[Water Margin] Hu Sanniang with her delicate hands - Chapter 1

Chapter One

A bone-chilling cold permeated the air, not the kind of biting north wind in the twelfth lunar month that could crack mud-brick houses, for that wind was dutifully blocked by embroidered silk curtains and tightly fitted carved window lattices. This cold seeped out silently, thread by thread, from the very marrow of the bones, from the depths of the heart, accompanied by a shiver and a sense of void—the feeling of a soul forcibly stripped away and then crammed into an unfamiliar vessel.

Hù Sānniáng suddenly opened her eyes.

Her heart pounded in her chest like a frantic drum, making her eardrums buzz. Her gaze landed on the dark canopy of the large, intricately carved bed. The fine rosewood was sculpted with dizzying, complex patterns of intertwined lotus vines and twin lotus blossoms, which appeared vague and shadowy in the indigo pre-dawn light that filtered through the gauze curtain, like countless silent, lurking beasts. A faint, cold scent drifted in the air—the former occupant’s usual incense, reportedly a mix of early winter green calyx plum petals and a little borneol. It was elegant, to be sure, but it couldn’t mask the faint, oppressive, and old-fashioned scent belonging to this era and this deep-set chamber.

No, this was not her era.

She was Lín Xiǎo. Just yesterday—no, perhaps only a few hours ago—she had been in the brightly lit university library, smelling of caffeine, paper, and ink, facing that thick, head-splitting 120-chapter edition of The Water Margin. She had been filled with righteous indignation over the fate of a woman described in mere hundreds of words. Hù Sānniáng, the wealthy daughter of the Hù Family Village, beautiful and brave with formidable martial arts skills. And yet? Her family was ruined, she was forced onto Liangshan Marsh, and in the end, she was carelessly gifted by Sòng Jiāng, that outwardly honorable “righteous hero,” as a political chip and favor to the “Dwarf Tiger” Wáng Yīng—a man utterly inferior in looks, martial skill, and character! A brilliant, dazzling red lotus forcibly thrust into a filthy, putrid mire.

She had been so angry that she’d slammed her hand on the table, causing the student next to her to look over. She muttered under her breath, “A heroine shouldn’t be paired with a short, ugly nobody. It’s a total desecration of beauty!”

And then?

Then, likely from staying up too late, her head swam, she slumped onto the desk, and lost consciousness.

And then… there was now.

Her soul felt as if it had been violently stuffed into a shell that didn’t quite fit. The sensations relayed by her limbs and bones were both familiar and strange. The young, vigorous beat of this body’s heart, the cool air expanding her lungs, the smooth, cold touch of the silk quilt against her fingertips… all confirmed the utterly absurd truth:

She, Lín Xiǎo, had become Hù Sānniáng.

Not a few cold words on a page, not a legendary tale to sigh over in a story, but the living, pulsating Hù Sānniáng, about to personally experience all that tragedy and injustice!

“Mistress? Are you awake?” A maid’s soft, hurried footsteps came from outside the curtain, accompanied by a slightly sleepy inquiry. “It’s still early. Why don’t you rest a bit longer? The Master ordered you to join him for breakfast this morning. He said Young Master Zhù Biāo from the Zhù Family Village is here, and they have important matters to discuss.”

Zhù Family Village! Young Master Biāo!

These two names, like bl00d-soaked thunderclaps, roared in her already chaotic mind. The scenes of carnage described in the book—how Lǐ Kuí’s bloodthirsty axes chopped down the Hù Family Village clansmen regardless of age, how raging fires consumed the family’s ancestral estate, how her father, Hù Tàigōng’s, refined and terrified face fell into a pool of bl00d… And her own humiliation at being captured and taken to Liangshan like a stray dog, and the disgust and despair she would face later looking at Wáng Yīng’s wretched face…

These scenes now tumbled and magnified before her eyes, vivid and cruel, almost splitting her skull!

No! Absolutely not!

A shudder and a powerful resistance, originating from the depths of her soul, made her abruptly sit up in bed. The sudden movement caused the bed curtain to shake violently. Cold sweat instantly soaked the back of her thin nightgown, clinging stickily to her skin, bringing a deeper chill.

She subconsciously clenched her hands. The touch was fine Hangzhou silk, smooth and cool, but cold as her heart felt. She looked down, bewildered and startled, at her hands—slender fingers, white as jade, nails trimmed round and clean, showing a healthy pink. Yet beneath the delicate skin, on the pads of her fingers and in the webs between her thumb and index finger, was a thin, tough layer of callus—the result of years of martial arts practice.

