What is gold dust used for? Since ancient times, when emperors ordered the execution of high-ranking officials or imperial consorts, they used gold dust wine. Adding poison to the wine along with an appropriate amount of gold dust numbs the entire body, making death less painful. Dingyi couldn’t fathom it—just because Hongce was the son of a Khalkha noble consort, did that mean he was bound to collude with the Mongols? True, he carried Khalkha blood, but they forgot the other half of his lineage came from the founding Emperor of Great Britain, just like theirs.
Serving the Emperor is like keeping company with a tiger—the saying couldn’t be more accurate. Once an official reaches a certain rank, the Emperor begins to scheme against them, no matter how much they’ve contributed to the court. If he decides you’re unwelcome, there’s no room for negotiation.
After seeing off Seventh Lord, she returned to the flower hall in a daze, sitting alone in silence, speaking to no one. Hailan, puzzled, quietly asked what was wrong. Frowning, she said, “I’m going to Khalkha. I leave tomorrow morning.”
Xiazhi was shocked. “You’re going to Khalkha? It’s a long and treacherous journey, and the place is crawling with barbarians who kill any Han on sight. Have you lost your mind?”
She couldn’t afford to think too much now. If she was fortunate enough to die by his side, at least she’d see him one last time. If fate denied her even that, and she ended up a corpse on the Gobi Desert, it would atone for her past sins.
“Did something happen to Twelfth Master?” Hailan asked. Xian’er squirmed in his swaddling clothes and began to whimper.
Dingyi glanced at the child. “Twelfth Master… suffered a military defeat. Someone at court accused him of conspiring with foreign enemies. The Emperor ordered Thirteenth Master to oversee the investigation. If the allegations are proven true… he’ll be executed.”
Hailan gasped. “This world is truly unbearable. With the two armies locked in battle, going alone is suicide! You still have Xian’er—what if something happens to you? What will become of the child?”
She couldn’t bear the thought either. This child, born after so much struggle, was the apple of her eye. But what could she do? His father was in danger out there. She might be useless, but she still had her life. Even if it cost her own, she had to save him.
She pressed Hailan’s hand firmly. “Sister-in-law, listen to me. If Twelfth Master returns, please give Xian’er to him and ask him to care for the child. If we both perish there, the child will be a burden to you. I beg you to take him to Langrun Garden. If his grandmother is willing to raise him for Twelfth Master’s sake, that would be best. If not… entrust him to my master. I have no other choice…” She turned her head to wipe away tears. “I have no maternal family left—only my master can help me now.”
Hailan wept with her. “Don’t worry. The child won’t go anywhere. He’ll stay with me, and I’ll take good care of him. But you must come back. No one else can replace his parents—don’t let Xian’er walk the same lonely path you did.”
Xiazhi, brimming with courage, declared, “I’ll go with you to Khalkha. Two people can watch out for each other. I won’t rest easy if you go alone.”
Dingyi shook her head. “There’s no need. I’ll travel lighter alone, and an extra person would only slow me down. Besides, it’s dangerous there—I can’t drag you into this. My Xian’er… I entrust him not only to Sister-in-law but also to you. Brother, the safety of this household rests on you.”She had made up her mind, and nothing could change her resolve. Watching the most important people in her life die one after another, living itself had become torment. So if death was inevitable, let them die together. When the time came, she would act according to circumstances—someone who could throw away their life could accomplish anything.
She packed her belongings and set off, kissing Xian'er on the forehead before leaving. There were so many things she wanted to say, but looking at this helpless infant, words failed her. She wanted to see him grow up, to see him start a family and build a career, but people like her were fated to have shallow bonds with their kin—first her parents and siblings, now her husband and son.
Changing into men's clothing, she gritted her teeth and mounted her horse. Hearing Xian'er begin to whimper softly, her heart bled, but she could delay no longer. Perhaps the Thirteenth Master had already set out; if she fell too far behind him, what use would it be to find the Twelfth Master then?
Turning her horse around, she whipped it fiercely, galloping out of the city gates. Winter had left everything desolate, with light frost lingering unmelting. After riding for a while, she looked back—the city's silhouette faintly rose pale on the horizon before disappearing.
From Beijing to Zhangjiakou, then to Ulanqab, the shortest route to the border was through Sonid Right Banner to Zamyn-Üüd. Sonid Right Banner was an eroded plateau; upon entering, it was still open high plains and hills, but to reach the border between the two countries, she had to cross the Hunshandake Sandy Land. That place was a watery desert with beautiful scenery, but the temperature difference between day and night was extreme. If she couldn't cross it in a day, she'd have to spend the night.
Finding a small pond to camp by, ever since the roadside inns had disappeared, Dingyi's horse had carried more and more until it could hold no more, forcing her to buy a camel. Camels could bear heavy loads, carrying thick felt and provisions, and when tired, she could rest right where she was.
