Desert of Love and Sorrow — Chapter 7: The Melody of Guang Han Palace. Part 8

“Does Your Majesty believe Fentian has something to do with me?” Huang Bei Shuang asked.

“Ruo Wen has already assembled an army of 100,000, stationed just south of Fentian, with the clear intention of advancing on Yunpei. Do you think there’s anything in Yunpei that could tempt him to march south, without turning back?” Na Zhan continued, “But no matter, Yunpei is not Masui. If he thinks he can trample over Ningguang’s forty-two provinces, he’s sorely mistaken!”

Huang Bei Shuang quietly let out a breath of relief before asking, “And the second matter?”

Na Zhan fell silent for a long time before coldly saying, “Huo Qing Yun, the Northern Jing King.”

At the mention of those seven words, Huang Bei Shuang nearly collapsed. She looked at Na Zhan in disbelief, instinctively shaking her head.

Na Zhan chuckled. “Judging by your expression, it seems you didn’t know his true identity. Even living in the northern desert, you weren’t aware, which shows just how successful his isolationist policies have been.”

Huang Bei Shuang’s eyes tightened, and her hand instinctively moved to her chest, but she still couldn’t calm down. Qing Yun’s identity was shocking, but Na Zhan’s words were even more unsettling. He had seen them last night, after all.

Na Zhan turned his head toward the rising sunlight outside, its colors dreamy and iridescent. After a while, he said, “Huang Bei Shuang, what I can offer you, he may not be able to. Look at the table.”

Huang Bei Shuang glanced at Na Zhan, then shifted her gaze to the table, where a map of Yunpei lay spread out. One area was circled in red ink, drawn with a pen dipped in cherry blood.

“260 million acres of fertile land in Yunpei’s southern province, rich in water and vegetation. I offer it to you, to support the 7,700 people of the Enaci tribe.”

The Enaci tribe, one of the four major slave nations, numbered only 7,700 people. They had long settled in the Gurhachi Oasis of the northern desert, known for their songs and dances. They lived in poverty, often harassed by wandering tribes like the Naqu’er.

Naturally, the offer Na Zhan was making was an incredible stroke of fortune for the Enaci. If they could relocate to this land, it would be like gaining citizenship and the fertile land they had always dreamed of. No longer would there be prayers from mourning women, or people perishing in the deadly sandstorms. Huang Bei Shuang’s mind went blank; she couldn’t form a clear judgment.

“Why, Your Majesty, are you so determined to keep me here?”

After a long silence, this was all she could ask.

Na Zhan chuckled, knowing that this beautiful woman was now seriously considering his offer. He replied with satisfaction, “I believe in fate. By tradition, you should have married into the neighboring Tiandu, but because Qing Yun sealed off his kingdom and rejected all marriage proposals, you ended up in Yunpei. Along the way, even a fierce general like Ruo Wen couldn’t stop you from reaching me. Isn’t that fate? And now, I need your help.”

Huang Bei Shuang couldn’t help but smile at his words. The larger a country, the longer its history, and the more its people believed in divine fate. Why was that? As she thought about it, her calm demeanor returned, and she said evenly, “Your Majesty, even if I stay, I cannot stop him from marching south. What’s more, I might even betray you. Isn’t this gamble too risky?”

Na Zhan gave a bitter smile. “If I had the luxury of time, I wouldn’t need to take such a gamble.”

Huang Bei Shuang looked at him, confused. “Your Majesty?”

Na Zhan looked at her, his hand gently brushing her cheek. She instinctively flinched. “Do you love him?” he asked.

“Would my love affect your gamble?” she responded.

Na Zhan’s lips turned cold, and he rasped, “No.”

Huang Bei Shuang withdrew slightly, letting his hand fall away. “Yes, I do.”

Na Zhan stood up abruptly. “Then, I will never touch you again!” With that, he turned and left.

Behind him, only Huang Bei Shuang’s calm voice followed, “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

Winter had truly arrived, so bitterly cold that it felt as if frost and snow had seeped into her bones. No matter how many layers of clothing she wore, no matter how much wine she drank, the chill persisted. Huang Bei Shuang looked at the map in her hands, the red circle drawn with blood-like ink feeling like a trap, binding her within it. It reminded her why she had come to Yunpei, and of that swift, sudden love that had overtaken her…

On that day, a rare winter morning, when sleeplessness spilled over the land, a mournful flute melody filled the air. The sound woke the drowsy beauty Na Jia, it woke the twenty-one sprouting Jiemashu trees in the courtyard, but it could not wake the heart of the one who played the flute, lost in longing.

The song of the flute from Guang Han sighs with sorrow,
Through countless storms, beauty sings her lament;
What need is there for such deep passion,
When flowers bloom and wither, indifferent to warmth and cold.
The song fades, the dream ends,
A long night stretches out, shadowed by distant memories.
The wind from Guang Han rises again,
And each reunion ends in parting;
A sorrowful song, sung with tears,
Impossible to forget, though our tears fall in turns.
Under the vast heavens and empty earth,
Only the sound of the flute can soothe my melancholy.
When lips meet nothing, love goes unfulfilled…

—"The Falling Flute"