Chapter 7

Chapter 6: This Journey to Chang'an

In the early morning, the master and servant awoke and, under the dim light of dawn, began to pack their luggage, occasionally arguing but mostly in silence.

Ning Que spent a long time digging in the earthen wall outside the house, finally pulling out a long bag. He carefully inspected the bow and arrows inside, confirmed they were in good condition, and handed them over. Sang Sang took them and stuffed them into a large cotton bag. Then, she retrieved three slightly rusted straight knives from under the fence, which Ning Que took and meticulously wiped clean. He examined the blades in the morning sun, nodded, and securely tied them to his back with hemp grass rope.

He took a black umbrella from behind the door and, using the last piece of hemp grass rope, tied it tightly to Sang Sang's back. The material of this black umbrella was unknown, but it seemed to be covered in a layer of black grease, not reflecting any light, and felt quite heavy. Moreover, the umbrella was clearly very large; even when folded and tied, it almost touched the ground when carried by Sang Sang's small, slender body.

With the preparations for the journey complete, Ning Que and Sang Sang stepped over the dilapidated fence, both turning to look back at the small stone courtyard and the small dilapidated thatched house. Sang Sang looked up at his chin and asked, "Young Master, should we lock the door?"

"No need to lock it," Ning Que said after a moment of silence. "In the future... we might find it very hard to come back."

The iron-rimmed wooden wheels rolled over the soft, wet ground, and the nobleman's convoy slowly set off, heading out of Weicheng. There were five soft-suspension carriages, which always attracted attention in the border region. Today, many people had come to see them off, but their focus was not on the nobleman's convoy, but on the young man and the little servant girl in the first carriage. Occasionally, boiled eggs were passed up, and sometimes a woman with a ruddy face would wipe her eyes with a dirty handkerchief and say something.

"Ning Que, you rotten scoundrel, my distant nephew is so good, but you wouldn't let Sang Sang marry him. Now, you're taking this girl to those places where people eat each other without even spitting out the bones! I'm telling you, you better take good care of my Sang Sang!"

Ning Que, sitting on the carriage, looked extremely displeased and replied, "Auntie, you started proposing marriage when Sang Sang was only eight. This just can't work."

After a few laughs and curses, it suddenly started drizzling, the fine rain as thin as threads, slightly cool on the skin. However, no one in the crowd left. The families of the Weicheng soldiers were busy saying goodbye to Ning Que and settling their final debts, making the scene quite noisy.

The curtain of the most luxurious carriage at the back was lifted slightly, and a proud and cold maid peeked out, her delicate eyebrows furrowing.

Just as the convoy was about to leave the small border town, Ning Que stood up from the carriage and bowed to the crowd.

The young man, with three old knives on his back, stood in the rain, clasping his hands together in a bow, exuding a sense of heroism.

"Old men, old women, thank you all. I won't say much."

After saying this, he spread his arms in the rain, clenched his fists, and raised them, showing his not-so-strong chest and arms in a rather silly pose, shouting loudly, "This journey to Chang'an, if I don't make a name for myself, I won't come back!"

When these words were spoken, it was like the sound of a storyteller's gavel or a bloody head falling to the ground, and the crowd along the road cheered in unison.

In the only decent tavern in Weicheng, Ma Shixiang and several trusted lieutenants were drinking. The nobleman did not want them to see him off, and they were too lazy to go. However, they clearly saw the scene before them. One lieutenant, thinking about what Ning Que said on the carriage, sighed, "If he doesn't make a name for himself, he won't come back? This scoundrel really might not come back."

Ma Shixiang, thinking about the three short sentences Ning Que said to him late last night, couldn't help but stroke his beard, feeling greatly comforted. He looked at the carriage gradually leaving the city gate and said softly, "It's better if you don't come back. You rotten scoundrel, go and wreak havoc in the outside world."

As they moved away from Weicheng, they naturally moved away from the grasslands. The spring drought that was troubling the nomadic tribes and the new chieftain did not affect this area. The spring breeze turned the branches and leaves green, and the wheels and hooves of the carriages were dyed green, occasionally attracting a few butterflies to chase after them.

The horses galloped between the meadows and hills, the soft suspension sometimes taut like iron, sometimes drooping like leaves. The luxurious carriage, padded with several layers of cotton and blankets, gently swayed. The maid with a delicate face gazed out the window at the rapidly receding scenery, perhaps thinking about the northern desert where the sand danced with the wind. Her expression was stiff, but her eyes were filled with a sense of anticipation and enthusiasm for the unknown future.

Inside the carriage, a little boy in expensive silk clothing was hugging her leg, looking up with a longing face, mumbling a few words in the Central Plains dialect, apparently wanting to go out to play.

The maid turned and sternly scolded the little boy, then her expression softened, and she hugged him, petting his head affectionately.

The wind lifted a corner of the curtain, and the spring breeze brushed against her no longer as tender cheeks. She squinted and looked ahead, her expression not very pleasant.

On the front carriage, the young soldier named Ning Que was sitting, nodding his head as if he was about to fall asleep. As a guide, he should have been leading the way, but he spent most of the time dozing off, which was far from competent.

