Chapter 9
Li He endured the pain in his shoulder as the raindrops fell from the edge of the boulder, dripping—a sound that echoed in their silence. The heavy gasps of those who had fled in panic were slowly replaced by the sound of steady breathing. He thought about their current situation and tried to sort out this night full of anxiety.
The Hu people probably attacked the main tent first, so the horn sounded only for a moment before it died down. A surprise attack at night like this is the most difficult to defend against. Or perhaps their journey back was so smooth that they didn't expect that there might be remnants of the Hu people lying in ambush at any time.
Li He wrung out the dripping hem of his shirt. The wind wasn't as sharp as before. He continued to think, the sand pit in his dream seemed like a premonition, a foreshadowing of everything that would happen again. The fire tonight was burning fiercely, consuming the tent curtains. The thick smoke made it impossible to see each other, and it also burned those who couldn't escape in time, mixing them into screams.
He couldn't figure out where the barbarians had attacked them, and he could only replay the scene he had witnessed. The tents, engulfed in flames, collapsed with a crashing thud, and only scattered shouts reminded them of what had happened. Then came endless chaos and casualties. He didn't let up, subconsciously tightening his grip on his scimitar and continuing his defense, even though the barbarians wouldn't care about the few remaining deserters.
He seemed to be trapped in the crowd. As long as he was alive, he had to guard against the swords and knives stabbing from behind and in the chest, and he had to hold his weapon tightly and swing at people continuously. It was as if he was still at the bottom of the sand pit. The only choice was to climb up, even if there would never be a chance to climb up.
The timely downpour washed away all traces of fresh blood, leaving only his own broken wounds and fresh cuts. Li He shrank back to avoid the dripping water splashing into his eyes. The sounds lingered in his ears: the screams of those burning in the fire, the wails of those who died with their eyes wide open, the scattered cries, and the sound of blood flowing like a river. It seemed like just his own imagination, but it was a feeling he could never shake.
This feeling was real, replacing the false peace and etched deeply into his mind. It was also a feeling he had gradually forgotten over the past six months, only now awakening and accepting it again. This feeling wasn't simply a sense of defeat; it was always difficult for them to win a battle. It was a silent acceptance, like accepting the annually increasing taxes, an acceptance that he would become part of the wasteland, that at any moment he could lie down and never wake up again.
This wasn't just a feeling of defeat, Li He thought, letting the rain wash the mud and blood from his hands. He accepted this familiar feeling. They hadn't made any preparations for the battlefield, merely fulfilling their duties as part of the tax collection, or perhaps, a sacrificial mission. This was a fate they couldn't resist. As long as they lived, they had to obey the government's orders. He wondered where this order came from. Did it come from the distant city of Chang'an? Did it come from a decree from the emperor in that position?
He couldn't wrap his mind around it. He could only think over and over again of tonight and countless other battles not unlike this one. The dead lay there, most of them destined to die under such swords. Whether Han or Hu. After death, their blood would blend together. He couldn't understand why there was always this constant battle to be fought. He simply had to keep going, east or west.
Li He shuddered, pulling his armor around himself to ward off the cold. He felt as if he were still trapped at the bottom of that pit, on this battlefield. From now on, he could only rely on this feeling, the only feeling he gained on the battlefield that would last and intensify. Those who couldn't escape would lie on the wasteland, clearly feeling the blood drain from their bodies, then look up at the dark sky, never wanting to close their eyes. Those who escaped were like him, consciously accepting this feeling and constantly anticipating the day when they would be unable to escape, perhaps in the next moment, or perhaps in a day far, far away. The road home was too long. Could anyone make it all the way to the end?
Every night after that, he would struggle to sleep soundly. He had to remain vigilant, prepared for any possible attacks or emergencies. Sleepless nights were often filled with dreams, as his eyes would memorize every scene he'd seen, replaying them endlessly in his dreams. Li He figured it would be hard for him to dream of that bottomless bunker again, but he'd be trapped in these recurring dreams, worried about becoming the person lying on the ground, and worried about staying alive, bearing the cost of survival, and enduring the pain and suffering of every battle.
The day would come when he would no longer be able to wield a sword. His tattered armor would be pierced by the swords of the barbarians, and blood would flow from the holes in his body to the ground, dripping like a silent rain. Li He closed his eyes and leaned against the stone wall. He couldn't think about it anymore. This feeling that could make him indulge in it would really become the river that drowned him.
