Destined Hearts of Mu and Yu (GL) - Chapter 52

The next day, even with more night patrols added, yet another herdsman’s cattle and sheep vanished mysteriously. This time, strange symbols drawn in bl00d were found by the fence. Terrified villagers cried it was a curse. Panic spread—families barred doors and windows at night, afraid to step outside. Rumors flew: the fallen soldiers of the battlefield had died in body but not in spirit, returning to the desert to haunt the living.

Despite tightened patrols, the disappearances continued. Fearful citizens petitioned that a Daoist priest be brought from Wei to release the souls of the dead. Though Qin Ling did not believe in spirits or gods, to calm the people she ordered Suzha to ride to Wei and fetch a Daoist.

When Suzha returned, he brought with him a sharp-faced man in scholar’s robes, sporting a goatee and sly eyes. At once, the man stroked his beard, narrowed his gaze, and sprinkled white powder along the fences where livestock had vanished. Bl00d-red footprints bloomed across the earth. Even battle-hardened Suzha recoiled in fear, stammering.

“Th-there really are vengeful spirits!”

The Daoist stroked his beard, speaking in a heavy accent.

“Tonight, I shall meet them, see what binds them here.”

Suzha nearly leapt from his skin. “Them?” The word alone set his hair on end, making him clutch the hilt of his sword nervously.

The Daoist strolled off at leisure, and Suzha scrambled after him. “M-master, should we prepare anything? Dog’s bl00d?”

“No need. Do not frighten them.” The Daoist shook his head.

We shouldn’t frighten them? More like they’ll frighten us to death, Suzha thought, swallowing hard.

That night, Suzha and armed guards accompanied the Daoist to the corral he’d chosen. The Daoist forbade torches. Bitter desert winds howled, snapping at his robes. Suddenly the moon slipped behind clouds—darkness swallowed all. The livestock shrieked and stampeded inside the pen.

Suzha, sweating, peered through the slats. Nothing was there. He tugged on the Daoist’s sleeve with trembling hands. “M-master, w-what’s happening?”

The Daoist gave no answer, muttering incantations instead. Then his eyes flew open—glowing faintly in the dark. He flung a talisman skyward; it burst into flame with a crack. The clouds scattered, moonlight spilled down, and the animals quieted instantly.

Suzha was awed. “M-master, the spirits… are they gone?”

“Gone,” the Daoist said loftily.

“They… they won’t return, will they?”

“They will.”

Suzha’s relief collapsed into dread. The Daoist turned his chilling gaze on him. “They have come for vengeance.”

“W-who are they?”

“The souls of desert warriors, slain in battle.”

“If they were our brothers-in-arms, why would they seek vengeance on us?” Suzha asked, bewildered.

“That, you must ask yourselves.” The Daoist narrowed his eyes, his voice low and cutting. “Have you perhaps sheltered their enemy?”

Suzha paled. In that instant, the Daoist’s eyes glowed bl00d-red as if possessed. Suzha staggered backward in terror.

The next day, Suzha rallied others to submit a petition: sacrifice Qin Mu to appease the dead. Qin Ling refused.

The day after, crowds surrounded the princess’s palace, demanding she hand Qin Mu over.

That night, Qin Mu was shaken awake. Blinking drowsily, she saw Qin Ling holding the golden armor. By candlelight it gleamed brilliantly. Qin Mu’s drowsiness fled.

“Put it on,” Qin Ling said coolly.

Qin Mu hurriedly donned it. Touching the armor, her heart warmed—it was as if Sister Hanyu herself were embracing her again.

“This is a map to Wei. Here are provisions. I have ordered horses prepared. As you wished, I release you.” Qin Ling’s voice was calm, but a flicker of reluctance crossed her eyes before she masked it.

“Thank you, Princess.” Qin Mu kept her face composed, though inside she nearly burst with joy.

“Go,” Qin Ling said, turning away, leaving only her back to Qin Mu.

Without hesitation, Qin Mu seized her bundle and strode out, never once looking back. Mounting the waiting steed, she rode hard into the night.

After ten miles, she whistled a signal. Shadows burst from hiding—her comrades, gathered at her side. At their head, Qin Laosan grinned wide, flashing white teeth.

Another set of hoofbeats approached. Weapons were drawn—until they recognized a tall, thin Daoist. None other than Qin Lao’er, the famed second-in-command of Huangming Mountain, who had been playing the role of exorcist in the desert.

“Boss,” Qin Laosan said gruffly, pounding his thick arms, “we’ve scouted the desert well. Let’s ride back and take revenge!”

“Yeah! Revenge!” the brothers echoed hotly.

“No. No more fighting. We leave at once.” Qin Mu shook her head. The band dispersed, riding through the golden sands.

At the border city, Qin Mu immediately sent word to the palace: she was safe, returning to Wei. The group washed off the dust of the desert and gathered in a tavern. Over drinks, Qin Laosan growled:

“When we heard you were trapped, everyone volunteered to charge in. We were ready to crush the desert. But Qin Lao’er here insisted you wrote otherwise—that we should use cunning.”

“Our task was to save the boss, not to slaughter,” Qin Lao’er said lazily.

“Hah! If not for that desert princess sparing her, she’d have been burned alive!” Qin Laosan spat.

“You dare question me? If they had handed her over, do you think I’d let her burn?” Qin Lao’er slammed the table.

Before it escalated, Qin Mu lifted her bowl. “This cup is for you all. You’ve worked hard.” She drained it.

The men cheered and drank deep, laughter filling the tavern.

The next day, Qin Mu parted ways with Qin Lao’er and Qin Laosan. They returned to the bustling capital. There, they witnessed the grandeur of the princess’s procession. From the people, they learned she was headed to Yuquan Temple to pray for fallen soldiers—and to bring back her consort, the Prince Consort. Onlookers marveled at the changing times: women fighting wars, men sheltered at home. Yet those who knew the truth understood Qin Mu’s trials were no less than any soldier’s.

When Wei Hanyu reached Yuquan Temple, the sound of distant bells filled the air. The sight of the towering stone steps made her heartbeat quicken. After endless nights of longing, she finally saw her Mu’er again.

The moment she laid eyes on Qin Mu, Hanyu rushed forward, pulling her into a fierce embrace. The dream she had waited for, at last real.

She touched Qin Mu’s cheeks, her brow, her hair, her shoulders—savoring the warmth she feared she’d lost forever. Tears brimmed but did not fall, her face flushed instead—because of the scoundrel in her arms. Qin Mu wriggled closer, rubbing her nose against Hanyu’s softness, sighing greedily:

“Sister Hanyu, still so soft… still so fragrant.”

The reunion’s sacred air shattered instantly. In the quiet temple, Hanyu smacked Qin Mu’s head, cheeks scarlet, before kneeling devoutly before the Buddha. Qin Mu rubbed her head, gazing at her with puppy-like eyes.

She stood silently aside, watching as golden light spilled through the cracks. Dressed in pale blue, Hanyu knelt serenely, lashes trembling, lips moving in prayer—beautiful as an immortal descended to earth. Just as the day Qin Mu had first seen her.

“Mu’er, come here.” Hanyu’s soft call broke her reverie. Qin Mu hurried to kneel beside her.

Hanyu whispered: “Though we are both women, I would give everything for Qin Mu. If Heaven grants us a child, I will die content. May Buddha bless and fulfill this wish.”