These were not her slightly calloused hands from late-night coding and flipping through heavy books. These were the hands of “One-Foot-of-Striped-Snake” Hù Sānniáng—hands that could firmly grasp heavy Sun and Moon Dual Sabers, that could wield a cold, sharp light amidst a thousand troops, hands that could accurately throw a red silk lasso and capture a senior general in a flash of lightning!

A strong sense of absurdity and a terrifying panic intertwined, like countless icy vines, tightly constricting her heart, almost suffocating her.

“Mistress?” Hearing the unusual movement inside, the maid’s voice carried a hint of worry. She gently lifted a corner of the bed curtain, revealing a young, concerned face. It was the original owner’s personal maid, whose name was… Qiū Yàn?

Hù Sānniáng—no, Lín Xiǎo, whose dominant consciousness now occupied this body—forced herself to take a deep breath. The scent of cold plum mixed with the cool morning air rushed into her lungs, slightly calming her surging emotions. She had to be calm. Panic would solve nothing; it would only hasten her descent toward that known, tragic ending.

From this moment on, she was Hù Sānniáng. She had to be Hù Sānniáng.

She struggled to mimic the cool composure and steadiness of a general’s daughter, as described in her memory of the book, though her voice was still hoarse from sleep and carried a faint, imperceptible tremor: “It’s nothing… I’m awake, so let’s get up. Help me change.”

Qiū Yàn saw that her mistress looked paler than usual, but her eyes held an indescribable stillness (or perhaps, a death-like calm). She dared not ask more, quickly answered “Yes,” and deftly began to prepare things.

Standing before the hazy, life-sized bronze mirror, mottled with a ripple-like verdigris, Hù Sānniáng saw her current appearance clearly for the first time.

The person in the mirror was only sixteen years old, yet already tall, nearly matching an average man. Dressed in an elegant pale goose-yellow silk skirt, topped by a light green vest with a vine pattern, her waist looked impossibly slender, her posture straight as an orchid. Her gaze moved up to the face in the mirror—her features were exquisite, truly deserving the eight characters: “Distant mountains holding dark ink, autumn waters forming her spirit.” Her eyes should have been clear and bright, carrying the innocence and vivacity of an unsophisticated girl. But now, all innocence was thoroughly erased, replaced by a deep, sharp coldness and scrutiny utterly mismatched to her age, as if, overnight, she had seen through the world and comprehended the capriciousness of fate.

This face was breathtakingly beautiful, yet as fragile as glass. Against the approaching, bloody torrent of “Liangshan heroes,” this beauty and fragility were crushingly weak.

Qiū Yàn skillfully combed her thick, dark hair, loosely pinning it up with a jade hairpin, while chattering, trying to dispel the sudden heaviness of the morning: “Mistress, you look a little peaky today. You definitely didn’t sleep well last night. I’ll have the kitchen brew some soothing soup later… I hear that Young Master Zhù Biāo brought quite a few gifts this time. He’s here to discuss joint drilling of our manor’s guards and strengthening defenses with the Master, to deal with the increasingly rampant Liangshan bandits. The Master places great importance on this, saying the alliance of the three villages is like lips and teeth, mutually dependent…”

Resist Liangshan? Three Villages Alliance?

Hù Sānniáng sneered internally, the cold laughter piercing her organs. According to the original work, it was precisely this seemingly solid alliance that had completely chained the Hù Family Village to the Zhù Family Village’s doomed ship! Zhù Biāo’s arrogance, Luán Tíngyù’s inability to stand alone, Zhù Cháofèng’s senile shortsightedness… ultimately brought about the all-out, insane retaliation of Liangshan Marsh, and Lǐ Kuí’s indiscriminate, bloody axes!

She knew everything. She knew the beginning of the story, the brutality of the process, and the absurdity of the ending.

But she was powerless to stop it.

She couldn’t even tell anyone. Was she supposed to grab her father’s hand and tell him, “Father, the Liangshan bandits will attack soon, Lǐ Kuí will slaughter our entire village, and I’ll be forced to marry an ugly wretch”? Before she could finish, she would likely be locked up as a lunatic, or worse, inadvertently raise an alarm and cause fate to accelerate its arrival in a more uncontrollable manner.