The reason for the maid's cold expression was not this, but a detail in the scene she saw.

Ning Que was dozing off on the carriage, and at any moment, he might fall off the rapidly moving carriage. The little servant girl, Sang Sang, was always alert, using her small, weak body to support him. Her dark face showed no expression, but it was clear she was very tired.

At this moment, the convoy rolled over a shallow grassy stream, and Ning Que was jolted awake. He rubbed his eyes, looked at the sky, and realized he had slept until dusk. He raised his hand, signaling the convoy to stop and prepare to camp.

Stopping to camp after waking up seemed somewhat irresponsible and frivolous, but no one in the convoy questioned his decision.

They had been away from Weicheng for several days, and every decision the young man made had proven to be correct, whether in choosing the route, selecting the campsite, ensuring safety, managing water and food, or facilitating escape. More impressively, the convoy's speed was quite fast.

The dozen or so nomadic bandits the nobleman had recruited in the grasslands initially looked down on the Weicheng border soldiers, but now they only admired the young soldier's guiding skills.

By the stream, people silently dug the ground, built stoves, collected firewood, and boiled water. The maid stepped down from the protected, luxurious carriage and looked at Ning Que, who was lying on the grass, rubbing his stomach, preparing to eat hotpot, and at the black, thin little servant girl who was struggling to fetch water, set up the pot, and collect firewood. Her eyebrows furrowed even more.

A strong guard stood up beside her, looked at her, and she shook her head, indicating that he didn't need to follow. She walked along the stream, passing through the cooking smoke.

She admitted that this young man named Ning Que was indeed quite capable, far surpassing the young nobles in the capital, Chang'an, who considered themselves outstanding. If he were a nobleman from Chang'an, his behavior might have earned her some admiration. However, he was just a coarse young man from the lower class, and his exploitation of the little girl who should have shared his hardships touched a nerve, making her extremely displeased.

Walking to the little servant girl, Sang Sang, the maid smiled gently and motioned for her to put down the heavy firewood and talk to her.

Sang Sang glanced at Ning Que, and when he nodded, she walked over. The maid pulled out a handkerchief from her waist, but Sang Sang shook her head—despite all the hard work, not a single bead of sweat had appeared on her forehead.

Ning Que finally got up from the meadow, brushed off the grass from his clothes, and wiped the green grass juice from his cotton shirt, smiling and bowing.

The maid did not turn to look at him, saying coldly, "I don't like you, so you don't need to try to get close to me. People like you may seem innocent and pleasant on the surface, but in reality, you are full of old and stale qualities, which I find repulsive."

Her tone was emotionless, her chin slightly raised, not deliberately creating distance, but naturally exuding a sense of superiority. As a personal maid to the Princess of the Tang Dynasty, she could command most officials, let alone a small figure like Ning Que.

Ning Que smiled and shook his head, turning to walk towards the earthen stove by the stream.

He had only one little servant girl, while the nobleman had countless maids. When his only servant girl was taken away by one of the nobleman's maids to chat, the nobleman still had other servants to serve him, but Ning Que had to do everything himself.

Perhaps the harsh border winds and sand had made his skin thick, but his smile showed no sign of embarrassment.

As the sun was about to set, Sang Sang returned with a large pile of dairy snacks. Ning Que, who was staring at a bowl of burnt meat porridge in pain, took them without hesitation and stuffed them into his mouth, asking indistinctly:

"Why does she like to chat with you so much? Doesn't she realize I haven't had a proper meal for days... This cheap sympathy from the nobles is sometimes misplaced. Look at her smile, like a wolf grandmother who wants to eat a little girl, pretending to be gentle and proper, more fake than the watered-down wine in the Weicheng tavern."

"She's a good person," Sang Sang picked up the burnt porridge, lifted the curtain to leave and redo it, but was called back by him.

"What have you been talking about these past few days?" Ning Que asked.

Sang Sang furrowed her delicate eyebrows, struggling to recall for a long time, and answered, "I... you know I don't talk much... most of the time, she talked about the grasslands, but I've forgotten what she said."

Hearing this, Ning Que's mood improved significantly. He hummed a tune, chewed on the delicious dairy snacks, and said, "Next time she talks to you, remember to charge her or get more of these dairy snacks."

Night fell.

Sang Sang used stream water to extinguish the stove, carefully confirmed it, and dragged a bucket of hot water towards the small tent. The people on the slope by the stream watched this scene, knowing that the little servant girl was preparing foot-washing water for Ning Que, and many of them showed a look of disdain.

This disdain was, of course, directed at Ning Que.

After washing his feet, Ning Que crawled into the woolen blanket, then pulled the cold little feet that were extended from the opposite side into his arms, letting out a groan that was hard to tell if it was one of enjoyment or pain. After yawning twice, he said, "Go to sleep."

Sang Sang, who had worked harder than him during the day, soon fell into a deep sleep.

Ning Que, however, opened his eyes at some point. His gaze seemed to penetrate the patched tent, landing on the stars above, then on a handkerchief.

Recalling the golden-edged handkerchief the maid had pulled out, he knew his guess was correct, but he didn't know what use it would be even if he guessed right.

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