by Yvonne Wang
If she returns now, will he have wasted his efforts?
If she does not go back, will she ever see him again? If she gets to Hangzhou and does not see him return forever, when it is night loneliness and cold will be as sharp as needles, she will probably shed tears of regret . . . . she must bear memories of hurt for the rest of her life.
She cannot handle this regret and furthermore cannot handle the crime of abandoning him. But Dad’s Medical Cases is still with her. If she goes back, who will bring it to Great Song? There are as many Mongols as ants, what can she do? But when she thinks of Tianyin at the brink of danger, Angela’s heart burns with pain and her despair shatters her, no less than torture.
The strong wind rolls over the prairie and the still horse paces. In the distance, tender buds of flowers fall, two or three touching the ground; suddenly like that bouquet of flowers Alexander gave her, falling into the stream, petals part and colors stain, she at once senses an ill omen.
No, she absolutely cannot let him die! Even if she has to fight with her life! After all . . . . without that lie, she could have never survived past Volga River. Lie . . . . a flash of lightening. Angela stares at the falling blossom and suddenly wakes up. Her head buzzes and her feet cold, she controls the reins tightly.
Right, this really is a lie. She is the Mongolian princess . . . . a real princess. Thinking of this, Angela suddenly pounds with blood, her eyes determined. She yanks the harness and her boots click the stomach of the horse, she raises her whip and bends over, turning around and bolting madly back. Mighty and courageous, her sleeves flap as she gallops in the wind; her eyes forever striving. Carpets of grass speed past and landscape on the sides go blurry while her slim shadow charges like an arrow.
On the side of the Volga River, metal clang. Battles and killing color the sky purple. The Mongolian soldiers brandish their knives and hack at Tianyin in two’s and three’s. Tianyin drags his injured leg and defends himself with his sword. He sees someone side slash down from midair while he blocks with sword across and leads him to his side. He boldly and suddenly whips with his leg and kicks that man over. He then turns and lowers himself all at once, holding his sword next to his hip, he evades another knife. Next he crosses one leg behind another, both hands on the ground, he sweeps the enemy’s legs low—he gets up and twists his sword in flower patterns. His white and shiny sword roams and shimmers, dissolving all onset strikes. Immediately his lunges and sweeps mightily, slashing the enemy’s chest like a tiger. His free hand wields along with his body as he circles about his sword and pierces to the left and right. His energy starts in his hara center, pouring into this shoulders and wrists; each move is icy and ferocious.
The Mongolian soldiers set up their bows on the periphery and release arrows. Tianyin sees the ruthless arrows fly, bends backwards to evade; but a mess of knives seize again so that he hops to twirl; however the piercing pain in his calf causes him to go soft and lose balance. He tumbles and suffers another silent cut on his back. It is as if a hot iron is embedded in his skin, so he immediately rolls on the ground; half lying down and kicking up, he knocks over one person. He uses the enemy as a shield and blocks another arrow.
The enemies behind him are vicious. Eyes red, Tianyin shouts, turns and wields a cloud of swords so that he blocks six blades at once. He positions his body and pulls back his elbow. He quickly extends his arm forward and pierces an enemy’s throat. Blood drips from the sword like paint on his hair.
The soldiers are now mad. Several of them brandish their knives and attack continuously. They brace Tianyin’s head from the back but Tianyin butts against someone hipbones and grabs him by the shoulders for a flip over. He feels a kick to his ear and falls to the ground. His neck is bruised and he plops onto the ground by force. The soldiers seize the opportunity and attack relentlessly. With knives swinging inches from his eyelashes, Tianyin flips and rolls in a sea of blades. His abdomen and arms are cut, and his bloody wound is more than a foot-long.
Tianyin moans in pain but dares not relaxing. He pushes himself up with the support of his sword, blood still dripping to the dirt. He continues to fight, side-stepping to avoid the knives and flipping soldiers over his shoulder when they get close. He lowers his body to evade the thunder-like arrows. He pierces through the enemy’s intestines from the back; he watches for knives coming down while flapping his sword to attack the enemies in front. He keeps an eye on his back while pokes backwards smoothly with his sword. As he slides through a field of enemy blades, he wounds the enemies’ wrists in consecutive circular motion.
