Chapter Fifty-One: To Accept or Not to Accept

The moon had climbed high into the sky, hanging above Chang’an, where the residence of Chai Shao, the Right Grand Master for Glorious Happiness, glowed with lanterns bright as day. Upon a soft divan reclined a young lord in a crimson brocade robe, languid and weary, his eyes half closed.

From within the hall came the melodious strains of string and flute, as songstresses, veiled in gauzy silk, danced with graceful steps, singing in low, plaintive voices:

“The Xie family comes to your noble gate, Serving with caution, never daring to act on her own, Day and night she labors, suffering and alone, Though blameless, her care is your greatest kindness, Yet still she is driven forth...”

But Chai Shao’s heart was troubled. It had been nearly three months since he last saw his wife, Princess Pingyang, Li Xiuning. Of late, rumors reached him that Li Xiuning’s relationship with Chen Ying had grown unusually close. Discreet inquiries revealed that Chen Ying had once been the calligraphy page to Su Hu, former magistrate of Wannian County.

At first, Chai Shao had spared little thought for one of such humble birth. But when Li Xiuning, defending Chen Ying, had not only quarreled with Duke Changguang, Li Xiaoguang, of the imperial clan, but even threatened him to protect Chen Ying, Chai Shao’s wariness was roused.

What alarmed him most was when he had a secret copy made of Chen Ying’s likeness. Upon seeing the portrait with his own eyes, Chai Shao’s expression turned grim. Chen Ying was strikingly handsome, elegant in bearing—so much so that, were he a woman, or even himself, he might have been enthralled. It was precisely because Chen Ying was so exceedingly attractive that Chai Shao felt compelled to act ruthlessly.

As he listened to the wavering notes and the songstresses’ lyrical verses, an inexplicable vexation seized him.

“Out! All of you, out!”

Panic flickered across the faces of the musicians and dancers as they hastened to depart. As the last songstress, clutching her pipa, faded from sight, a middle-aged scholar in a blue robe, his long beard fluttering, stepped lightly before Chai Shao, eyes alight with excitement.

“Master, that pretty-faced Chen is finished—this time, he’s as good as dead!”

“Oh?” Chai Shao’s eyes snapped open, fixed intently on the scholar. “Are you certain?”

“I would stake my head on it!”

Chai Shao sat up, a flash of cruelty in his eyes, eagerness in his voice. “Tell me, how have you arranged it?”

“To ensure that pretty-faced Chen meets his end, I have laid three traps in concert!” The scholar grinned slyly. “First, I bribed a traitorous general under Pang Qidi—his name is Mo Dake, one of Pang’s three fiercest commanders, with three to four thousand savage Qiang soldiers at his command. Mo Dake will attack Chen’s forces with all his might.”

Chai Shao seemed unconvinced. “I hear that this Chen is no mean fighter—he killed even Zong Luohou at Jingyang!”

“Rest assured, Master. Even if he were made of iron, how many nails could he withstand? The moment he enters Shizhou, it will be his grave!” The scholar’s voice turned sinister. “I’ve also planted spies near Chen—any move he makes will be reported to Pang’s people at once. Chen is deaf and blind to danger; how could he possibly escape? And to ensure nothing goes awry, I spent a fortune to hire the great Luo Song for an assassination. With these three measures, Chen cannot survive.”

“Luo Song?” Chai Shao exclaimed in surprise. “Could it be the famed ‘Breaker of Armies’ Luo Song?”

“The very same,” the scholar replied. “He was once the top general under Lu Mingyue, the Supreme King.”

“I thought he was dead?”

“No. At the battle in the thirteenth year of Daye, when Wang Shichong defeated Lu Mingyue, Luo Song broke out amid the chaos. He sought revenge against Wang Shichong several times, but was betrayed and gravely wounded. Now, he serves as the chief assassin of the Star-Plucking Sect.”

“Good. I will know no peace until Chen Ying is dealt with!” Chai Shao declared, his voice murderous.

...

“What happened?” Chen Ying approached Liang Zan.

Liang Zan pointed to the hindquarters of Chen Ying’s great blue stallion. “Look, General!”

There, at the horse’s anus, was a small, obvious puncture, oozing blood, the flesh swollen and red.

“What caused this?”

“Most likely a flying needle, or a blow-dart,” Liang Zan explained. “That’s the most vulnerable spot on a warhorse, and also the most painful. Once wounded there, any steed would go mad. The hidden weapon must have fallen out during the charge—I’ll search for it now...”

With that, Liang Zan began retracing Chen Ying’s path, searching carefully.

“I wondered about that!” Chen Ying recalled how he had not intended to lead the charge himself, but his horse had suddenly gone wild, and with his mediocre riding skills, he’d had no choice but to follow its lead in a sudden assault. Fortunately, the bandits had been a disorganized rabble, lacking any real fighting spirit—had it been Pang Qidi’s elite, the consequences would have been dire.

“Who tampered with my horse?” Chen Ying pondered, his mind racing. Only someone in his own guard could have tampered with his mount without being noticed. The thought brought a cold sweat.

“Who wants me dead?”

“Su Hu?”

“Gao Wanqing?”

“Li Xiaoguang?”

He dismissed each in turn. Su Hu’s reach could not extend so far. Gao Wanqing, even if willing, lacked the skill. Li Xiaoguang seemed unlikely—perhaps his elder brother, Li Xiaoji, would have motive.

As these thoughts swirled, Liang Zan’s startled cry rang out from afar.

“Found it!” Liang Zan rushed over, holding up a slender object.

It was a needle, gleaming with a faint blue light. Unlike a typical embroidery needle, it was the kind most common in the army for mending uniforms.

Liang Zan sighed. “I hoped to trace the culprit from the hidden weapon, but this traitor is too cunning—it’s just a sewing needle, and nine out of ten men in the camp have one like it.”

“Say nothing. Keep watch in secret—find out who’s behind this.”

“Understood.”

“What’s going on?” Chen Ying looked up to see his guards blocking a woman a dozen paces away. He recognized her as the one who had hacked the bandits to pieces outside the city. Blood still trickled from her hand.

Yet in her eyes burned a fierce, wolfish glare, fixed on the guards as if she might tear them apart.

Chen Ying waved for his men to stand down.

He stepped forward. “Do you have business with me?”

“I want to follow you, General—to avenge myself...”

Chen Ying hesitated. In this age, unlike later times, there were virtually no women in the Tang army except for one kind—camp followers.

“Please, take me in!” The woman fell to her knees with a heavy thud.

Now, Chen Ying truly felt at a loss. In the era of cold steel, unlike the age of firearms to come, women could serve many roles in modern armies—communications, battlefield medics, logistics, intelligence, even command. But in these days, just wearing armor was a burden most women could not bear.

Should he take her in, or not? For the first time, Chen Ying found himself torn.