Chapter Seventy-Nine: Something Went Wrong

In the winter of the fourteenth year of Yongchang, after the winter solstice, Da'ankou grew colder by the day. Lin Miao-miao gazed up at the snowflakes drifting from the sky, a soft smile curving her lips as she lifted her head.

Lin Lang-luan and Lin Lang-ze had Sun Ziwen to teach them their studies. After all, Sun Ziwen had once been a top scholar, and the two children could learn much in his company.

Over the past few months, thanks to the diligent help of everyone at the factory, the impoverished families working there now had homes for the year.

With the New Year approaching, Lin Miao-miao had given the workers an early holiday; today was the first day of the new year.

Li Yanhe had not returned in a long while. The winters in Da'ankou felt like a trial by ordeal, and everything depended on whether the heavens would show mercy. If the cold became unbearable, the northern nomads would invade the Central Plains. Lin Miao-miao’s thoughts drifted to the Great Wall she had seen in the modern world.

She watched Li Yanhe’s busy figure and suddenly felt there was little she could do to help.

Lost in thought by the stove, Lin Miao-miao was startled when Jiang Luohan approached and asked, “What are you daydreaming about?”

She looked up at him and replied, “Nothing, just thinking about things that don’t exist.”

Then, glancing at Jiang Luohan, she added, “You suddenly seem like a drifter with no occupation.”

Jiang Luohan frowned at her question, “What do you mean, a drifter with no occupation?”

She explained, “It means someone who has nothing to do all day, idling about.”

Unhappy, Jiang Luohan protested, “Do I really seem like that sort of person?”

She nodded. After a long, silent stare, Jiang Luohan gave up the argument.

Overhearing their exchange, Sun Ziwen shook his head in amusement. Lin Miao-miao glanced at both men; after a brief look at one another, Jiang Luohan and Sun Ziwen snorted coldly, and Lin Miao-miao wore an expression of sudden realization.

Growing bored, Lin Miao-miao took up her makeshift pencil and began to sketch.

After the New Year’s Day passed, she felt reluctant even to leave the comfort of her bed; this winter was far too cold.

Having paused production at the garment factory, she organized people to work overtime making cotton-padded clothes for the hundreds of thousands of soldiers at the frontier.

She truly feared that if the frontier fell, her own home would be in grave danger; the phrase “the people have no means to live” would become all too real.

Lin Miao-miao was not a great person—on the contrary, she was rather selfish—but in these circumstances, she had wealth and silver, and she was willing to do her part for the soldiers at the border.

Standing beneath a tree, watching the snow fall, she let out a heavy sigh. Turning, she saw Lin Qi standing behind her and said, “Another winter has come.”

Lin Qi said nothing, but Lin Miao-miao could sense that he, too, was worried about Li Yanhe.

“This winter’s come on too fast and cold. It’s hard not to be anxious. I hope there will be no war, but in truth, the northern nomads must be suffering this season and will surely invade the Central Plains before long.”

Lin Qi looked at her. She continued, “Our livestock farms are running, and the pigs and sheep ready for slaughter should all be butchered and sliced.”

“This winter, the workers at the food processing plant should keep working—steam buns in advance, cut and braise the meat, and pack it all up. When the time comes, deliver it to the border troops.”

Lin Qi nodded. Sun Ziwen saw her sitting alone, lost in thought, and approached her.

He asked, “Why are you sitting here?”

She looked at Sun Ziwen, dressed in a robe of pale blue and white, and replied, “I’m thinking about the situation at the border.”

He said, “There’s no need for a young woman like you to worry about such things. The situation is not good this year, so...”

Before he finished, she spoke to his departing back, “I’ve never cared about the situation itself—it has nothing to do with me.”

“I only worry about the people I care for. I only value what I choose to value. The rest, it seems, is none of my concern.”

Hearing this, Sun Ziwen paused in surprise, gave her a peculiar look, then left without another word.

As the New Year’s atmosphere grew stronger, Lin Miao-miao hadn’t seen Li Yanhe for some time, knowing he was still at the camp.

With no other choice, she went to the camp to find him. Upon seeing him, her breath caught.

Her heart skipped a beat; his clothes were stained deep red with blood.

His eyes were bloodshot, as if he hadn’t slept in days. She frowned in concern.