He steps backwards at times, twisting the space between his thumb and forefinger. Crouched down halfway, he sweeps his sword in circles through the enemies and cutting their knees. Seconds later, with the sword spinning around himself, he stops the sweeping blade down by his legs and blocks the falling knife from above. Tianyin tolerates the pain from his wounds. Sweat mix with blood, he bends his leg and kicks the enemies from the side. Landing with a horse stance, he right away wields the sword above his head and continues to immerse himself in the bitter fight for his life. He sees no end to the battle at hand. He takes a glance at his horse and his heart chills.
Ten Tibetan Mastiffs randomly dig their heads into his horse and tear away like mad, licking mouths full of blood. Its strong brown body is long gone without a trace, leaving only half of a skeleton. Blood stuck to horsehair and exposed bones are all that remain. The hungry dogs surround the horse, ripping meat from the body and eating it. Tianyin feels his bones stiffening. All thoughts are lost in a vacuum. The horse is dead. How will he escape now? Will he really die in battle here?
Suddenly, a sound whizzes by his temple, air changes by his feet. Two knives, one high and one low slash and intersect. Tianyin rapidly steps on the ground and leaps forward between two steely daggers. He lands on the ground and rolls and evades. He is just about to bounce off when a curved knife drops straight down so that he cannot avoid it. He raises his leg to block and that sharp blade, with a pop, punctures his thigh. It is then pulled out immediately; pain laps over him while blood pours forth. Tianyin screams hatefully. He restrains his hurt leg, twists his hips and let the other leg fly. He kicks that person’s face so you only hear the click of a broken collar bone.
He struggles to climb up, black clothes soaked in filth. He limps and embraces his elongated sword, surveying the more than ten Mongolian soldiers left. He pants to face the battle. Suddenly, however, he crashes onto the ground; he leans on the foil and stands up with effort again. The others see that he is tired and weak, hurry forward together.
At this time, in the eastern horizon come the clicks of hooves. Angela swallows hard and perspires like rain, slipping in like smoke with flying dust; she rushes over on her horse. Her bright eyes observe the shore and see that Tianyin is injured all over. She immediately whips again and rushes forth.
Tianyin’s throat is hooked from the back. He pokes back with his elbow, knocking his head back viciously, removing that arm and freeing himself. In the midst of the chaos, he postures his silver sword upside down, guarding him close with it. He realizes that he has lost too much blood and his energy is insufficient. At that spur of the moment, he sees the shadow that is fast approaching them on the horse, he is stunned.
Angela! It’s her!
She actually came back . . . .
Who would have thought . . . .
Angela’s two pupils are full of anger, riding into the battle like a swift wind that sweeps over the leaves, incomparably severe. Everyone sees those blue and dark brown eyes and knows that is the princes. For the time being they not dare to move.
The brisk horse rush by, turns around immediately with nonstop motion. Angela stands crouched on the stirrups, leans over and extends her hand, hollering at Tianyin, “Get up!”
Her brown hair is flying, her face stubborn and determined and her watery eyes inspect, he didn’t
have a chance to say anything.
Tianyin catches her hand, lifts his sword and flip over to sit behind her. His blood suddenly drips all over the rear of the horse.
Angela urges the horse decisively, kicking with her heels and loosening the straps, the horse carries the two away like a ball of fire.
The ten or so Mongolian soldiers watch in shock; they do not know whether to chase or to wait. Lacson came to and stomps his feet like mad. With hatred in his eyes, he points at the horse in the distance and shrieks, “Chase them! Get on the horse and chase them! No one can escape, I want the princess alive!”
All the soldiers wake up and quicken to the shore to get their horses. With their knives they hop onto the saddle, lashing their whips they sprint. Xirimo commands his mastiff trainers by blowing on the whistle and waving his arm at the prairie; the rest of the eight Tibetan wolves temporarily abandon their meal of a horse, shooting flames from their reluctant eyes, they storm out with dark shadows like arrows.
