer's name correctly.
The stone tablet was erected with great difficulty.
Ding Guinan was illiterate. He only saw that the stone was thick and large, and there were many symbols engraved on it that he could not understand.
He heard a soldier beside him whisper, "Tomb of the Sixteen Heroines..."
Here are the names: Yang Jinying, Su Chuanyao, Yang Yuxiang, Xing Cuilian, Yao Shucui, Yang Cuiying, Guan Meixiu, Liu Miaolian, Chen Juhua, Xu Qiuhua, Deng Jinxiang, Zhang Chunjing, Huang Yulian, and Song Yaoer.*
Ding Guinan didn't understand what "heroic woman" meant, but he vaguely understood that this general and these royal teachers were not pitying them, but praising them?
Appreciate their deaths?
An extremely bold, even cunning idea came to his mind, activating his heart that was used to scheming for survival.
He leaped forward a few steps, rushed in front of Wang Mengzi, pointed at the stone tablet, and said hurriedly: "General! General! Song Yaoer's knife! It was...I gave it to her! It was me who gave her the knife!"
He wants to make a contribution.
He wanted to let those who gave him food and didn't beat or scold him know that he was useful and he wasn't eating for free!
He even fantasized that by saying this, he might be able to get an extra bowl of rice, or perhaps stay forever.
Wang Mengzi lowered his head and looked at the skinny boy, whose eyes were a mixture of smooth flattery and deep-seated fear.
His eyes, which had seen so many people and things, saw through Ding Guinan's lies almost instantly.
How could such a frightened child have the courage to take the initiative to plan the assassination?
But what he saw more were the crisscrossing wounds and new scars on the young man's body, and his emaciated appearance that barely resembled a human. The rage in his heart and the hatred he felt for the Western Qiang gave rise to a heavy sigh.
"Okay!" Wang Mengzi's voice sounded like thunder, and he grabbed Ding Guinan's arm with his hand like an iron clamp.
"You're a real man! Since you have such courage, I'll take you to seek revenge! You'll kill those Western Qiang dogs with your own hands!"
Before Ding Guinan could react, Wang Mengzi half-dragged and half-pulled him to the place where the Western Qiang captives were held.
As soon as he approached that area, a familiar fear instantly washed over him like ice water! The faces of those who had once ridden over him, scolded him, and insulted him wantonly, though now tied up and kneeling on the ground, the gazes they cast at him still made Ding Guinan's heart tremble.
He screamed and shrank back as if he was scalded, trying to hide himself.
"What are you afraid of!" Wang Mengzi roared, holding him tightly. "Look at them! Who is acting like a dog now?"
With a clang, Wang Mengzi drew his sword and stuffed it into Ding Guinan's hand: "Go! Kill them! Avenge your parents! Avenge Song Yaoer! Avenge yourself!"
The knife was very heavy, and the cold touch made Ding Guinan tremble all over.
He held the knife in both hands, shaking like a leaf in the wind.
He looked at the nearest Western Qiang captive, who was glaring at him with a mixture of fear and ferocity. Ding Guinan cried out, as if the knife had burned red, threw it to the ground, and turned to run.
"Waste!" Wang Mengzi was angry at him for not fighting back, so he grabbed him back, gripped his thin wrist with his big hand like an iron clamp, and forced him to pick up the knife again.
"Run? Where are you running to? Open your dog eyes and look!" Wang Mengzi's voice roared in his ears, making his eardrums buzz. "How did your parents die? Are you Han Chinese? If it weren't for these Western Qiang dogs, you would still be acting like a spoiled child in your mother's arms today. They made you into this horrible state! It's them!"
"Let me go! Let me go! I dare not... I dare not..." Ding Guinan burst into tears, struggled desperately, and almost suffocated with tears.
Wang Mengzi ignored his crying, grabbed his hand, gripped the knife tightly, and stabbed the held down Western Qiang captive fiercely!
"Puff!"
An extremely strange resistance came through the blade, and warm liquid splashed onto Ding Guinan's hands and face.
He suddenly widened his eyes, looking at the twisted and painful face of the Western Qiang man, looking at the knife that was stuck in his abdomen, and looking at his own hands that were tightly held by Wang Mengzi.
The next second, Wang Mengzi let go of his hand.
Ding Guinan stopped crying as if a ghost had grabbed his neck. He shook his hand away violently as if the knife was a poisonous snake, staggered back a few steps, then let out a sharp howl, turned around and ran for his life, stumbling all the way, falling down and getting up again to continue running, until he rushed back to the small tent, crawled into the moldy thin quilt, wrapped himself up in a ball, and shivered.
He is afraid.
Afraid of the blood, afraid of the dead man's eyes, afraid of Wang Mengzi, afraid of the Western Qiang captives, afraid of everything, he huddled in the darkness, crying silently, his body running hot and cold, and finally he fell asleep in extreme exhaustion and fear.
The next day, he was awakened by the smell of food.
Sunlight streamed through the cracks in the tent, and outside he could hear the calls of the Southern Dynasty soldiers training. Nothing had changed. No Western Qiang people rushed in to attack him.
He hesitated and moved to the stove, but still got two bowls of rice.
He ate in silence, his ears perked up.
He heard the soldiers next to him whispering:
"General Wang dealt with another batch of prisoners last night..."
"Alas, General, you really hate the Western Qiang people. I heard that they killed the soldiers you brought from your hometown..."
"Serves them right! These bastards deserve to be chopped into pieces!"
After Ding Guinan finished his meal, he somehow wandered to the far side of the prisoner camp.
It was quiet there, but the air was thick with the smell of blood, heavier than any other day.
He saw large dark brown marks on the ground and several soldiers carrying something out, wrapped in straw mats, and in a horrible shape.
He hid behind a tent and peeked over.
In the center of the prisoner camp, General Wang Mengzi stood with his sword in hand, like a god of death.
In front of him, those Western Qiang people who were once so arrogant and ferocious were now all kneeling on the ground, with their heads bowed deeply, and no one dared to look up at him.
Ding Guinan looked at this scene and the mountain-like figure.
Suddenly, the fear of yesterday seemed to subside a little.
He was still afraid, but he subconsciously straightened his always hunched back a little. Although it was only a tiny bit, it did straighten up a little.
Someone has his back, he thought.
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