He found a new outlet for his fear and worry. If he were more careful, didn't sleep so deeply at night, and never relaxed his grip on the knife, he could escape from the sea of blood and corpses again and again. No matter how far he went, there would always be a way out. The war would eventually end. As long as no one could stand on such a battlefield again, these days would be over.
He had to fully accept this feeling, to ignore the myriad thoughts it evoked. Summers and winters, year after year, were nothing more than this. Like the song from the north, "When I left, the willows swayed; now I return, the rain and snow fall." And then, "I say home, I say home, the years never stop." He had to acknowledge that the journey home remained unattainable, but as he embarked on this path, he couldn't allow himself to look back and dwell on the past.
Amidst the patter of rain, Li He thought of the endlessly flowing river. He was on his way home. He only needed to keep heading west to Yumen. When the war was over, he would look for a river like this one. Even if he had to sleep in the open, he would eventually find it. He gripped the hilt of his knife again. The sound of the rain gradually subsided, and a little morning light filtered through the stone wall, illuminating their bewildered faces.
Li He removed the herbs from his bosom and shook Jiang Er awake. He spread the remaining herbs across his palm and split them in half. Jiang Er remained silent, taking the herbs Li He had distributed and applying them to the wound on his waist as before. Li He remained silent as well, removing his arm armor and applying the crushed herbs to the open, bleeding wound. He folded the linen cloth and tucked it into his bosom, leaving behind a faint, bitter aroma of herbs.
He waited for Jiang Er to treat his wounds, then helped him down the mountain. A drizzle of rain still fell on his armor, and the thick clouds seemed as low as ever in the sky today, almost collapsing directly above their heads. Jiang Er spoke, "Damn those barbarians," followed by a long sigh, as if he had nothing more to say. "Where are you going, little brother? Now that I've lost my team, I'm going west. I can always reach Yumen and report back."
Li He pulled some grass from the roadside that looked like herbs and placed it in his arms, intending to pick out any useful ones when he rested. "I'm with Brother Jiang, and if we happen to pass by the village, I'd like to go back and take a look." He thought about it and realized that this place shouldn't be far from the village where the old man was. Just take a last look. He didn't know if the old man's legs would be able to walk in the winter, whether the child would catch a cold, or how they would survive the winter. This was the closest thing he could accomplish, so he decided to make the trip. Now that the team was gone, they wouldn't be so anxious about how long it would take to reach Yumen.
Jiang Er nodded, leaning over to let Li He teach him some easily identifiable herbs, helping him to pull them up and gather them along the roadside. He simply nodded and walked by when he met two or three scattered groups along the way. After such a defeat, those who managed to save their lives could simply choose to go home. They only needed to take off their armor and find a place to discard their swords, and then they could pretend that nothing had happened and return home. Then, without saying anything about what had happened, he simply said that he had been separated from the group and had to return home. He would stay at home and recuperate, and after those days that reminded him of the battlefield, he would no longer have dreams of bloodshed, nor would he be on guard day and night, tossing and turning in bed, and could return to the days before his military service, growing crops and carrying water in the arid wasteland.
They didn't even know each other's names or origins, let alone reports of desertion. They simply hurried in their respective directions, passing each other. They had simply been together for a while, witnessed the same blood-soaked battlefield, and had completely different paths back.
Li He described to Jiang Er what might have been considered herbs, though he couldn't quite remember them. The voices of the child and the old man echoed faintly in his ears as he picked similar herbs, following his memory. He figured there was always something useful to be had. The muddy, slippery ground beneath their feet led him and Jiang Er slowly down the mountain. The weeds were trampled into the ground, and the winter rain brought a biting chill. His body heat warmed the clothes that clung to his body as he walked. Shivering, he made his way west from the foot of the mountain.
Li He seemed to recognize something. He saw the familiar mountaintop and the mountain covered with barren trees, so he told Jiang Er that after crossing that mountain, they would reach his village. Of course, it was the village where the old man and the youngest child were. Because he had forgotten the way home, he only remembered that there was a river in his village. Jiang Er cheered up. They calculated the time and thought that in a day and a night at most, they would reach the village. There they could find a house to rest, and get a couple of bowls of vegetable soup or hot soup to fill their stomachs. At least they could dry their cold linen clothes or mend their tattered armor...
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