Angela’s heart thumps like a rabbit’s, running away madly all of a sudden. She feels the polar wind against her face and her frozen hands soaking the harness. The injured body behind her is dripping heat, panting deeply and weighted down. She glances back worried and sees a vicious crowd of enemies after them; she cannot help but turn ashy and bite her lips, both feet urging. Her boots keep poking, but one horse carrying two is nevertheless slow, no matter how fast you ask it to go.
The Mongolian soldiers’ gait accelerates and the sounds of murder roar close. Soon, one rider catches up and sweeps with his knife like a hungry tiger. Angela peers back and sees shadows looming overhead and cold blades in her sight. She is at once scared out of her wits. She bows her head, squeezes her eyes and screams at a loss—all of a sudden her shoulder sinks down, a large palm is pressed on top of it. She hears the crisp clangs of metal behind her ears, the clashing of knife and sword.
Tianyin blocks with his sword horizontally and single-handedly prevents the attack. Then he leans to turn his arm, guiding the force to the side and bouncing off his feet unexpectedly; he kicks exactly the wrist of the infantryman wielding the knife. That person’s forearm swells and shakes, all tendons numb. The fingers loosen their grip and toss out the knife. The two horses gradually part and Tianyin hears the whistling of arrows. He suddenly pushes forward and makes Angela lean to the right. Stacked on top of the saddle, they evade another attack. An arrow rips through the wind by their shoulders.
The swarms of enemies invade gradually like the rushing waters that move faster and faster. Hooves stepping and waves lapping, suddenly two more riders approach to attack from the left and the right. The three horses are shoulder to shoulder, racing. Angela is terrified, turning her head in a panic and glancing to the sides. She sees on the one side brutal and a vicious criminal glaring cruelly, pulling out his bow and aiming up close; on the other side some violent and vicious person hacks down with his knife, a force oppresses them from only inches away so they are endangered as if hanging onto a cliff.
“Left!” Tianyin moves her shoulder forthwith and yells with determination.
Angela complies and kicks her feet, controlling the rein and changing directions. The horse abruptly charges to the left and directly at the marksman. Bang, that person instantly shakes and the bow is flattened and flops; the knife on the right smashes and slices wildly so the hacking brushes by their sleeves as it shoots in midair, breaking through with icy lights.
Tianyin carries his injury and bears his pain; leaning on the horse, he takes advantage of this opportunity to concentrate his energy while the arrows aim with difficulty and the horses are parallel. Pouring forth with all his might, his one leg flies suddenly and kicks one marksman off the saddle. A curved knife behind them arrives and tries to slash again diagonally. He leans back flat and escapes by following the curve. His one hand is around Angela’s waist and he lies down. His sword shoots straight pass his head, attacking in stealth. With an ah-ha, he pierces right through the stomach of the enemy. Liquid bursts and blood dribbles. That Mongolian soldier stiffens and his knife halts half way above Tianyin. His back hunches like a shrimp, at once staring at his stomach.
The ten or so soldiers on their horses press forward and they try to cut around Angela and Tianyin. As the enemies grow and surround them, Angela controls the horse and Tianyin defends. They battle united. Tianyin’s hateful eyes scan severely, raising his leg and brandishing his sword. If he can block, he does; but fresh red gel infiltrates his hip and boiling blood trickle along the way. Angela nervously breathes and looks around in a panic. She releases the rein and the horse roams without a second of laxness. Suddenly, eight vicious mastiffs emerge from the side of the road, lowering themselves, preserving their might and blocking their path. Each is as mighty as a mountain, ruthless eyes spray flame and teeth drip with blood. Their black fur is greasy and shiny; their low roars shake the earth.
The running horse is alarmed, screeching to a halt its running steps; it is frightened when sighting the beast-like dogs, whining at the sky. In front of this wall of wolves, it stands on its hind legs. Angela and Tianyin cannot withstand this instantaneous change and roll off the horseback. They smash into the ground together. They lift their heads and suddenly shiver. They see Mongolian armies surround them with bows like moons and the lion-like mastiffs hungry for blood, barking viciously, wanting to leap forward—
“No!” Angela’s eyes red and screams mad. Her shrieks soar into the clouds. She gets up vigorously, setting birth and death aside. She protects Tianyin with her body, covering him tight and kneeling and holding his head.
