Oh gods above! Oh spirits below!Tonight, Yunpei drinks to its fill, tonight, Guhe daughters bring fragrance.Tonight, Mizan mourns the past, tonight, Tiandu travels to distant lands.Tonight, Masui piles gold and silver high!Oh gods above! Oh spirits below!Let my husband return tonight, let my son come home tonight;This grace I shall repay, this debt I shall return.When I bear a daughter, when I teach her sweet words,I shall send her to the world, exchanging peace for a fleeting moment of drunken joy.”
This was a prayer song passed down among the Ernaqi people, sung by a woman praying for the safe return of her husband and son, hoping they wouldn’t fall victim to the nobles or bandits. Though she sat in the warmth of her tent, her heart was filled with despair and sorrow. She feared the desert’s battles and pillaging would claim her loved ones, so she begged the gods and spirits to grant her wish. In return for her husband’s and son’s safety, she would offer her daughter to the nobles, to the enemies, to anyone, just for a brief respite of peace and to repay heaven and earth.
Closing the curtain, Huang Bei Shuang shut her eyes and listened. In her hands, she clutched a brocade pouch, which held the yellow soil she had brought from her homeland, Ernaqi. The soil of her homeland—she smiled…
Her brother was born to inherit the position of the tribal leader and become the next Ershou, to lead their people. Her younger brother was born to seize food, women, camels, and horses, becoming the right hand of the Ershou, to protect their tribe. But what about her? She was born to be the Nashou, destined to be the sacrifice offered by the Ernaqi to the gods and spirits.
Huang Bei Shuang did not want to cry, because this was fate—her fate!
Gripping the brocade pouch even tighter, she slowly immersed herself in the song.
“Oh gods above! Oh spirits below!
Let my husband return tonight, let my son come home tonight;
This grace I shall repay, this debt I shall return.
When I bear a daughter, when I teach her sweet words;
I shall send her to the world, exchanging peace for a fleeting moment of drunken joy.”
The world, so chaotic and interwoven, has changed to this point. Sometimes it is the forging of karmic cycles; sometimes, the result of fated encounters. Whatever the cause, there is always a sense of helplessness that cannot be fully expressed, and lingering ties that cannot be untangled. Love often arises unintentionally, partings come in the midst of deep sorrow, and the lasting hatred remains after the pain cuts deep into the bone…
Huang Bei Shuang did not fully understand all of this yet. She was only eighteen, her hair not yet bound up in the traditional style of a woman, and her youthful innocence had not yet faded. She knew only of sacrifice for her people, and the fragrant winds and warmth of her homeland. But there was still so much she did not know, so much that was important. How long could she remain resolute? After all, she was just an eighteen-year-old girl, and now she was like a lone antelope in the barren desert.
“There’s only half a bag of water left, Fei Ta!”
A hoarse, deep voice could be faintly heard through the yellow sand. It was a man speaking, his tone filled with regret and lament.
“Don’t push yourself too hard, I’m fine!” The man chuckled, a bit of bitter humor in his voice. Perhaps he had recently encountered a sandstorm; he was covered in dust, but he didn’t concern himself with his own condition. Instead, he kept digging away at the pile of sand in front of him. Finally, as he uncovered what lay beneath, it turned out to be a white horse, long deprived of water, clinging to its last breath.
The horse was incredibly loyal, even as it began to convulse, it still refused to drink the last half-bag of water its master held. The man sighed helplessly and pressed the water skin to its mouth, saying softly, as if speaking to a brother: “Fei Ta, look at that temper of yours, as stubborn as a mule! Drink the water, you silly mule!”
However, Fei Ta seemed to understand his master’s words. Its eyes suddenly opened, gazing at him for a brief moment before closing again. The horse then fell completely silent, its limbs ceasing to tremble.
“Fei Ta?”
A pang of anxiety surged through the man as he quickly reached out to check the horse’s breath. He could still feel the faintest signs of life, and his brow furrowed—Fei Ta wasn’t dead, but it wouldn’t be long. Filled with reluctance, he gently reached out to stroke the horse’s mane.
“What’s wrong with it? Is it dead?”
Unexpectedly, a gentle voice, full of concern, came from behind. The man instinctively turned to see a camel convoy adorned with festive red decorations. Flanking it were about 140 or 150 people, suggesting it was a wedding caravan for a peace marriage. He had heard them pass by earlier, but with Fei Ta on the brink of death, he hadn’t paid them any attention. To his surprise, they had drawn closer on their own.
The speaker was a young woman, seated inside a palanquin. She gently brushed aside the pearl strands hanging over her forehead. Her face was delicate and radiant, her expression curious.
After a brief silence, the man replied, “Fei Ta isn’t dead yet, but it will be soon. It’s been too long without water.”
The young woman was none other than Huang Bei Shuang. From afar, she had noticed a figure sitting in this desolate spot, unmoving, even as the wind and sand pulled at his cloak, nearly burying him. She thought at first that he must have come to die, or that he was already beyond saving. But as she drew nearer, she saw that he was keeping vigil over a horse. Her heart filled with curiosity. The man’s appearance was dignified, without any sign of hardship—why would he be so devoted to staying by the side of a dying horse?
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