Upon the second day of their journey to the Xiao Hinggan Range, Xian Yang had already hunted two foxes upon the mountain slopes—one of tawny hue, and the other a vivid red. The red one had been struck in the leg by a bullet, and was then captured alive by the slender falcon that swooped down upon it. As Xian Yang examined the creature, its eyes, a shade of green, radiated both terror and ferocity. It bared its teeth and whimpered, yet in truth, it was powerless. He ordered his attendant to cage the animal—an intriguing diversion to bring back for the young ladies at home.
The young brothers spent their days hunting and camping upon the mountains, warming themselves by the fire as they exchanged gossip about the emperor’s various exploits in Tianjin and discussed their own dwindling fortunes. They spoke of the uncertain future, lamenting that they might not be able to hunt foxes here next year. Times were changing, marked by strife and marauding bandits, a far cry from the peace of years past.
As Xian Yang sipped his wine and pondered the state of affairs, he considered the uncrowned ruler of the local lands—the commander who ruled Fengtian. This figure had always been brazen in levying taxes and raising funds, yet had now sent Xian Yang a gift. Could it be that he had designs on a certain piece of land, a particular street, or perhaps even the rumored treasures still hidden within the Wang Mansion? Xian Yang silently assessed his own wealth and assets, calculating how much of his estate remained, what could be preserved, and what must be relinquished quickly. He considered which valuables might be gifted to forge alliances and which must be protected at all costs. The idea of restoring the former dynasty was a beautiful dream, but before surrendering to such intoxicating fantasies, one must first contemplate how to survive, and to survive well…
He partook of the wine and drew in several puffs of smoke before curling himself within the confines of his blanket and succumbing to slumber. Yet, in the dead of night, he awoke to find the full moon suspended amidst the tree branches, its radiant luminescence dazzling the eyes. The distant howls of a lone wolf carried across the mountain valleys, its haunting melody causing tremors within his heart. Startled, he sat up abruptly and paced a few steps back and forth, his thoughts in turmoil, as if an ominous event were about to transpire within his home in Fengtian.
The tethered hawk rustled its wings, and as he approached, he removed the black hood that concealed the bird’s vigilant gaze. He pondered, “If you remain silent and close your eyes to sleep, then I too shall return to slumber. But if you cry out in the midst of the night, I shall hasten back to Fengtian without delay.” As if possessing a supernatural connection, the hawk twisted its neck gracefully and let out a piercing cry.
At the southern train station of Fengtian City, a train bound for the inner regions prepared to depart. Mingyue sat within a first-class carriage, adorned in a newly tailored, petite Western-style dress made of tender yellow velvet. The fitted bodice and floor-length skirt, along with the frilly white Chantilly lace at the collar and cuffs, rendered her a vision of effervescence, akin to a glass of rich champagne.
Mingyue reminisced; this would be her fourth time embarking on a train journey. She had accompanied Xian Yang to Harbin, Changchun, and Beidaihe, but this time, she would be traversing the arduous path to the distant south. She recalled a Scottish folk song they had learned in school, one that told the tale of a young maiden being taken away by a stranger she had never met, leaving behind her parents and homeland as she wept and sang along the way. Wiping her face with her sleeve, she reflected that her own circumstances were not quite as woeful. After all, she had long been without her parents, and she could not pinpoint where her true homeland lay.
The royal residence had prepared a generous dowry and assigned four attendants to accompany her on her journey to south. The maid, who helped her with her daily grooming, would seize every opportunity to recount the stories of true princesses who had fallen upon hard times, insinuating that Lady Mingyue was indeed fortunate. To marry into a wealthy and learned family with the grandeur befitting a princess, she must not wear a mournful expression, for that would be a disservice to the kindness of others.
However, she felt that there were still some unfulfilled desires in her heart. There was someone who had yet to bid her farewell or offer a simple greeting. In these turbulent times, illness, parting, and long journeys could signify an entire lifetime. The train whistle sounded, yet it remained stationary for a moment. On this bright morning of September 8th, clouds suddenly covered the sky, and fine raindrops fell upon the window. Outside her compartment, chaos ensued.
The Hui Lan Pavilion Bathhouse was situated in an alley off the eastern wing of the Central Street. Boasting an age of over two centuries, the owner’s great-grandfather’s father had once massaged and stretched the legs of the imperial ancestor, Nurhaci. It was said that the esteemed general was also a regular patron. The bathhouse featured three pools, offering clear soup, medicinal soup, and steam baths. The clear soup was changed thrice daily, while the medicinal soup was said to contain a thousand-year-old ginseng root. The steam bath was a new addition, with the owner employing strong and robust Korean men to provide services like massages and foot treatments to the patrons. The entrance fee was fifteen copper coins, and one could stay all day, though haircuts and shaves required extra payment. In a year when a pound of lard cost two copper coins, the Hui Lan Pavilion was undoubtedly a place of luxury.
