Longing for Love (Twice Reborn) - Chapter 47

The Liang Dynasty’s wedding procession crossed the Hexi Corridor, where the welcoming envoy and his armed escort met them at the border and led them to Hongshan Fortress, the current residence of the Tubo royal family.

Tubo practiced a theocratic Buddhist system. The fortress was divided into the Red Palace and White Palace the central Red Palace housed Buddhist altars, while the surrounding White Palace served as the royal family’s administrative and living quarters.

The Tubo people, primarily farmers and herders, had previously followed seasonal nomadic patterns across the plateau. Now with a permanent settlement, Juchen rode to the fortress gates and gazed up at the towering new palace complex, quietly relieved for Yong’an’s sake. No longer needing to camp in tents on the grasslands was a blessing for a Central Plains princess accustomed to city life.

As the highest-ranking official of the wedding delegation, Pengshan Wang observed local customs by first paying respects at the Red Palace’s Buddhist altars. The Tubo king personally presented him with a ceremonial khata scarf in welcome. Moving to the White Palace, the king offered barley wine. When the resident envoy moved to explain the drinking etiquette, Song Miao effortlessly dipped his ring finger into the wine and flicked it skyward three times an offering to heaven, earth, and ancestors before taking a sip.

The king refilled his cup after each of three sips, and on the fourth pouring, Song Miao drained it completely. Later, when served butter tea, he waited until the king presented it with both hands before accepting a crucial Tubo custom where taking tea prematurely would be rude.

The Tubo king laughed heartily at his guest’s flawless observance of etiquette. At the welcoming feast featuring mutton, the king personally carved and presented the prized tail end portion of the spine a cut reserved for honored guests.

Juchen sat among Han officials, accepting tea from a Tubo attendant. Her gaze drifted toward the central seating where Song Miao lowered his teacup, his eyes briefly meeting hers across the hall. Someone’s cheeks colored first Juchen’s fingers curled in her lap while Pengshan Wang averted his gaze with a light cough.

After the feast, the Tubo king invited Song Miao to the grand pastures east of the White Palace. Horse racing was the people’s beloved tradition, featured in nearly all festivals and celebrations, encompassing speed races, mounted archery, and equestrian skills.

Song Miao’s legendary archery skills from the Northern Hunting Grounds had reached Tubo, sparking local generals’ competitive spirit. When the kingdom’s top general Tulu challenged him to an archery contest after the feast, Song Miao readily accepted. After being outperformed, Tulu’s thinly veiled resentment drew a veiled “sore loser” taunt from Lu Feng, prompting the general to shift focus: “In Tubo, women ride as well as men.”

With that, he summoned a fifteen-year-old girl from the royal family Hailan, the late queen’s cousin whom subjects hoped the king would remarry. Her impressive equestrian display drew applause from the crowd, though the resident envoy frowned and whispered her identity to Song Miao.

Now that the king had married a Han princess, the status of the late queen’s clan, including Tulu and others from the maternal lineage, was inevitably shaken, leaving them naturally displeased.

Sure enough, Tulu’s next words dragged Yong’an into the fray, demanding she step forward to compete.

Yong’an was gentle and indifferent by nature, avoiding conflict yet the Tibetan customs revered strength above all. Seeing their new queen so delicate and soft-spoken, as if hesitant to engage in competition, the ministers and people could not help but show their disapproval.

Juchen, attending to Yong’an, seized the chance while translating for her.

Unable to hold back, she stood and bowed to the Tibetan king, saying, “The princess may not excel in horsemanship, but that does not mean she is unskilled in racing she simply dislikes contention. I recall that in Tibetan horse competitions, there is an event called ‘picking up the hada on horseback.’ If Your Majesty is willing, I would gladly raise the hada for the princess, and she would surely accept your warm welcome.”

The Tibetan king was pleased and nodded in agreement. Juchen returned to Yong’an’s side and tactfully explained the situation though she omitted the part about forcing her onto the horse.

Song Mi, seated in a corner ahead of Yong’an, pricked up his ears. Hearing Juchen take advantage of Yong’an’s temporary inability to understand Tibetan by tricking her into believing the king merely wanted to play a game to foster cultural exchange, he couldn’t resist glancing back at her.

Juchen remained composed, pulling Yong’an aside and ignoring his gaze.

Yong’an fell for the ruse effortlessly, mounting her horse with ease.

The Tibetan king had not expected this seemingly fragile girl to be skilled in riding. Seeing how naturally she took the reins, his admiration for her grew.

