[Water Margin] Hu Sanniang with her delicate hands - Chapter 34

Chapter Thirty-Four

After more than ten consecutive days of battling the wind and snow, climbing mountains and crossing rivers, when the outline of the colossal city, strategically situated at the southern foot of the Yan Mountains and guarding the north-south thoroughfare, finally appeared on the horizon, even Hu Sanniang, with her iron will, couldn’t help but sigh in relief.

Xijin Prefecture. The Southern Capital of the Liao Kingdom.

In stark contrast to Liangshan Marsh’s rugged stronghold and the central Chinese prefectures’ ordered layouts, the first impression this northern metropolis gave Hu Sanniang was one of ruggedness, grandeur, and an alien kind of prosperity. The colossal city walls were built with huge blue stones, weathered by the elements and marked by the passage of time. Liao flags embroidered with the wolf totem fluttered atop the walls. The garrison soldiers were clad in bright armor, with shaved heads and clothes buttoned to the left, their eyes sharp, carrying the characteristic ferocity of grassland warriors.

At the city gate, carriages and horses rumbled, and people flowed like a river. Besides Khitans and Xis in their shaved hair and fur coats, there were Han Chinese merchants with tied-up hair and long robes, and even Western Region merchants with high noses and deep-set eyes wrapped in white cloth. Various languages and scents mingled, forming a vibrant yet bizarre spectacle.

Dǎlǐbō presented a jade token carved with an intricate wolf pattern. The commanding officer at the gate immediately stood in solemn respect, waving them through without daring to closely examine Hu Sanniang or Hu Cheng. Passing through the deep, imposing gate tunnel, the view suddenly opened up. The streets were wide, paved with crushed stone, lined with shops, and bustling with flags. Despite the winter, people came and went constantly; the sounds of hawkers, camel bells, and horse hooves were endless. The air was thick with the scent of beef and mutton, the smell of tanned leather, and some unknown spice.

Hu Cheng had never seen such a sight. Huddling on his horse, he looked around nervously, his sallow face filled with alarm and confusion. Though Hu Sanniang was also inwardly shaken, she maintained her composure, only tightening her grip on the reins slightly. Everything was so different from the world she knew.

Dǎlǐbō, however, was accustomed to all this. She rode at the front, looking straight ahead, ignoring the gazes of either awe or curiosity cast upon her. She rode directly through several busy markets to a heavily guarded, high-walled mansion in the west of the city.

The mansion’s entrance was imposing, flanked by two ferocious stone wolves. The plaque above the gate bore the gilded characters “Princess’s Residence” carved in both Khitan and Han Chinese scripts. An elderly Khitan man, looking like a steward, along with a group of servants, was already waiting at the gate. Seeing Dǎlǐbō, they all bowed, their hands across their chests, their expressions utterly respectful.

“Tengri, arrange two clean guest rooms. Take this Brother Hu Cheng to rest and have the manor physician examine him,” Dǎlǐbō dismounted, handed the reins to a servant, and ordered the elder (Tengri) in Khitan. Hu Sanniang could vaguely understand words like “guest room” and “physician.”

Tengri respectfully assented, and people immediately stepped forward, carefully assisting the nearly exhausted Hu Cheng and leading him into the manor.

Dǎlǐbō then turned to Hu Sanniang, her gaze sweeping over her slightly fatigued but still straight posture. She said coolly: “You go wash up and rest first. I will come find you at dinnertime.” With that, she walked straight into the deeper parts of the residence, a maidservant following to lead the way.

Hu Sanniang was led by a maid who spoke some Han Chinese to a secluded courtyard. Although the room furnishings were not as exquisite and elegant as in the Central Plains, it was spacious and warm, covered with thick wool rugs, and heated by a charcoal basin emitting a clear, clean scent. Hot water was bubbling in a bronze kettle. She dismissed the maid, stood alone by the window, and gazed at the snow-covered pines and cypresses in the courtyard, and the vaguely visible, palace-like eaves in the distance. Her heart was a mix of emotions.

This was the Liao Kingdom. This was the place where she might build her future. Strange, powerful, and full of unknown challenges.

At dinnertime, Dǎlǐbō came as promised. She had changed out of her travel clothes, wearing a set of crimson Khitan casual attire. The collar and cuffs were trimmed with white fox fur. Her long hair was braided into several plaits and tied at the back of her head with gold rings. She looked less like a warrior and more like a princess, with an air of grace and authority.

