[Water Margin] Hu Sanniang with her delicate hands - Chapter 29

Chapter Twenty-Nine

The victory celebrations for the second great triumph at Dongping Prefecture had yet to fade, but Hu Sanniang’s name was already burning like a wildfire, captivating the attention of Shandong’s outlaw community and the imperial court. The ballad, “Hu Sanniang, a Mulan Reborn,” spread widely, and her prestige was, for a time, unparalleled. Within Liangshan Marsh, she was revered almost as a deity; common soldiers who saw her pass by were filled with respect, their eyes showing an almost fanatical admiration.

However, beneath this fiery glory, this scene of intense excitement and decorated success, a cold undercurrent was quietly surging in the depths of the Hall of Loyalty and Righteousness.

The victory banquet was again held in the Hall of Loyalty and Righteousness, with rich delicacies, clinking cups, and deafening clamor. Song Jiang sat at the head, his face glowing, personally pouring wine for Hu Sanniang. His words were sincere, and his praises flowed endlessly. Wu Yong, fanning himself at the side, echoed the sentiments with eloquent wit, vividly depicting Hu Sanniang’s dual brilliance in strategy and courage. All the leaders, regardless of their true feelings, put on smiles and raised their cups to toast the rising heroine.

Hu Sanniang wore her Xuanlian armor, a symbol of honor and merit, with her helmet resting beside her, revealing a beautiful yet austere face. She sat composedly, responding appropriately, her demeanor calm. She did not display any sign of being carried away by the overwhelming praise. She tasted the wine lightly, her gaze occasionally sweeping the hall, taking in all the eyes—whether sincere, envious, jealous, or scrutinizing.

She could clearly sense the invisible pressure lurking beneath the seemingly enthusiastic atmosphere, particularly from the gazes of Song Jiang and Wu Yong above her. Behind their warm smiles lay an unfathomable probing and a subtle, elusive coldness.

Inevitably, after several rounds of wine, when the clamor subsided slightly, Song Jiang put down his jade chopsticks, stroked his beard, and said in an ostensibly casual tone: “Third Mistress has once again achieved a spectacular feat, defeating Hao Siwen with vastly inferior forces and raising the prestige of our Liangshan. This is truly a blessing to the stockade. Speaking of which, Hao Siwen is no mediocrity; he commands steadily. Yet, the Third Mistress was able to precisely grasp the movements of his vanguard, Suo Chao, and even knew the layout of his camp and the location of his supplies like the back of her hand. This foresight, even Strategist Wu here, would have to admit he falls short, haha!”

His laughter was hearty, as if he had only spoken a casual remark, but the veiled challenge in his words was like a drawn dagger, instantly silencing the surrounding noise! All eyes, both overtly and covertly, focused sharply on Hu Sanniang once more.

Wu Yong interjected at the right moment, gently fanning himself, his tone carrying a perfect mix of curiosity and admiration: “Brother Gongming speaks correctly. The art of war lies in knowing oneself and one’s enemy. The Third Mistress’s precise grasp of the enemy’s situation and her subtle timing are indeed beyond ordinary people. I wonder what kind of elite scouts the Third Mistress dispatched to obtain such detailed military intelligence in such a short time? Perhaps you could share some insights for the other brothers in the stockade to learn from.”

Here it comes. These seemingly casual questions were, in fact, relentless probes and cross-examinations! They did not believe that Hu Sanniang, with her hastily assembled troops, could acquire nearly perfect, battle-deciding intelligence in such a short period. Behind this must be hidden channels or power unknown to them. And this unknown, to the intensely controlling Song Jiang and Wu Yong, was absolutely intolerable.

The hall was so quiet that one could hear a pin drop. Although Wang Ying, Li Kui, and others dared not speak, their eyes gleamed with schadenfreude. Some originally neutral leaders also showed expressions of deep thought.

Hu Sanniang sat motionless, but her heart was churning. She knew her answer at this moment was critical; one wrong word could lead to total ruin. She could not mention Dǎlǐbō, which would be ironclad proof of treason. But if she couldn’t explain herself clearly, the suspicion of “merit overshadowing the lord” would instantly strangle her future like a poisonous vine.

She slowly put down her wine cup, her fingertips slightly white from gripping it, but her face maintained an icy calm. Meeting the gazes of Song Jiang and Wu Yong, her voice was clear and measured, neither hurried nor slow:

“Brother Gongming, Strategist, you give me too much credit. How dare I compare myself to the Strategist? This fortunate victory was achieved by various factors, not my sole merit.”

She paused briefly, organizing her explanation, which had to be plausible while downplaying her image as a “divine strategist.”

“That Suo Chao is inherently fiery-tempered, nicknamed ‘Vanguard,’ and his repeated failed challenges must have made him agitated—this is one factor. I did dispatch all the keenest scouts under my command to monitor his camp movements day and night, especially his vanguard camp. We discovered that the western woods, due to the complex terrain, indeed had gaps in patrols—this is the second factor.”

She attributed the intelligence source to an analysis of the enemy general’s character and regular, painstaking reconnaissance, making it sound reasonable.