Li Yanhe, seeing the redness in her eyes, as though she were about to cry, sighed and said, “I’m fine.”

“Don’t worry about me. This is someone else’s blood, not mine, so there’s no need for concern.”

She nodded, knowing that in an era of cold steel, the struggles faced were always cruel.

She set the food box on the table and said, “Eat while it’s hot. Have a good rest after.”

He nodded, and after he finished eating, he lay down on his cot and fell asleep.

She sat quietly by his side, watching him as he slept. Not long after, shouts erupted outside.

She jumped in fright as Li Yanhe abruptly sat up, instantly alert, as if he’d never slept at all.

Seeing this, her heart ached. How many years of habit had it taken for him to awaken at the first shout?

She said nothing, sitting silently. After changing his clothes, Li Yanhe looked at the deputy who entered and asked, “What is it?”

The deputy hesitated, glancing awkwardly at Lin Miao-miao, unsure how to speak.

Li Yanhe waved him on, “No need to mind her, just say it.”

The deputy reported, “According to intelligence, a large enemy force is already massing at the border—there’s a real danger of a breach at any moment.”

Li Yanhe nodded, then turned to her, “You’d better go home.”

With that, he left. Watching his retreating figure, Lin Miao-miao felt a pang of sadness.

After returning, she busied herself with preparations for the New Year—the festival was drawing near.

Looking at the table laden with food, she suddenly felt as if someone was missing. She sat alone in her room.

Last year, at this time, Li Yanhe had been with her to see in the New Year; tonight, she kept vigil alone.

It was a lonely celebration—the room felt empty and cold.

The northern winter was already unbearably cold. She held a teacup, which, though freshly poured, had quickly grown cold.

Absent-mindedly caressing the cup, she was startled when it slipped from her hand and shattered on the floor with a sharp crack.

For a moment, she stared at the broken cup in a daze, an ominous feeling creeping into her heart.

She opened her door and saw snowflakes drifting down outside, each one falling softly to the ground.

Her mood darkened. She knocked on Lin Qi's door and said, “Go and find out what’s happening at Li Yanhe’s camp.”

Without hesitation, Lin Qi saddled his horse and left the courtyard. Her actions had already roused the neighboring rooms.

She sat in the main hall, feeling chilled to the bone. Jiang Luohan and Sun Ziwen sat below her.

Ruoyu, Lanzhi, and Cuiliu stood by her side. She tapped the table absently, her mind a tangle of worry.

At midnight, fireworks began to light up the sky. Hearing the crackle of firecrackers, her heart began to pound for no reason.

She shook her head and frowned. Then, after two hours, Lin Qi returned, his face ashen.

He reported, “The master was ambushed—he took an arrow.”

At those words, Lin Miao-miao felt as if her mind had fallen into a loop, her head spinning, her ears ringing, breath coming short.

Jiang Luohan immediately said, “Let’s go to the camp—I can see what can be done.”

She glanced at him, and Sun Ziwen gave him a strange look as well.

In that strange, tense atmosphere, they readied the carriage. Jiang Luohan rode ahead at a gallop, with the others following closely behind.

Jiang Luohan arrived at the camp swiftly; Lin Miao-miao and the others followed just a step behind.

Inside the tent, Li Yanhe lay on the verge of life and death, an arrow lodged in his chest. Lin Miao-miao closed her eyes, feeling faint and dizzy.

She took deep breaths, her whole being cold and numb, sitting there in a daze.

“So the omen was true,” she thought. She had always believed a broken cup was a bad sign, and at the very instant the cup shattered, her heart had felt uneasy.

Seated on the chair that the deputy had brought, tears streamed uncontrollably down her face.

She looked up at Lin Jiwang, voice trembling with supplication as she pleaded with Li Yanhe, “He’ll be all right, won’t he?”

She repeated the question over and over, tears sliding down her cheeks, unable even to sit steady.

She began to sing softly, telling herself again and again there was nothing to worry about, but clearly, all her reassurances were in vain.

At six in the morning, after several days of gloom, the sky suddenly cleared. Lin Miao-miao saw Jiang Luohan emerge, covered in blood.

He looked at her and said, “He’s out of danger now. Just take care in the days ahead.”