This kind of prophetic, isolated despair was a hundred times more suffocating than walking toward destruction in ignorance.

She had to do something. Even if it was just a futile struggle, a grasshopper trying to stop a carriage.

After that tasteless breakfast—during which her father, Hù Tàigōng, and the spirited, somewhat arrogant-looking Zhù Biāo discussed joint defense and exchanging hostages (as a sign of trust), she merely sat quietly with downcast eyes, occasionally agreeing to a point, her mind already miles away—Hù Sānniáng excused herself, claiming she needed to “go to the training ground to watch the guards drill,” and left the lively parlor.

She didn’t go straight to the training ground, but turned directly toward her father Hù Tàigōng’s study, where he usually handled estate affairs. Hù Tàigōng was still entertaining the guest, so the study was empty.

Sunlight slanted through the carved wooden window lattices, casting dappled shadows on the clean brick floor. The study was elegantly furnished, with many thread-bound books stacked on the shelves, and a detailed map of Dúlóng Ridge and the surrounding area hung on the wall, next to a decorative saber.

Hù Sānniáng’s eyes locked onto the map. Hù Family Village, Zhù Family Village, Lǐ Family Village—the three villages stood like the legs of a tripod, supporting each other. Seemingly impregnable, but in reality… her mind rapidly recalled how Liangshan had utilized the contradictions between the three villages, divide and conquer, and eventually subdue them one by one.

No, she couldn’t wait for death.

She paced the study, her brain working at an unprecedented speed. As a modern person, she knew that information asymmetry was the greatest advantage. She might not be able to change the overall trend of Liangshan’s imminent attack, but she could start with the details, increasing the Hù Family Village’s chances of survival as much as possible.

About an incense stick later, estimating that her father should be returning soon, she straightened her thoughts and expression and stood quietly in the center of the study.

Sure enough, Hù Tàigōng soon walked in with a faint smell of wine. He looked surprised to see her: “Sānniáng? Why are you here? Didn’t you go to the training ground?”

“Father,” Hù Sānniáng curtsied respectfully, her eyes calmly meeting his. “Daughter just took a look at the training ground. The guards are diligently practicing. However…”

She deliberately paused, drawing Hù Tàigōng’s gaze toward the map on the wall, before continuing in a voice she tried to make sound age-appropriate and slightly “worried”: “Daughter has been studying military treatises lately, like The Art of War and Wu Zi. I’ve had some thoughts. Although our Hù Family Village has high walls, deep moats, and brave guards, the military strategy says, ‘rely not on the enemy not coming, but on your own readiness to meet him.’ Liangshan Marsh is growing in power, and Sòng Jiāng and Wú Yòng are skilled strategists. They are not ordinary bandits. If they launch an all-out attack, Daughter fears the three-village alliance may still have weaknesses.”

Hù Tàigōng, nearly fifty, with a refined appearance, always considered himself a scholar. Though surprised his daughter was suddenly discussing military affairs, he was also somewhat pleased by the “my daughter is all grown up” feeling. He stroked his beard and smiled: “Oh? My child now concerns herself with military matters? Good, good. Tell me, what are your insights?”

“Daughter believes that while the village wall defense is fundamental, the outside cannot be ignored.” Hù Sānniáng pointed toward the dense woods outside the village walls on the map. “For instance, this patch of woods runs right up to the wall. If the bandits sneak through it, using it for cover, and launch a sudden attack, our wall defenders might be caught off guard. We should send capable people to secretly set up pitfalls, trip-ropes, and iron caltrops in the woods, and arrange hidden sentries for day and night surveillance.”

She then pointed to the marked locations of the granary and the well: “These places are the lifeblood of our village. We must assign absolutely loyal and trustworthy confidants to patrol them day and night. The number of guards should be increased, the shifts should be closer, and all entry and exit must be strictly checked to prevent spies from infiltrating, poisoning, or setting fire.”

Her points were clear and logical. Though not a revolutionary strategy, they addressed crucial defensive vulnerabilities—exactly the weak points Liangshan might exploit or had exploited in the novel.

Hù Tàigōng listened, his initial smile slowly fading, replaced by a look of seriousness. He pondered for a moment, then said, “My child, your concerns are not unreasonable. However… Liangshan Marsh is still hundreds of miles away. Though Sòng Jiāng and his ilk have some reputation, they may not dare to provoke our Dúlóng Ridge Three Villages Alliance. Furthermore, strengthening defenses requires significant financial and manpower resources. Several elders in the village might…”

The same old excuses! Underestimation, wishful thinking, and potential internal resistance!

