[Water Margin] Hu Sanniang with her delicate hands - Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
The clamor of the celebration banquet finally receded like a tide. The lights in the Hall of Loyalty and Righteousness gradually dimmed, leaving behind only the wreckage of cups and plates and the pervasive smell of wine. Hu Sanniang excused herself, claiming to be overwhelmed by the wine, and politely declined the subsequent revelry, leaving the place filled with praise, probing, and undercurrents alone.
The night wind, carrying the moisture of the marsh, cooled her cheeks, which were slightly flushed from the wine, bringing a touch of clarity to her turbulent thoughts. She did not immediately return to her courtyard but walked casually toward a high vantage point on the stockade—an observation jade terrace. The view here was broad, overlooking the continuous campfires below and the ink-black water surface in the distance.
Moonlight poured like water onto the cold stone steps. She found a clean spot to sit, removed the Xuanlian armor’s helmet—a symbol of glory and restraint—and let the night wind ruffle the hair around her forehead. The boundless glory of the day, being the center of attention, now only left behind a bone-deep fatigue and an unspeakable solitude.
Jiang Jing’s reproach, Song Jiang’s scrutiny, the unconcealed hatred from the likes of Wang Ying and Li Kui, and… Dǎlǐbō’s words, seemingly complimentary but in fact pushing her into the eye of the storm. All of this made her feel a sense of powerlessness, like being at the center of a massive whirlpool. Even having achieved a great feat, she still could not truly control her own destiny; she remained a pawn in the game of various forces.
Yet, this pawn now seemed slightly different.
She instinctively reached into her bosom and gripped the Western Region jade flask that she kept close to her body. The cool sensation calmed her agitated heart slightly. The flask was smooth, and the star chart patterns that had appeared that night did not resurface, as if it had been merely an illusion.
“Contemplating the moon alone here? A hero after a great victory should not be so forlorn.”
A voice with a unique rhythm sounded from behind her, breaking the silence of the night.
Hu Sanniang did not turn around, but her heart tensed. She knew who it was.
Dǎlǐbō slowly walked up the jade steps and sat down not far from her. She had changed out of her opulent silk robe, wearing only a simple, dark-colored long gown, her long hair unbound and casually draped over her shoulders, gleaming like satin in the moonlight. She did not look at Hu Sanniang, fixing her gaze instead on the scattered lights below the mountain, her tone carrying a hint of languor.
“Has the Princess not retired either?” Hu Sanniang asked without turning her head, her voice calm.
“The clamor is for them; I never cared for it,” Dǎlǐbō chuckled softly. “Besides, the lingering effect of watching a good play is sometimes more interesting than the play itself.”
Hu Sanniang was silent for a moment, then finally turned to look at the woman beside her. The moonlight outlined her handsome profile and those light brown eyes, which appeared deeper in the darkness. “Why did the Princess speak as you did at the banquet today?”
“Speak how?” Dǎlǐbō feigned ignorance, a playful smile playing on her lips.
“The Princess knows what I speak of,” Hu Sanniang’s voice sank slightly. “Such high praise, and mentioning titles of Marquis and General in Great Liao—was that not placing me upon a bed of hot coals?”
Dǎlǐbō finally turned her head and met Hu Sanniang’s gaze. Her eyes were sharp, as if able to pierce through all pretense: “Hot coals? Are you, Hu Sanniang, fine gold that fears the fire’s refining?” She leaned slightly forward, closing the distance. The scent of fresh grass and cool spices subtly wafted over. “I was telling everyone, including Song Jiang, that your worth, Hu Sanniang, far exceeds that of a simple Liangshan leader. You have a wider sky; why confine yourself to this puddle of water, squabbling with those insects?”
Her words were still direct and bold, carrying the unique arrogance and assertiveness of a grassland princess.
“A wider sky?” Hu Sanniang met her gaze without flinching. “Does the Princess mean Great Liao? I have already said, my roots are in the Central Plains.”
“The Central Plains?” Dǎlǐbō scoffed, her disdain unconcealed. “The Zhao imperial court? Or these so-called ‘righteous armies’ rife with jackals and ruling themselves? Hu Sanniang, you are an intelligent person; can you not see that this so-called ‘Acting on Heaven’s Behalf’ is merely another power game? Song Jiang will give you glory when he needs you, but once you lose your value, or threaten him, your fate will be no better than Dong Ping’s.”
Her words were like cold knives, cutting through the magnificent veneer of Liangshan’s “Loyalty and Righteousness” and exposing the naked reality beneath.
Hu Sanniang was shaken. She knew Dǎlǐbō spoke the truth. Jiang Jing’s sudden attack at the banquet was clear evidence.
“Even so, it is my choice,” Hu Sanniang gripped the jade flask in her hand, her knuckles slightly white.
“Choice?” Dǎlǐbō’s gaze fell on her tightly clenched hand, her eyes shifting slightly. “Or… the only path left when there is no choice?” Her voice softened, carrying a strange allure. “What I offer you is never a single choice, but… greater possibilities. You can choose to stay, or you can choose to leave. But at the very least, you should know that you possess the power to choose, instead of merely being a passive recipient.”
The power to choose…
Hu Sanniang was stunned. Since childhood, she seemed to have passively accepted everything—accepting the family’s arrangements, accepting the tricks of fate, accepting Liangshan’s “benevolence” and oppression. Her fierce struggle was merely squirming within an established cage. No one had ever told her that she could possess the power to “choose.”
Dǎlǐbō saw the confusion and shock flash in her eyes and did not press further. She returned her gaze to the distance, her tone becoming somewhat ethereal: “In our grasslands, there is a kind of eagle that is born on cliffs and grows up in storms. It can choose to stay in the nest and live peacefully, or it can choose to spread its wings and fight against the vast sky. Regardless of the choice, it stems from its own will, not the constraints of the cliff.”
She paused, her voice low: “Hu Sanniang, I hope you are the eagle that knows it can fly, and dares to fly.”
With that, she stood up, her dark gown gently swaying in the night wind. She did not look back at Hu Sanniang, leaving only a final sentence:
“Keep the jade flask safe. Perhaps one day, you will have need of it.”
Then, just as silently as she had arrived, she descended the jade steps, her figure melding into the deep night, disappearing from Hu Sanniang’s sight.
Hu Sanniang sat alone on the cold jade steps for a long time, unmoving. The night wind blew, carrying the sound of the distant night watch drum.
Dǎlǐbō’s words were like a massive stone thrown into the sealed lake of her heart, stirring not just ripples, but turbulent waves. The power to choose… a wider sky… the eagle that knows it can fly, and dares to fly…
These thoughts aggressively challenged her established perceptions and beliefs.
She lowered her head, looking at the jade flask in her hand, which emitted a warm luster under the moonlight. It was no longer just a token; it was more like a key, a key that might unlock the door to an unknown world.
Her heart wavered, unable to find peace.
The night was far from over, and the road ahead was long.
And this time, she truly seemed to see, besides the path that seemed to be the only one, the faint glow of other possibilities.