The meal was laid out in the outer room of her residence. It was not the large portions of meat and drink Hu Sanniang had imagined. Instead, it was quite refined, with roasted venison, dairy pastries, clear mushroom soup, and even a pot of warm, allegedly Western Region grape wine.

The two sat opposite each other, eating in silence. The atmosphere was subtly stiff. The life-and-death journey and the conversation by the bonfire seemed to be invisibly separated by the opulence of the Princess’s Residence.

After the meal, the maids cleared the dishes and served steaming milk tea. Dǎlǐbō dismissed all the attendants, leaving only the two of them in the room.

“It’s easier to talk here,” Dǎlǐbō picked up her milk tea, blew on the surface, and her gaze rested on Hu Sanniang’s face. “Now, we can discuss your plans.”

Hu Sanniang held the warm teacup, feeling the warmth emanating from the porcelain. She pondered for a moment, then looked up, her gaze clear and firm: “The Princess has saved my life and pointed me toward a path forward. I am not an ungrateful person. However, pledging allegiance to Great Liao, and commanding troops, is not my true desire.”

Dǎlǐbō’s eyebrows slightly arched. She was not angry, but simply watched her, waiting for her to continue.

“I left Liangshan to break free from shackles and find a place where I can breathe on my own terms,” Hu Sanniang continued, her voice steady. “The Princess once said I have the power of choice. After much thought, I wish to establish myself here by my own ability. I could emulate the Central Plains and manage some businesses, providing a place for Hu Cheng and any old retainers who might drift here; or I could… use my martial skills to work as a guard or teach martial arts. I only seek a life with a clear conscience, self-sufficient.”

This was her well-thought-out decision. She did not want to bind herself to any chariot of war again, whether Liangshan’s or Liao’s. She wanted a relatively independent way of life, one where she could control her own destiny.

Dǎlǐbō showed no sign of pleasure or displeasure after hearing this, merely slowly sipping her milk tea. After a long while, she put down her cup and let out a soft, ambiguous laugh.

“Self-sufficient? Clear conscience?” She repeated the two phrases, her light brown eyes fixed on Hu Sanniang. “A good idea. But do you know how much covetousness and trouble an unattached Han woman, especially one with your looks and martial skill, will face trying to be ‘self-sufficient’ in Xijin Prefecture, in Great Liao? Without protection, your so-called ‘businesses’ will only be regarded as fat prey in the eyes of others. Your ‘teaching’ might also attract unnecessary attention, or even disaster.”

Her words were sharp and realistic, like ice water, awakening Hu Sanniang from some of her overly idealistic notions.

“Then, what is the Princess’s suggestion?” Hu Sanniang frowned.

“I will give you two options.” Dǎlǐbō leaned forward slightly, her gaze piercing. “First, accept my patronage and be nominally attached to the Princess’s Residence. I can give you a sinecure to ensure your safety; no one will dare disturb you. You can slowly develop the things you wish to do, but you must, to a certain extent, follow my arrangements.”

“Second,” she paused, emphasizing her words, “rely on your own ability to make your way. I will not openly help you. Everything depends on yourself. But if you truly have the competence to establish a firm foothold in Xijin Prefecture and make a name for yourself, I, Dǎlǐbō, will respect you as a true hero. At that time, we may deal with each other as equals.”

Two choices: one was a relatively secure path requiring dependence, the other was a perilous route full of risks but leading to true independence.

Hu Sanniang chose with almost no hesitation.

“I choose the second path.” Her voice was soft, but carried an ironclad conviction.

A flash of expected light, mixed with a hint of admiration, passed through Dǎlǐbō’s eyes. She nodded: “Good. In that case, tomorrow I will have someone find a suitable residence for you in the south of the city and prepare some initial funds for you. Consider it a loan from me, which you must repay later. As for how far you can go, that depends on your own fortune.”

“Thank you, Princess.” Hu Sanniang offered her sincere gratitude. Although Dǎlǐbō’s words were direct, even somewhat aggressive, her actions were principled, giving her the crucial starting point and respect she needed.

“Do not thank me.” Dǎlǐbō stood up, walked to the window, and gazed at the cool, vast night sky characteristic of the Liao capital. “I merely want to see how high you, the eagle who has broken free from her chains, can fly.”

She turned around. The moonlight through the window lattice cast alternating light and shadow on her face. Her expression was complex and hard to read, seemingly containing a certain expectation, yet also a hint of elusive melancholy.

“The night is late. Rest now. Tomorrow will be your first day, Hu Sanniang, in Xijin Prefecture.”