In the Hui Lan Pavilion, some idle scions and remnants of once-wealthy families would spend their days leisurely, sipping tea and nibbling on snacks while discussing and critiquing the legends and stories from across time and around the world. The latest topic of conversation was the inevitable decline of the Manchu Dynasty. They spoke of a young prince, whose actions had dishonored his family for the sake of a woman who had been married off from their own palace. How could the Manchu Dynasty not have perished? Considering the actions of this princeling – a supposed paragon of filial piety and virtue – who, for a woman married out of his royal residence, hijacked a train, killed people with a hunting rifle, infuriated his mother, and brought about his father’s death. With such disloyalty, impiety, unkindness, and injustice, how could the Manchu Dynasty have endured?
An old man, well-versed in the details, vividly narrated the story:
“The woman’s fate clashed with that of the Elder Prince and his young wife. The noble lady arranged a suitable and respectable marriage for her, sending her away. Just as the train was about to depart, the despicable young prince, who should have been hunting in Xinjiang, returned early. Brandishing his rifle, he aimed at people’s heads, demanding their compliance. They refused? Well, that refusal would be met with bullets!”
As the old man continued, he gestured animatedly:
“With four barrels in the hunting rifle, the bullets formed a cross-shaped pattern. One shot, and the person’s head would explode!”
Before he could finish speaking, another old man, frightened, dropped his teacup with a loud “crack,” shattering it to pieces.
Wiping his mouth with a handkerchief, the storyteller went on: “The woman was found, and the young prince immediately broke off the engagement, taking her away with him. Someone tried to stop them? Well, another shot! A continuous barrage – three lives taken at once!”
Someone cursed, “Beasts! Despicable offspring! When the emperor was besieged in the capital, these people lacked the courage to act, but for a woman, they left corpses strewn everywhere! What kind of woman is she?!”
“Oh, this woman is truly extraordinary!” the informed individual continued, “I’ve heard she has Russian blood, speaks the language of four nations, and her other skills are even more remarkable. She was raised in the Royal Palace, originally serving the Old Prince, but then caught the eye of the Young Prince and became entangled in their illicit affair! There are no decent people in the palace, and the old consort even married her off as a daughter. Hmph, I’ve heard she’s been forced to swallow musk several times!”
Immediately, someone wept, “Oh, Your Majesty! The Great Qing Dynasty!”
There was also someone who laughed at him, “Old Qian, what kind of drama are you singing in the bathhouse? The emperor is gone, the Great Qing Dynasty has vanished, but it seems you haven’t lost any of your privileges, have you? You’re still enjoying your daily baths with plump and tender skin. Go cry at the ancestral temple tomorrow, haha.”
In lively situations like this, the truth is often obscured, or perhaps it is simply what people desire.
Sitting in the carriage, Mingyue, lost in thought, suddenly heard the chaos outside. Amidst the overlapping footsteps and noisy voices, she recognized one voice as the one she had been waiting for. Her heart was suddenly filled with ecstatic joy, and she leaped from her seat, running a few steps to open the door. Standing outside was Xian Yang.
He was alone, wearing a hunting jacket still stained with mud and leaves.
Upon seeing him, she was momentarily stunned. It would take three days and nights of travel through wind and rain to reach this place from the Hinggang Ling Mountains. How had he managed to return so quickly? How did he know? How did he find her?
Xian Yang’s face was expressionless, his voice gentle and composed, as he simply told her, “Come, get off the carriage.”
Without hesitation, Mingyue lifted her leg and rushed towards the carriage door.
The servant, accompanied by the family retainer, tried to stop the pair from proceeding. Unaware of their true intentions, he reached out and roughly pushed the young man’s shoulder, while reprimanding him, “Who are you people?! How dare you come here to abduct the bride!”
The young man had been rushing all the way, already exhausted, and nearly missed her by a step. His heart was filled with regret and irritation at this fortunate yet frustrating encounter. Suddenly, he was shoved with such brute force that his anger reached its peak. If rage could power a locomotive, they might have arrived at the Shanhaiguan in an instant. Without a word, the young man raised his shotgun, loaded it, and aimed it at the retainer’s forehead.
Everyone present was terrified. The servant immediately fell to his knees, pleading, “Spare a human life, young master!
The lady was promised to us; she was not stolen!” Time seemed to stretch on like a century.
The young man lowered his gun and helped the kneeling servant to his feet, speaking slowly, “I apologize to you, but this person cannot be taken away.” He then grasped her wrist and strode through the carriage, exiting and leaving the scene.
The autumn rain continued to fall, increasingly heavy, as if it would envelop the entire world.
The young master possessed a four-barreled shotgun with a cruciform-shaped bullet hole. In a moment of desperation, he would press it against someone’s forehead, but he never blew anyone’s brains out, nor did he kill a string of people in a row.
The young woman had no Russian lineage. She could recite a short English poem about chestnut picking, her worldly experiences yet to be had, sometimes naive, and fortunate to escape with her life.
These two individuals were labeled as beasts and demons by others.
Thank you for your generosity!💖
NOTE: This translation belongs to me. It is prohibited to copy / Re-translate / Re-distribute my translations without my prior permission. Thank you.
Bunny Love Reader 