“As for the location of the supplies,” Hu Sanniang shifted the focus, her tone hinting at “luck” and “risk,” “it was not discovered in detail by the scouts. It was merely by observing the frequent directions of their transport convoys, combined with the terrain, that I boldly speculated the supplies might be stored in the low-lying area behind that woods. The situation was critical, with the enemy vastly outnumbering us. We had no choice but to take a great risk, hence I ordered Hu Cheng to lead the team to lurk and act opportunistically. Fortunately, Heaven favored Liangshan, and we gambled correctly on this one move, which allowed the fire attack to succeed. Had their supplies not been there, or the guard been stricter, the consequences would have been unthinkable.”

She cleverly attributed the most crucial source of intelligence to her own “speculation” and “risky gamble,” and emphasized the element of luck. This greatly diminished her “prophetic foresight” halo, placing her in the position of a general who was “bold, meticulous, and daring to take risks,” rather than a strategist who planned everything and controlled all outcomes.

This explanation not only answered their questions but also avoided exposing Dǎlǐbō. Furthermore, it subtly brought her down from the altar of “near-supernatural wisdom,” alleviating the suspicions of Song Jiang and Wu Yong to a certain extent.

Song Jiang and Wu Yong exchanged a look, the sharpness of their probing gaze softening slightly. Wu Yong chuckled, fanning himself: “So that’s it. The Third Mistress is bold and meticulous, adept at seizing military opportunities, and possesses the courage to make decisive moves. Truly the makings of a great general! It seems we were overly concerned.”

Song Jiang also laughed in agreement: “Precisely! Third Mistress, there is no need to be overly humble. Your merit is witnessed by everyone in the stockade! Come, everyone, let us drink this cup to the Third Mistress again!”

The crisis seemed momentarily averted, and the banquet atmosphere returned to life. But the tension in Hu Sanniang’s heart tightened further. She knew this was merely superficial calm. Once the seed of suspicion was planted, it would quietly grow in the darkness. Today they accepted her explanation, but if similar circumstances arose again, or if she made a single misstep, this suspicion would multiply fiercely until it consumed her.

She felt a deep weariness and coldness, as if she were alone on a snowfield surrounded by circling wolves. The surrounding clamor and the hot wine could not warm her cold heart.

The grand banquet eventually dispersed. Hu Sanniang excused herself from the subsequent revelry and returned to her quarters alone. Dismissing her attendants, she took off the heavy dark armor, remaining in her undergarments, and sat under the solitary lamp. The moonlight outside the window was cold, illuminating her slightly pale face.

She took out the Western Region jade flask she kept close to her heart. Its cool touch was her only comfort at the moment. Her fingers repeatedly traced the smooth surface of the flask. The invisible pressure from the Hall of Loyalty and Righteousness earlier in the day, the probing and suspicious gazes, and Song Jiang and Wu Yong’s seemingly gentle yet sharp words, all resurfaced in her mind.

If she stayed, was there still a path for her?

The answer seemed clear and cruel.

Just then, an extremely faint but unusually clear tapping sound came from the window frame: thump, thump-thump. The rhythm was unique, carrying a kind of prearranged cadence.

Hu Sanniang’s heart leaped. She moved instantly to the window and quietly pushed open a crack.

The night outside was deep, and no one was there. On the windowsill lay a slender reed tube sealed with black wax, resting quietly.

She quickly retrieved it, closed the window tightly, and returned to the lamp. With trembling fingers, she crushed the hard wax and pulled out a roll of silk as thin as a cicada’s wing.

Unfurled, it contained only eight characters, written in Dǎlǐbō’s bold and sharp hand, with force penetrating the silk:

“Tree attracts wind, nest overturns, eggs break. Three days, zi hour, old place.”

There were no extra words, no explanations, only the most direct warning and the clearest instruction.

Tree attracts wind, nest overturns, eggs break—directly pointing to her current precarious situation of excessive merit and impending danger!

Three days, zi hour, old place—giving the final time limit for choice and the path of escape!

Hu Sanniang held the light silk scroll, yet it felt as heavy as a mountain, almost suffocating her. The moment of final decision had arrived so suddenly.

Should she continue to stay in this seemingly glorious but deeply perilous Liangshan, waiting for the executioner’s blade that might fall at any moment? Or should she trust that enigmatic but repeatedly helpful Northern Princess and embark on the unknown journey north, whose outcome was uncertain?

Her gaze fell upon the wolf’s head token on the corner of the table. The cold dark iron shimmered faintly. She remembered the map that depicted the vast world, Dǎlǐbō’s light brown eyes that seemed capable of burning away all gloom, and her words: “I hope you are the eagle that knows it can fly, and dares to fly.”

Staying meant being boiled like a frog in warm water, a slow death.

Leaving meant burning her bridges, facing death to find life.

Her heart pounded like a drum; bl00d surged through her veins. The long-suppressed resentment, the longing for freedom, the rebellion against fate, all erupted at this moment like a long-dormant volcano!

She no longer hesitated.

She ignited the silk scroll with the dancing lamplight, watching the eight destiny-determining characters turn to ash and scatter in the air.

Then, she picked up the wolf’s head token, gripping it tightly in her palm. The cold touch slightly calmed her fervent bl00d, but her eyes became sharper and clearer than ever before.

Three days from now, at the zi hour, the old hut in the back mountain.

Her path was not in Liangshan, but in the direction the North Wind came from.