In the Moonlight

Night fell, and heavy snow drifted down.

Amidst the rumbling sounds of the city gates closing, Yuanjue escorted Yaoying downstairs and helped her board an inconspicuous felt-covered carriage.

Merchants streamed out of the market, creating a bustling crowd.

After the carriage had traveled half a street, Xie Chong whispered, "Princess, someone is following us."

A slender gap opened in the felt curtain, and Yaoying's voice emerged: "Take a few detours before returning. Send someone to see who's tailing us."

Xie Chong acknowledged quietly and gestured to two members of the merchant team who frequently dealt with foreign traders and knew the city routes well.

The men pulled their foreign-style hats lower and soon melted into the bustling crowd.

The driver deliberately turned into narrow alleys, winding through twists and turns for several miles, shaking off several pursuers.

Yuanjue, with his sharp senses, carefully observed their surroundings, scanning the area before whispering, "We've lost the others, but there's still a Han Chinese following us."

A delicate hand adorned with vibrant nail polish gathered the felt curtain. Yaoying seemed particularly interested in their Han follower, peering outside with sparkling eyes. "Can you see who it is?" she asked.

Yuanjue opened his mouth several times but suddenly stammered.

Yaoying had received several groups of visitors today.

He didn't understand Chinese and didn't know what they discussed, but after entering the room, all the Han Chinese visitors would stare in stunned silence before becoming visibly excited and fervent. Some trembled uncontrollably, others wept profusely, and some even broke down sobbing.

Yaoying treated them with courtesy, standing to return their greetings with dignified grace and warmth. The roomful of people would sit back down, alternating between tears and laughter, talking and cursing by turns. Finally, when Yaoying spoke a few words, everyone would immediately rise and bow toward the east with solemn reverence.

After each group departed, Yaoying would redo her makeup. When the last group left just before the market closure, she hadn't had time to remove her makeup, only hastily taking off her hairpins, pendants, and jeweled accessories, changing from her valuable sheer gown into a convenient and warm round-necked narrow-sleeved robe with magpie-and-herb patterns, but her face remained heavily made up.

During the day, even from a distance, Yuanjue had found Yaoying's beauty dazzling and avoided looking directly at her. Now, with her made-up face so close, smiling charmingly and radiantly stunning, it was utterly captivating. His heartbeat suddenly raced, and he quickly lowered his head, silently chanting Buddha's name.

At this moment, he genuinely admired the Buddha Prince - facing such temptation yet remaining unmoved, truly worthy of being their king!

Thinking Yuanjue hadn't heard clearly, Yaoying asked again, "Can you see who that person is?"

Having spoken all day, often raising her voice to appear dignified and intimidate the powerful families, her voice sounded low and hoarse, unlike her usual soft, melodious tone.

Yuanjue's face burned hot as he buried his head lower, grabbing a leather water pouch and handing it into the carriage. "Princess, drink some warm goat milk to soothe your throat."

Yaoying smiled her thanks and accepted the pouch. After a full day of passionate speeches, her throat was indeed uncomfortable.

Yuanjue coughed several times to steady himself. "The Han Chinese following us is very tall. You received him today."

Yaoying's eyes lit up as she asked softly, "Is it the young man wearing the sword at his waist?"

Surprise flashed across Yuanjue's face. "How did you know it was him?"Today, most of the wealthy clans Yaoying received were elderly individuals, some with silver hair. When they saw the books and other items she had brought from the Central Plains, they broke down in tears—clearly, they were people from Hexi who had been forced to migrate west to Gaochang in their youth. There were also some middle-aged individuals, but few young people. Thus, Yuanjue remembered clearly that the young man wearing a sword was the most conspicuous because he appeared frivolous and defiant, refusing to remove his sword when paying respects and even shouting at the elders.

In Yuanjue’s view, the young man was provoking them. Had Yaoying not signaled with her eyes for him to remain still, he would have drawn his blade immediately.

Could the young man following them have ill intentions?

Yuanjue instinctively clenched his fists.

Yaoying took a sip of goat’s milk—indeed, it was warm—and said, "I knew he would follow. Don’t worry, he means no harm."

Yuanjue acknowledged and relaxed his muscles.

Yaoying lowered her head in thought.

The carriage rolled down the long street, its wheels crunching through the thick snow with a continuous, soft sound. The night was deep, and the curfew hour was approaching.

Estimating the time, she set down the water pouch and quietly instructed Yuanjue, "Lure that young man into the alley. I’ll have a few words with him."

Yuanjue whispered to the coachman, who flicked the reins and steered the carriage into a secluded, narrow alley. Unaware of the trap, the young man continued to follow. As he entered the alley, Xie Chong slipped away from the group, swiftly leaped onto the snow-covered wall, and in a few bounds landed behind the young man.

The carriage came to a halt.

Startled, the young man immediately turned to flee.

Xie Chong emerged from the shadows, his long blade held horizontally, blocking the exit.

The young man’s expression shifted.

Yaoying lifted the curtain and gracefully stepped down from the carriage.