She built a fire, roasting dry rations over the flames, making do with cold water for a meal. After eating, she leaned against the camel; its hump was warm and blocked the wind. With time to spare, she took out a small brocade pouch and toyed with it in her hands. Inside was Xian'er's lanugo from his full-month celebration. She carried it with her, taking it out to look at when she missed him, offering slight solace for her longing.
Passing through a small market, she bought a bronze mirror, delicate and lovely, no larger than her palm. She took it out and examined herself by the firelight. Her skin wasn't prone to darkening, but wind and sun had left fine cracks on her cheekbones, appearing at a glance as patches of crimson. She grabbed a jar of lard and smeared it haphazardly on her face, the stinging easing slightly. Pulling the thick felt over herself, she lay down roughly. All night, the wind howled in her ears, and the distant yet near cries of wolves rose and fell. At first, she was afraid, but eventually, sleep overcame her. Waking the next morning unharmed, she counted herself lucky.
Packing up to continue her journey, as she led her horse, she noticed a pool of blood on the sand. Startled, she thought—in a place like this, whether human or beast, an injury made it hard to get out. Frantically, she checked her horse and camel, inspecting every part—both were fine, not even a scratch. Where had the blood come from? Puzzled but pressed for time, she secured the felt and set off again.
After another day's travel, she gradually approached Erenhot. Standing on the embankment, she could see the framework set up by the garrison troops, beyond which lay the land of Khalkha. Tightening her belt, she led her horse and camel forward.
To cross the border, she needed official documents. Fortunately, the Seventh Lord had helped, arranging everything that very day, so now she wasn't flustered when it came time to use them.
The border guard raised a hand, eyeing her up and down. "Where are you from?"
She replied, "From the capital, heading to Ulaanbaatar to join relatives."The leading Captain flipped through the travel documents and scoffed, "There's a war going on out there. Visiting relatives, what nonsense! Sounds like a made-up story to me."
She grew anxious but knew better than to argue rashly. Forcing a smile, she replied, "It's not a lie, I really am visiting relatives. Look, this travel pass was issued by the imperial court—it can't be fake."
The Captain laughed heartily, "Who knows if you stole it? Maybe you're trying to smuggle goods and defect?" He pointed his whip at the horses and camels. "What's loaded on there? Send two men to check."
As the soldiers began rummaging through her belongings, Dingyi realized that leaving wouldn't be easy. Official documents alone weren't enough—you had to pay a bribe, or they could easily frame you with false charges and throw you in jail.
Understanding the situation, she pulled a silver note from her sleeve and discreetly pressed it into the Captain's hand. "Please accept this—it's not much, just twenty taels for you and the soldiers to buy some tea and warm yourselves. I'm just a law-abiding citizen who doesn't know anything about defecting. With my family gone, my only hope is a cousin doing business beyond the pass. You're a good judge of character—look at me, who'd want a defector like me? Please show some mercy and let me pass."
The Captain saw that this young fellow knew how things worked. Border posts had little income, relying on extorting travelers for extra money. Twenty taels wasn't a fortune, but it was better than nothing—enough to barely scrape by. He relented, "It's not that we're deliberately making things difficult. With the armies fighting, our superiors ordered strict inspections of all travelers. Hope you understand." Tucking the silver note into his sleeve, he barked loudly, "Nothing suspicious here. Were you planning to tear apart their bedding too? Back off, back off!"
The two soldiers obediently retreated. Dingyi glanced back—her belongings were strewn about, but fortunately, nothing valuable was lost. She cupped her hands respectfully toward the Captain. "Sir, I'm easily frightened, and the fighting ahead scares me. Could you tell me where the armies are now so I can avoid them?"
The Captain shook his head. "They've already advanced deep into Khalkha territory. We're too far to hear much—just bits and pieces. Last we heard, they were at Delun, but who knows if they've moved since then? Once you pass Zamyn-Üüd, ask the locals—the border folks speak Chinese and might have better information. Beyond that, it's all gibberish in Tatar—won't understand a word. Finding your cousin will be tough, kid."
She hesitated. The language barrier was indeed a serious problem. Just as she was about to ask more about the frontlines, a horse caravan approached from behind—only three or five men with a large cart, driving dozens of horses. Probably horse traders moving between borders.
The Captain, clearly accustomed to bribes, was familiar with these traders. When they brought over two jugs of wine and slipped him some silver, he immediately became chummy, slapping shoulders and calling them brothers.
A soldier by the wooden barrier returned her documents and waved her through, but she lingered. Pulling up coarse cloth to cover her nose and mouth, she hurried over to the Captain and asked, "Sir, where are these gentlemen headed beyond the pass?"The Captain, having just received twenty taels of silver from her, was exceptionally accommodating. He understood her intention the moment she spoke. Turning to the lead horse trader, he said, "Old Huang, this young lad here needs to get to Ulaanbaatar. Since you're heading that way, take him along. He doesn’t speak the Tartar language and might get lost asking for directions."
Those who roamed the rivers and lakes had their own code of honor and spoke bluntly. "Daring to cross the border without knowing the Tartar tongue? Fine, he can tag along, but the caravan doesn’t carry freeloaders. He’ll have to help water the horses and tend to the fodder. Can he manage that?"
