[Water Margin] Hu Sanniang with her delicate hands - Chapter 33

Chapter Thirty-Three

Inside the dilapidated inn room, the oil lamp flickered like a bean, casting long, distorted shadows of the three individuals onto the mottled mud walls. Hu Cheng, wrapped in a tattered quilt provided by the innkeeper, huddled in the corner of the kang (heated bed), still trembling slightly. His sallow face showed lingering shock, only gaining a flicker of life when he looked at Hu Sanniang.

Dǎlǐbō stood by the window, arms crossed, her gaze fixed on the endless darkness outside and the occasional falling snow motes, as if indifferent to the joy and sorrow within the room, leaving only a silent, watchful back.

Hu Sanniang sat on the edge of the kang, looking at Hu Cheng, who was now gaunt and emaciated—a far cry from the honest, dull-witted cousin she remembered. A heavy stone seemed to press upon her heart. She poured a bowl of hot water and handed it to him, her voice as gentle as possible: “Brother Cheng, take your time. What exactly happened? After the day Zhujiazhuang was broken, how… how did you end up here? And your health, and this iron flute…”

Hu Cheng’s hands trembled as he accepted the clay bowl. The warm steam misted his murky eyes. He took a deep breath, as if to expel all the pain and fear that had been suppressed for too long, and began his story in a hoarse, broken voice:

“That day… the estate was broken… Li Kui, that wicked bandit… killed everyone he saw… I led a few retainers, protecting the elderly and the weak, fleeing towards the back mountain… we were… we were pursued by a squad of Liangshan outlaws…” His voice trembled violently, clearly indicating that the horror of that day was still an inescapable nightmare. “In the melee, I took a saber cut and tumbled down the cliff… When I woke up, I was in a mass grave… It was an old man, a herb gatherer from nearby, who saved me…”

He recounted his story intermittently: gravely wounded, saved by the herb gatherer, and hidden in the deep mountains to recover for several months. When his injuries slightly improved, he learned that Hu Family Manor no longer existed and that the Third Mistress’s fate was unknown. He dared not return home, fearing discovery by Liangshan’s eyes and ears. He had no choice but to drift north, surviving by begging, doing odd jobs, and even scavenging food with wild dogs.

“This body… it was from the illness I contracted then. The internal injuries never fully healed. When the weather changes, I cough terribly…” Hu Cheng smiled miserably, his sallow face full of bitterness. “As for this iron flute…” He rubbed the dark, cold flute, a complex light flashing in his eyes. “I got it from a strange man I met later. He saw I had some foundation in martial arts and was desperate, so he taught me a few life-saving techniques and how to use this iron flute… He said that in this world, if you want to live, you have to be more vicious than the wicked.”

He did not elaborate on who the “strange man” was or the origins of the flute technique, but Hu Sanniang could imagine the inhuman suffering Hu Cheng had endured on his journey north to transform from the honest retainer leader into the ruthless, determined “consumptive ghost” he was now.

“I inquired along the way and vaguely heard that the Third Mistress was at Liangshan… I… I didn’t dare to look for you, afraid of implicating you… I just wanted to get far away, find a place to quietly live out the rest of my life… I never expected, in this desolate village inn, to…” Hu Cheng broke down into sobs here. The long-suppressed sense of grievance, fear, and loneliness finally found an outlet at this moment.

Hu Sanniang listened silently, her heart feeling as if it were being pierced repeatedly by countless needles. Loss of home and family, displacement, barely clinging to life… Hu Cheng’s experience was the microcosm of countless children of the Hu Family Manor in this chaotic world. And she, though having experienced humiliation and hardship, was still considered “lucky” compared to Hu Cheng.

She reached out and gently patted Hu Cheng’s violently shaking shoulder, her movement somewhat awkward, but carrying a rare tenderness. “It’s over now, Brother Cheng,” she whispered. “The important thing is that you’re alive.”

At this moment, Dǎlǐbō, who had been silent, suddenly turned around, her gaze resting on Hu Cheng, her tone calm and level: “What are your plans now?”

Hu Cheng was startled by the question. He raised his tear-filled eyes and shook his head blankly: “I… I don’t know… just live one day at a time, I suppose…”

“Come with us,” Dǎlǐbō said directly, not as a suggestion, but a statement.

Both Hu Cheng and Hu Sanniang were stunned.

Dǎlǐbō walked to the table and tapped her finger on the surface: “You have a hidden ailment. Staying here is merely waiting to die. Though the North is cold, there are good physicians who can treat your internal injuries. Since you possess some martial arts foundation, once you recover, you can also seek a career. That is far better than struggling with bandits on this borderland, living from hand to mouth.”

Her words were still direct and realistic, even a bit harsh, but they pointed out Hu Cheng’s most practical predicament.

Hu Cheng looked at Hu Sanniang, his eyes filled with inquiry and a faint glimmer of hope.

Hu Sanniang pondered for a moment. Taking Hu Cheng along would undoubtedly increase the burden and risk of their journey. But regardless, he was one of the few bl00d relatives she had left in the world, one of the last traces of the Hu Family Manor. She could not stand by and watch him perish in this wilderness.

“The Princess is right,” Hu Sanniang looked at Dǎlǐbō, her gaze carrying a subtle hint of a plea. “It’s just… I apologize for the trouble this will cause the Princess.”

Dǎlǐbō waved her hand indifferently: “Just one more person. It doesn’t matter. As for his injuries, we will find a way once we reach Xijin Prefecture.” She seemed to have considered everything already.

With the decision made, the atmosphere in the room eased slightly. Hu Cheng, upon learning that Dǎlǐbō was a Liao Princess, was stunned and flustered, trying to struggle up to perform a bow, but Hu Sanniang gently held him down.

“You are still injured. Rest well. We have to travel tomorrow.” Hu Sanniang tucked the quilt around him. Although her movements were unpracticed, they made Hu Cheng’s eyes moisten again.

Blowing out the oil lamp, the room fell into darkness. Hu Cheng soon drifted into a deep sleep from exhaustion and emotional release, his breathing heavy and rattling with phlegm.

Hu Sanniang and Dǎlǐbō, however, were not sleepy. Separated by the darkness, they could feel each other’s presence.

“Thank you,” Hu Sanniang whispered in the dark. She knew that Dǎlǐbō agreeing to take Hu Cheng was far more than just “one more person.” It included respect for her wishes.

Dǎlǐbō did not respond to the thanks, only saying lightly: “Sleep. The road ahead is long.”

Outside the window, the north wind howled across the wilderness, whipping up thousands of snow piles. In this dilapidated border inn, three individuals whose fates were vastly different yet intertwined by chance found temporary shelter.

A broken body and an iron flute recounted the pain of loss.

Their paths now converged, journeying together into the wind and snow of the Northern Territory.

Hu Sanniang closed her eyes, listening to Hu Cheng’s steady, safe breathing beside her, and Dǎlǐbō’s almost imperceptible yet reassuring presence by the window. The lonely sense of drifting that had long resided in her heart seemed to be slightly diminished.

The road ahead might still be difficult, but at least, she was no longer traveling alone.