Hù Sānniáng was anxious, but dared not show it. She suppressed her emotions and insisted, “Father, preparation ensures safety. The cost of resources is always better than the cost of a ruined village and a shattered family. Daughter is willing to save a portion of my own monthly allowance to fund these additional defenses. I urge Father to reconsider!”

Her tone carried a rare determination that made Hù Tàigōng pause and look again at his daughter, who seemed to have matured overnight. He finally sighed, his voice softening: “Very well, I understand your concern, my child. This matter… allow me to think it over carefully and discuss it with the elders before deciding.”

This was basically a polite dismissal. Hù Sānniáng’s heart turned cold. She knew that changing deeply ingrained mindsets with a few words was almost impossible.

“Daughter understands.” She lowered her eyes, masking the profound helplessness and disappointment beneath, and bowed. “Daughter takes her leave.”

Leaving the study, the knot of frustration in her chest was so tight it almost strangled her. She needed space, she needed calm.

She walked aimlessly onto the high village wall. The cold, blue bricks conveyed an ancient chill. She leaned against the crenellations, straining her eyes to look into the distance. The rising sun had already cleared the horizon, its golden-red light generously spilling across the land, bathing the fields, the forests, and the distant villages in a warm, vibrant glow. Villagers had long since begun their day’s labor. Farmers walked with hoes over their shoulders along the paths between the fields, women beat clothes by the stream, toddlers chased each other in the courtyards, and the smoke from cooking fires curled upward, mingled with the crowing of roosters and the barking of dogs, creating a picture of tranquil, idyllic life.

This was her home.

Although in The Water Margin, Hù Family Village was merely a backdrop, an almost passing mention in the “Three Attacks on the Zhù Family Village” storyline, a stepping stone for the protagonists’ achievements. Standing here now, she could feel the solidity of the wall beneath her feet, smell the fresh scent of earth and grass in the air, and see the busy, vibrant faces, filled with the flavor of life… They were not just cold, easily erased symbols on a page. They were living, breathing people, with parents and children, joys and sorrows, and the most simple hopes for tomorrow.

And she knew the bloody end that awaited most of them.

A massive, soul-tearing sense of powerlessness, mixed with an even stronger, instinctive need to protect, crashed and surged in her chest. She hated it! Hated this accursed, already-written fate! Hated the book that had decided the life and death of countless people! And hated the invisible, intangible existence that had so ruthlessly thrown her into this desperate situation!

The wind, which had grown sudden and urgent, swept over the wall with the biting cold of late autumn in the north, whipping her goose-yellow skirt and green vest tightly against her body, outlining her tall yet somewhat slender figure. The fabric flapped loudly, as if wanting to carry her away. A few strands of dark hair, escaping the jade hairpin, flew wildly across her eyes and cheeks, bringing a tickling sensation.

She closed her eyes, deeply and greedily inhaling the cool, grassy air, trying to feel the strength contained within this young body—a power far exceeding her own in her previous life. Her hands, famed as “slender hands like jade,” slowly but firmly clenched into fists again, the knuckles white with effort, gleaming with the hard, cold luster of jade in the morning sun.

Since she was here, and there was no escape, she could only face it.

Even if the wheel of history was heavy and unstoppable, she would use all the strength of “One-Foot-of-Striped-Snake,” use her own way, to test the sharp edge of fate! To fight for that seemingly minuscule sliver of hope!

She did not love Wáng Yīng. A heroine should not be paired with a short, ugly nobody. This belief had never been more resolute than it was now.

She would carve a bloody path out of this seemingly predestined deadlock and despair, for herself and for the vivid lives on the land behind her!

However, Hù Sānniáng, fully immersed in the resolute and tragic struggle against her known destiny, was still unaware that beyond the set path of fate, a completely different encounter—a mixture of flashing blades and soft affection—was quietly brewing in the distant north. The wind was stirring at the end of the green duckweed; the wave was building in the slightest ripple.

She tightened her robe, opened her eyes, and the last trace of confusion and vulnerability was completely suppressed, leaving only icy calm and rock-like determination. She turned, stepped down from the wall, and walked toward the training ground. Her steps were steady, echoing clearly and solitarily on the ancient flagstones.

The road ahead was long. And her battle began at this very moment.