Dingyi piped up eagerly, "I can! I know the rules, and I’m quick with my hands."
"Good enough," the man said, clapping her on the shoulder so hard it nearly knocked her sideways. "Grab that scrawny camel of yours and let’s move out!"
So, for the time being, she had found some protection—though she still had to be cautious. A group of rough men was nothing like the refined Hongce. She did her best to act coarse, drawing on the unruly mannerisms of San Qingzi and Xiazhi, having grown up in the streets herself.
The caravan headed north, and once past the Gobi Desert, the journey became smoother. Yet even in early spring, Khalkha remained bitterly cold—camping outdoors in this season would surely freeze a person to death. Old Huang, familiar with this route, knew every checkpoint and inn along the way. They stopped at a small town called Balang, where the group gathered in the main hall to drink and feast. The Mongols were a bold and hearty people, and as Dingyi observed the ruddy-faced, boisterous men around her—each speaking in thunderous voices and moving with vigorous energy—she could easily imagine how formidable Xiaoman Fujin, the Seventh Lord’s wife, must be.
But with the ongoing war, the town was no longer as lively as before. Instead, it was the traveling merchants who thrived now. Horse traders, for instance, found this a profitable time—horses were the lifeblood of the steppe people. They could go without liquor, but never without their steeds.
Amid the clamor, a new group entered. Though they also wore long robes and aprons, their demeanor differed from the Mongols—more restrained and efficient. Dingyi raised her bowl, peering over its rim. The men sat down quietly at a table, placing their swords at their right hands. Their leader removed his cloak, revealing a handsome face framed by a sable collar. With a single glance, Dingyi recognized him as the Thirteenth Master.
So soon? Her heart pounded. What now? The caravan moved slowly, and they had overtaken her. Blending into their group wouldn’t be easy—these men were disciplined and wouldn’t need help tending horses. Her only option was to follow discreetly, but she had to be careful. If caught, she’d likely not survive.
The next day, she thanked Old Huang and went their separate ways. She inquired about the direction to Qoyir and set off ahead, determined to reach it before the Thirteenth Master. Along the way, she racked her brain for a way to join them, but no solution came to mind. Desperate, she decided on a reckless gamble. Smearing her face with dirt, she drove off her camel and horse, then planted herself squarely on their path. As their figures grew faint in the distance, she threw all shame aside, sprawling across the road. This was her big bet—success or failure hinged on this moment.
Sure enough, she heard the sharp whinny of reined-in horses. Someone called out, "Reporting to the master, there’s a body ahead. Not sure if it’s dead yet."
She clenched her eyes shut, holding her breath as she listened. The Thirteenth Master’s voice was calm. "Go check. If it’s dead, drag it aside."
Two men acknowledged the order and dismounted to inspect her. They checked her wrist for a pulse and reported, "Still warm. Not dead yet."Dingyi cursed her bad luck inwardly—may your whole family die out! She only heard the Thirteenth Master say, "Give him a sip of liquor to warm him up. Once he comes to, let him go."
The strong liquor burned her throat, bringing tears to her eyes. After a bit of acting, she "gradually regained consciousness" and gasped, "Where am I?"
"A Han Chinese!" In the frontier regions, encountering a fellow countryman always earned some leniency. The guards reported back, and the man on horseback, looking down from his lofty position, asked, "Well? Can you get up or not?"
Dingyi sprang up like a carp leaping out of water and kowtowed repeatedly, "Thank you, my lord, for saving my life. If not for meeting you all, I’d be dead by now."
The Thirteenth Master tilted slightly and motioned for someone to help him up. "What were you doing lying on the road in this freezing weather?"
She rubbed the back of her neck with a woeful expression. "I came to seek out relatives, but I couldn’t find them. On the way, I was knocked out, and my horse and camel were stolen. This place is in the middle of nowhere, and I don’t speak Mongolian. I don’t know what to do next."
The Thirteenth Master eyed her skeptically. "Bodun, give him a horse."
She waved her hands frantically. "I can’t take your horse. I’m a stranger here and can’t make it back to Great Britain on my own. My lord, please have mercy and save me to the end. I’m willing to serve as your groom or attendant—just take me with you."
The Thirteenth Master was bundled up tightly, his warm hat pulled low, and the fox fur collar covering most of his face, leaving only his eyes visible. After a brief consideration, he said, "By rights, we shouldn’t take you since your background is unclear. But seeing as you’re a subject of Great Britain, leaving you here would likely mean your death. I’ll show mercy this once. Remember—don’t ask what you shouldn’t ask, don’t look where you shouldn’t look, and stay obediently in your place. Bodun, he’s your responsibility now. Keep a close eye on him. If he shows any sign of treachery, execute him without hesitation."
Bodun acknowledged the order with a "zhe," and the procession resumed. Overjoyed, Dingyi quickly scrambled onto a horse and whipped it to catch up.
Author’s Note: Madam: Manchus refer to their grandmothers as "mama," but generally address noblewomen as "madam."
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