Juchen knew the Tibetan people revered strength. Though time would reveal one’s true character, if Yong’an could display her prowess from the start and win their favor, she would spare herself much hardship.

Both she and Yong’an had received personal instruction in horsemanship from Princess Xian Ning. Though Yong’an appeared delicate, her riding skills were exceptional.

Yet the situation on the field took an unexpected turn. Seeing the king raise the had a rare opportunity the Tibetan ministers and people clamored to compete, including Hailan and even Prince Buzan, who also sought to join the fray.

Given the physical disparity between men and women, for fairness, the men had to ride an extra lap before reaching the final stretch for the decisive contest.

Yong’an started behind but surged ahead, overtaking Hailan, who led the women’s group, within two laps.

As Yong’an galloped toward the finish line, Buzan, riding beside her, clashed with another young warrior. The two youths, consumed by rivalry, recklessly collided their horses, and Buzan, caught off guard, tumbled from his mount.

But he did not hit the ground hard Yong’an had leaped forward in time to cushion his fall.

“Are you all right?” Yong’an asked gently, supporting him despite her own scraped and bloodied palm from bracing against the ground.

Buzan, though fluent in the Central Plains tongue, feigned ignorance of her language. Seeing her bleeding hand, he snapped at her in Tibetan.

Swear words needed no translation. Yong’an frowned slightly she did not understand, but her instincts told her he was cursing her, likely calling her a fool or an idiot.

“You’re going to lose!” Buzan turned to watch Hailan racing toward the finish line, this time speaking in the Central Plains dialect.

Yong’an pulled him aside to check for injuries. “That doesn’t matter are you hurt?”

How could winning and losing not matter? For a youth like Buzan, raised on the principle that “the victor becomes king, the defeated a bandit,” this woman’s way of thinking was utterly incomprehensible.

He only knew that later, when the Tibetan king demanded his gratitude and sent him to deliver medicine to the queen’s palace, questioning why she had come to save him, Yong’an blinked her watery star like eyes and replied with a smile that it was because she was now his mother. Bu Zan’s heart sank he didn’t like this notion of an instant mother at all.

Hai Lan didn’t achieve victory either. The moment the Tibetan king saw Bu Zan fall from his horse, he rushed anxiously from the finish line.

With Yong’an’s hand injured and unable to continue the competition, the people of both nations refused to let the contest between their women end there. Hai Lan promptly stepped back onto the field, waiting for the Central Plains envoys to send forth another Han woman to compete.

Amid the clamor around her, Song Mi suddenly turned her head and fixed her gaze on Juchen: “I recall you know how to ride a horse?”

Before Juchen could even begin her excuse with “This subject….”, Song Mi declared loudly, “Minister Li, with the nation at stake, surely you won’t stand idly by?”

The words thrust her into the spotlight, and all eyes turned toward her.

Juchen: “…”

If she didn’t step forward now, she might as well forget about returning to Daliang.

Biting her lip, she didn’t let him off easy either, demanding that he go to the finish line to hold the ceremonial scarf. “If the king can rally his people’s morale by racing, surely Your Highness also wishes for my victory?”

The implication was clear: don’t even think about sitting back and watching the show.

Song Mi chuckled softly and gracefully rose from his seat.

As Juchen galloped across the open fields on her white horse, the wind roaring past her ears, a long lost sense of freedom settled into every hoofbeat, lifting her spirits with each stride.

The young woman from the Central Plains, with her lotus like delicate features, smiled as she overtook all competitors and reached the finish line.

One hand tightened the reins while the other snatched the long white silk scarf from Prince Pengshan’s grasp. She raced past him, her horse rearing high and circling in place. Juchen used the momentum to drape the scarf over her shoulders, her heroic bearing resembling a triumphant general crowning herself in victory.

Applause erupted like waves around them. Standing at the forefront, Song Mi watched her face, alight with a long absent pride as she basked in the crowd’s adulation. Suddenly, he recalled a day when the Censorate had submitted a memorial impeaching Li Juchen, the female scholar of the Hanlin Academy, accusing her of lacking restraint, disregarding propriety, and acting recklessly without fear.

The lengthy document had pleaded with him to humble her arrogance, lest a mere woman continue to have her way unchecked in court.

Yet, though Song Mi often disagreed with her politically and belonged to opposing faction’s matters concerning the nation and its people he had never deliberately obstructed her in other ways, especially in private. At times, seeing her laugh so freely, he even felt that a woman like her deserved whatever she desired in this world.