The young man turned to look at her, chin raised high, his demeanor arrogant. His fingers rested on the sword at his waist as he coldly demanded, "What does the Princess intend to do?"

His speech was in the flawless Hexi dialect.

Yaoying burst into laughter.

The young man froze, his expression stiffening. After a moment, anger flushed his face, and he roared, "What are you laughing at?"

Yaoying stifled her laughter, though her eyes still sparkled with amusement. She studied the young man carefully.

He had thick eyebrows and large eyes, a tall and slender build, broad-shouldered and robust, without an ounce of excess fat. Like the scions of Gaochang’s wealthy clans, he wore his hair in braids down his back, but instead of a golden floral crown, he wrapped his head in a cloth turban. Dressed in luxurious brocade robes adorned with a jeweled belt and a gem-encrusted long sword at his waist, he glittered from head to toe in an incongruous warrior’s attire.

As she continued to stare, his handsome face slowly flushed crimson. His eyes wary, he snapped, "Why are you looking at me?!"

Yaoying smiled, then bowed solemnly to the young man and said earnestly, "I admire Young Master Yang’s noble integrity."

The young man, surnamed Yang and named Yang Qian, looked bewildered. Stiffening his neck, he retorted, "I don’t understand what the Princess means."

Yaoying smiled.

...

At this time, Yang Qian was merely an unknown youth. But years later, his name would resound across the Central Plains.

With the homeland lost and the Western Regions isolated, this young man was born in the vast desert, witnessing his people endure oppression and humiliation from a young age. As he grew, he resolved to lead his clan in reclaiming their land and returning to their homeland. Yet, separated from Chang’an by thousands of miles, how could such a journey eastward be anything but arduous?Everyone advised Yang Qian to abandon this ambition early on, but he remained undaunted. While diligently practicing martial arts, he sold off his family property, secretly gathered followers, and continuously persuaded the wealthy clans in the city to urge Yuchi Damo to seek help from the Central Plains.

In the year he turned twenty, Tanmoroqie died. With their restraints gone, the Northern Rong began massacring tribes that refused to submit, triggering unrest across the region. Seizing the opportunity, Yang Qian broke through the Northern Rong blockade with his guards and embarked on an eastward journey to seek reinforcements.

As he departed, the townspeople—young and old—clung to his sleeves, weeping bitterly: "Young Master Yang, when you reach Chang'an, ask the emperor and his ministers—do they still remember us, their people?"

The twenty-year-old Yang Qian drew his sword in fury, cut off his long hair, and swore an oath: "I will not turn back until I reach Chang'an!"

This journey eastward became the lifelong pursuit of Yang Qian and his guards.

From Gaochang to Chang'an, they had to traverse the gravel-strewn Great Western Sea Route, endless shifting sands and barren deserts, desolate grasslands, and towering snow-capped mountains, all while passing through numerous checkpoints and heavily fortified towns garrisoned by the Northern Rong.

Setting out from Gaochang, Yang Qian's party faced near-certain death. Some perished from thirst, some from starvation, some from exhaustion, some from disease, and even more fell beneath the blades of Northern Rong cavalry.

They never turned back, pressing ever eastward.

In the end, this group yearning for reinforcements from Chang'an vanished into the vast, trackless desert.

Years later, a Central Plains merchant caravan trading with the Northern Rong passed through Shazhou and discovered a skeleton amid the shifting sands. Moved by compassion, the merchants sought to bury the remains, inadvertently uncovering a preserved bundle beside the bones. Inside was a ten-thousand-word petition inscribed on silk cloth.

It was a desperate cry and plea from the people of the lost territories to the Central Plains—each sentence impassioned, every character written in blood.

The skeleton in the sands was Yang Qian. Despite enduring unimaginable hardships, he never safely reached Chang'an, dying alone in the great desert.

Before his death, he had signed the petition and left final instructions, begging whoever discovered it to deliver the document to Chang'an on his behalf.

His young life had long faded, yet his bones remained frozen in a posture of crawling eastward.

Not until Chang'an would he turn back.

Apart from Yang Qian, no others left their names. Dozens of young men were buried in the shifting sands, their bones lost to time.

They had honored their oath with their lives.

Deeply moved, the merchants arranged for the petition to be delivered to Chang'an.

Finally, this blood-stained letter reached the hands of the Son of Heaven, fulfilling Yang Qian's wish posthumously.

By then, Zheng Jing had risen to the position of chancellor. He ordered the petition to be publicized throughout the land, shocking the entire nation.

Yang Qian's name soon spread across every street and alley of Chang'an. Court ministers voiced their opinions, common people debated fervently, and public sentiment surged both inside and outside the court, demanding the emperor send troops to reclaim their lost homeland.

But it was already too late.

The Northern Rong had grown powerful, while the Central Plains dynasty was riddled with internal conflicts and external threats, utterly incapable of launching a distant expedition.

Ministers enthusiastically submitted memorials that appeared to discuss military mobilization but were actually vehicles for mutual condemnation and political purges under the guise of Yang Qian's cause.