Lacson commands that the princess is to be captured alive, so Xirimo quickly orders the Tibetan mastiffs to stop. Others also awaits directions upon seeing this situation and do not dare to shoot one arrow.
“Stop—” Angela focuses her eyes upward upon the Mongolian army, gritting her teeth with emotion. She yells in Chinese and hollers angrily all of a sudden. Her face is filthy and sweaty while she looks about, her breath stirs and her voice rough and limbs incoherent, she only knows to protect the bloody and wounded body beneath her. She turns her head and sees Lacson dismount with his whip. She yells at him severely, surrendering, “You stop! I will go back with you . . . . I will go back with you!”
She would rather part with Tianyin for the rest of her life than for him to keep fighting.
The young woman’s words are decisive and her voice sorrowful, choking as her words fall. She sits on the ground and retreats. Suddenly she feels warmth on her wrist; he holds it tight while sticky blood drips. She turns her head and sees Tianyin in his red scars on the face shaking his head slightly. His dark eyes pained, half shocked and half resentful. He props up his upper torso, stretching his hand while panting. His dirty shirt is soaked crimson and his lips apart, an urgency infiltrates his brows.
“Tianyin,” Angela presses his wrist with one hand, her fingers imprinted rouge; she leans forward and begs earnestly, “Hurry up and tell them, tell them.” She turns and sees Lacson walk over; she hates herself for not knowing Mongolian. She rattles Tianyin and queries, sobbing, “Tell him I will go back with them—hurry up and tell him.”
“No . . . .” Tianyin clutches her wrist and insistently refuses. Sitting in the pool of blood, he grits his teeth and shakes, misery breaks and drowns his dark eyes. He sticks his sword into the earth, exerting effort to move. He tries hard to get up and continue fighting, but he is injured all over and blood is dripping from ruptures; his bones burn and melt as if paralyzed. He is depleted of energy, as if he has no martial skills. He only feels an acute pain that laps over him like a cursed mountain sitting on his head and makes his four limbs feeble. His body shivers and he slumps down. He hates himself for being so incapable. Thinking that Angela will go with the Mongols, his heart aches as if it is being cut with a knife. Thinking it over sadly, for a long time he gazes at the young woman mute.
The Mongolian soldiers around them grip their bows and watch. The vicious mastiffs stand in a row. Lacson wrings his whip and have his hands on his waist; he cups his jaw and ponders. He approaches them in his boots, standing before the two of them, his narrow eyes squint to see. He cocks his head to get a view of Angela. He knows that he has the upper hand now, brushing his mustache he is pleased to ask, “How is it?”
Tianyin rolls his eyes and stares indignantly, shooting sharp blazes from his eyes.
“Don’t move!” Angela blocked Lacson with her raised hands. Bold and decisive, poised to shatter jade. She turns around and stands up, each word clear and succinct, she says in Chinese, “As long as you don’t kill him, I will go back with you!”
Lacson stops to savor the idea and wonders in a frown.
Angela twirls and kneels down, holding Tianyin, her clear eyes sad and stubborn; in the face of his ebony eyes, she chokes up and extends her hand, saying softly, “Give me the knife.” Tianyin is frigid like a statue, distressed dark pupils looking but not moving at all. She moves closer, eyes cast down on the grass, inhales deeply then pauses, and speaks with determination, “Give me the knife—I will kill Ögedei for you.”
These words are like a thunderbolt, Tianyin unanticipatedly changes color; eyes wide and body numb, he gawks in disbelief at her decision. He face pale white and throat dry with a mix of tastes; his lips and jaws quiver in pain. He buries his head and tightens his fists; his organs twist and chew at him. He cannot stand himself at that moment.
“Give it to me!” Angela shrieks all of a sudden, swallowing her tears. She strenuously grabs him by the collar, reaching into his shirt and searching inside him.
