[Water Margin] Hu Sanniang with her delicate hands - Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Returning from the riverbank archery session, Wang Ying’s malicious and frantic retreating figure, like a pebble dropped into the pool of Hu Sanniang’s heart, reminded her that the undercurrents beneath the calm surface had never ceased. However, unlike her previous simple vigilance and hatred, this time, she felt a greater sense of calm scrutiny. Dǎlǐbō’s phrase, “the person holding the knife,” made her step out of pure hatred and consider the deeper causes and her own situation.
The alliance between Liangshan Marsh and the Liao Kingdom was quietly concluded amidst an atmosphere of outward enthusiasm and inward scheming. A grand ceremony was held in the Hall of Loyalty and Righteousness. Song Jiang and the Liao envoy Xiāo Dálài swore a bl00d oath, exchanged documents, and vowed to achieve great ambitions together. The scale of the banquet far exceeded previous ones, and the entire stockade was immersed in an inflated joy and anticipation for the future.
Hu Sanniang, as the representative who “had a good relationship with the Liao envoy,” was also required to attend in formal attire. She still chose the dark-blue riding outfit, not wearing the gorgeous “Xuanlian” armor, only pinning a plain silver hairpin in her hair. In the midst of the hall’s clamor and splendor, she appeared out of place and cold.
Dǎlǐbō, as the Liao Princess, was naturally one of the focal points of the banquet. She changed into a more formal crimson silk robe embroidered with a golden wolf totem. Her hair was still braided but adorned with a guguan (a type of ceremonial headdress) studded with pearls and feathers, exuding an air of inviolable dignity within the luxury. She dealt with Song Jiang, Wu Yong, and others with impeccable grace and conversation. Her pride and composure, typical of a grassland noble, secretly impressed many Liangshan leaders.
During the feast, their eyes met briefly several times. Dǎlǐbō’s gaze remained direct and meaningful, seemingly asking if she had digested their conversation that day, and also subtly warning her of the danger lurking beneath the splendor. Hu Sanniang returned a calmer look and gave a slight nod. Everything was conveyed without words. This silent communication created a secret, tacit space in the noisy banquet, understandable only to the two of them.
However, beneath this harmonious facade, the surging undercurrents soon showed their teeth.
Halfway through the feast, the atmosphere grew even more fervent. Wang Ying, perhaps to salvage the face he lost from being discovered following her, or emboldened by the newly established alliance and the stockade’s surging morale, drank several more bowls of liquor. He stumbled to his feet and, holding a bowl of wine, went directly to Hu Sanniang’s table and said coarsely:
“Third Mistress! Now that our Liangshan has allied with the Liao Kingdom, great things are ahead! Let’s let bygones be bygones! Come, I, Wang Ying, toast you a bowl. Drink this, and we’ll be real brothers… no, real husband and wife! Haha!” His words were vulgar, and he heavily emphasized the words “husband and wife,” causing some of the leaders friendly with him to burst into ambiguous laughter.
All eyes in the hall focused on them again. Song Jiang frowned slightly but did not immediately intervene. Wu Yong shook his feather fan, his eyes flickering, calculating something unknown.
Hu Sanniang’s face was icy cold. Looking at the large bowl of murky wine and Wang Ying’s confident, lewd smile, her stomach churned. Her hands in her lap silently clenched, her nails digging into her palms.
In the past, she might have suppressed her nausea and either feigned compliance or coldly refused, enduring the pressure alone. But at this moment, Dǎlǐbō’s eagle-like sharp gaze flashed through her mind, and she recalled the phrase, “fight for yourself.”
She slowly stood up, not reaching for the bowl of wine. Her eyes calmly swept over Wang Ying, then turned to Song Jiang on the high platform. Her voice was clear and resolute, carrying an unmistakable finality:
“Leader Wang’s goodwill is appreciated. However, I have already stated my position that I would rather die than marry. This vow is witnessed by Heaven and Earth and is no trifling matter. Today’s alliance is a major affair for the stockade. I hope Leader Wang prioritizes the overall situation and does not let personal matters interfere with public business, thus inviting ridicule from our friendly nation, Liao.”
Her words not only reiterated her stance but also elevated the issue to the level of “the stockade’s overall situation” and “the friendly nation’s perception,” directly tossing the ball back to Song Jiang and Wang Ying.
Wang Ying had not expected her to publicly refuse him again in such a setting, and with such sharp rhetoric. He was instantly enraged, his face turning red. He pointed at Hu Sanniang: “You… you…”
“Brother Wang Ying!” Song Jiang finally spoke, his tone carrying undeniable authority. “The Third Mistress speaks reasonably. Today is a great day for Liangshan’s alliance with the Liao Kingdom. Personal matters shall be discussed later! Stop this nonsense and stand down!”
Wang Ying was publicly reprimanded by Song Jiang and had completely lost face, yet he dared not defy him. He could only glare fiercely at Hu Sanniang, sullenly retreating to his seat, and violently slamming the bowl of wine onto the table, splashing the liquid everywhere.
Although the disturbance was forcibly quelled by Song Jiang, the atmosphere at the banquet had become somewhat subtle. Many of the leaders looked at Hu Sanniang with a mix of surprise and scrutiny. This usually taciturn woman general seemed more headstrong and untamable than they had imagined.
Hu Sanniang accepted the stares calmly and sat down again, her back held straight. She could feel the gaze from the Liao envoys’ table, filled with admiration and encouragement, still fixed upon her.
The banquet continued in a slightly awkward atmosphere. When the festivities finally ended, Hu Sanniang returned to her cold, quiet courtyard. She closed the door and only then allowed herself to show a hint of fatigue.
Just as she sat down, a very faint tapping sound came from outside the window.
Her heart stirred. She walked to the window and gently pushed open a crack. There was no one outside, only the night wind blowing. On the windowsill, a familiar, flat Xiyu jade flask rested quietly.
She picked up the jade flask. It was slightly heavy, seemingly filled with liquid. Pulling out the stopper, a clear, slightly herbal wine aroma wafted out. It was neither the strong milk wine from that day nor the rice wine of the Central Plains, but a calming fragrance she had never smelled before.
Tucked under the flask was a small, extremely thin roll of parchment. She unrolled it. It was still without words, but drawn in cinnabar was a simple sketch—an eagle entangled in chains, its sharp beak viciously pecking at the crucial link of the chain! The brushstrokes were sharp and full of a sense of power.
Hu Sanniang held the jade flask, looked at the drawing, and felt a complex warmth surge within her.
Dǎlǐbō was telling her in her own way: I saw your resistance. Very good. This wine is to calm your nerves. Severing the chain requires strength, timing, and determination.
She slowly drank the wine with its herbal fragrance. A gentle warmth flowed from her throat to her limbs, truly soothing some of her strained nerves and fatigue.
Clutching the empty jade flask tightly, Hu Sanniang walked to the window, looking toward the Liao envoys’ quarters. The lights there were extinguished, and it was silent.
The alliance was formed. The seemingly sturdy ship of Liangshan and the Liao Kingdom had set sail. Where should she, herself, go on this ship?
Should she continue to be a bound, beautiful ornament, or… seize the opportunity to break free and become the eagle that severs the chain?
The jade flask was silent, yet it seemed to convey a thousand words.
Her heart was in turmoil, waves rising suddenly.
The road ahead seemed even more shrouded in fog, yet it vaguely revealed a glimmer of light called “possibility.”