She ought to remain this way radiant and unbridled.

A gentle breeze brushed the carriage, and the bright moon hung over the pavilion.

It was July, the season of spring sown barley harvest. At night, Tibetan herders gathered around bonfires, singing and dancing across the grasslands.

The Tibetan king also hosted a banquet in the White Palace, though, given that this night was his wedding with Yong’an, he discreetly withdrew after three rounds of drinks.

At the grand banquet of Tubo, there was never a shortage of talented singing and dancing toast maidens. Dressed in dazzling attire, they would sing enchanting drinking songs and take turns persuading guests to drink until the visitors from afar were thoroughly intoxicated.

This was the host’s generous hospitality, and guests usually found it hard to refuse after all, in Tubo, rejecting a toast was seen as a sign of disrespect.

Juchen sat in a corner, watching as one beautiful maiden after another approached Song Mi, taking turns to offer him wine. Their lingering gazes, filled with tender affection, made anyone who saw it sigh what enviable luck he had.

No wonder it was called a romantic encounter.

Juchen’s delicate nails dug into her palm before she forced herself to relax.

Driven by curiosity over whether he had already been overwhelmed by these intoxicating toasts, she slowly moved closer, blending in among the maidens, and handed him a cup of wine.

True enough, he accepted it without distinction.

Juchen scoffed inwardly and was about to withdraw her hand when suddenly, his fingers closed tightly around her slender wrist.

Song Mi pulled her out from the crowd, his dark eyes hazy yet intense under the dim night. “You-you didn’t sing?”

Juchen studied his unfocused gaze, suspecting he was too drunk to recognize her and had mistaken her for one of the toast maidens. Lowering her eyes, she replied softly and coldly, “I don’t know how.”

“How bold of you daring to offer me wine without a drinking song.” He tugged her closer, his voice roughened by alcohol, deeper than usual. A faint smile played at his lips, and his words, spoken so near her ear, sent an inexplicable shiver through her, carrying an undertone of flirtation.

Juchen’s heart skipped erratically. Meanwhile, the crowd around his seat gradually dispersed as her forced intrusion disrupted the scene.

These maidens had been instructed by their host if a guest showed interest, they were to willingly accompany them through the long night. Just like the flirtatious Lu Feng, who had already disappeared.

They had served many guests, but tonight, they had particularly hoped to be chosen by this man. Yet, he had seized another woman though he seemed to be reprimanding her for breaking the rules, it was the first time all evening he had smiled. The message was clear, and they tactfully withdrew.

Juchen glanced back at the retreating crowd and slowly realized he was using her as a shield against unwanted attention.

Song Mi rubbed his temples and ordered, “I’m a bit drunk. Escort me back.”

Juchen stood and summoned Yuan Nuo. After a moment’s hesitation, she followed behind them, ensuring he returned safely to his quarters. She had her own selfish reason what if the romantic encounter hadn’t happened at the banquet but on the way back?

Once Yuan Nuo helped him onto the bed, Juchen let out a quiet sigh of relief.

Not wanting to disturb his rest, she turned to leave only for the man on the bed to open his eyes and gaze out the window.

“The moonlight is quite lovely tonight,” he murmured.

Assuming it was drunken rambling, Juchen gave a noncommittal hum.

Song Mi’s pupils were slightly unfocused, yet his gaze fixed on hers. “If you have time, Lord Li, you might open your window and admire it for a while.”

Juchen nodded. As Yuan Nuo extinguished the candles in the room, she turned and left. Back in her own quarters, she lit a candle and sat at the table, sipping water. Song Mi’s words echoed in her mind, and almost unconsciously, she pushed open her window, tilting her head to gaze at the moon above.

It really was quite lovely the moon on the plateau appeared larger and rounder than usual. Juchen gazed at it, genuinely feeling a spark of appreciation. He turned back and walked to the table, intending to carry a round stool over.

Just as he lowered his head, a strange noise suddenly came from behind.

Juchen turned around, his eyes freezing in momentary confusion. He couldn’t fathom how this man, who could barely stand steady, still managed to climb through the window with such effortless grace.

Juchen hurried forward to support him, fearing something serious had happened. “What’s wrong?”

Song Mi steadied himself, then cupped the back of her head with one hand, tilting his face down to kiss her. “Nothing, Lord Li. I just came to see you no other reason.”