Helpless, Zheng Jing advised the young emperor to posthumously honor Yang Qian and his companions as righteous martyrs. An inspiring edict was issued, but the matter of sending troops to recover territories north of Hexi was quietly shelved.

A few years later, the Northern Rong marched eastward, toppling the Great Wei. The nation fell, homes were destroyed, and corpses littered the land.

...At this moment, in Gaochang.

Yaoying gazed with a smile at the spirited Yang Qian before her, her heart filled with complex emotions.

She hadn’t come to Gaochang merely to try her luck.

In times of turmoil, when the land lies broken, there would always be heroes like the ancestors of the Zhu family, Xie Wuliang, and Yang Qian. They took it upon themselves to save the common people, fearless of sacrifice, pressing forward with unwavering courage.

When she first arrived in Gaochang, she inquired about Yang Qian’s character, only to find the results both amusing and frustrating: in his youth, Yang Qian was known for his frivolous pursuits—cockfighting, falconry, and indulging in pleasure—achieving nothing and earning a reputation as a notorious wastrel.

Yaoying couldn’t help but wonder: Could it be a case of mistaken identity? Or was the skeletal remains buried in the shifting sands in the records someone else entirely?

The influential families she had Old Qi invite were carefully selected after thorough consideration. When she expressed her intention to summon Yang Qian, Old Qi firmly objected: "Princess, Yang Qian is young, reckless, and impulsive, spending his days idly. Such a person is not worth befriending. I heard that just days ago, he fought over a dancer out of jealousy and even defied the clan elders, earning himself a stern reprimand."

Yaoying hesitated for a long time but eventually decided to meet Yang Qian first. After all, he was the only one with the same name, matching age, and belonging to a prominent clan of Hexi.

No matter what, those skeletal remains were undoubtedly connected to Yang Qian.

Upon meeting him, Yaoying was certain she had found the right person.

The middle-aged members of the influential families spoke with awkward accents, and some white-haired elders had even forgotten their native tongue. Yet Yang Qian, the youngest among them, spoke the official dialect of Hexi fluently. He was indeed the skeletal remains buried in the shifting sands, still facing east.

Yaoying smiled at the realization.

With his very first words, Yang Qian revealed all his intentions. He even deliberately provoked and tested her, and now he was following her, trying to uncover her background.

Little did he know, she had already decided he would cooperate with her.

Because he yearned day and night to restore ties with the Central Plains dynasty.

Yang Qian confronted Yaoying, intending to intimidate her, but she remained calm and composed, smiling without a word. Unable to contain his impatience due to his youth, he sneered and said, "Princess Wenzhao is on the brink of disaster, with death looming, yet she remains so carefree. I admire your composure!"

Yaoying chuckled lightly. "What do you mean by that, Young Master Yang?"

Arrogantly, Yang Qian replied, "Does Princess Wenzhao truly believe that the people you met today are trustworthy? Let me be frank: They may swear to you with grand oaths, claiming their hearts belong to Chang’an and longing to return east, weeping as if mourning their own mothers, and vowing not to reveal your identity. But in truth, every one of them is scheming, and it’s likely someone has already gone to the palace to report you."

Yaoying’s expression shifted slightly. "Then what does Young Master Yang suggest I do?"

Yang Qian lifted his chin even higher. "My ancestors are from Hexi, and generations of my family were renowned generals there. My grandfather once served as the Regional Military Commander of Hexi and, on his deathbed, urged me never to forget our homeland. Since the Great Wei has unified the Central Plains, my Yang clan naturally owes allegiance to the Great Wei. You are a princess of the Great Wei, stranded in Gaochang, alone and helpless. As a son of the Yang family, it is my duty to protect you."

He subtly straightened his posture, trying to appear taller and more imposing.

"If you trust me, Princess, come seek refuge at the Yang residence for now. I assure you, as long as I am here, no one would dare lay a finger on you!"

Hearing this, the others exchanged glances, their expressions varied.Yuanjue suddenly felt a strange sensation stirring within him—a mix of anger and unease: The princess is the King's Girl of Matanga, it's not this young man's place to meddle in her affairs!

He turned his gaze toward Yaoying.

Yaoying remained smiling; she had indeed judged correctly. Among all the people she had met today, Yang Qian was the most sincere toward her.

She asked with a light laugh, "Aren't you afraid, Young Master Yang, that those people might report you to the royal palace?"

Yang Qian straightened his back even more, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his long sword. "I'm not afraid of them! My family and the Yuchi family have been close for generations. Even if they complain to the ruler, I can still protect the princess."

Yaoying glanced up at the sky and said, "Young Master Yang is right. Among the Zhao, Yang, and Zhang families, there are those who are loyal to the Central Plains, but there are also those who have aligned themselves with the Northern Rong. Not all of them are trustworthy. After I met them and revealed my identity, some among them would surely try to curry favor with Lady Yina..."

A look of pride appeared on Yang Qian's face.

But then Yaoying's tone suddenly shifted, a slight curve lifting the corner of her lips. "Young Master Yang, what do you think we should do with those who betray their promises?"

Yang Qian was taken aback.