Thousand Miles of Bright Moonlight - Chapter 158.2

At this time, Yang Qian would merely be an unknown young man. But many years later, his name would echo across the heartlands of the Central Plains.

When the mountains and rivers were lost and the Western Regions got isolated, this young man, born amidst the boundless desert, had from childhood witnessed the oppression and humiliation of his people. Upon reaching adulthood, he resolved to lead them in reclaiming their homeland and returning to the old country. Yet between them and Chang’an lay thousands of li. To make the eastward journey, how could it be easy?

Everyone urged Yang Qian to abandon such a futile dream; yet he refused to yield. While diligently honing his martial skills, he sold off his family property to quietly gather men, persuading the noble clans of the city, and even persuading Yuchi Damo to seek aid from the Central Plains.

In the year he turned twenty, Tumoroga died. The Northern Rong, no longer restrained, began massacring the tribes who refused to submit. Rebellions broke out across the land. Yang Qian seized the chance by leading his guards to break through the Northern Rong’s blockade and set off eastward to seek reinforcements.

As he left, the townsfolk, young and old, clutched at his sleeves, weeping bitterly, “Young Master Yang, when you reach Chang’an, ask the Emperor of Chang’an! Ask the ministers! Do they still remember us, their people?”

At twenty years old, Yang Qian drew his sword in fury, cut off his long hair, and swore, “I will not turn back until I reach Chang’an!”

That road eastward was the journey of a lifetime for Yang Qian and his guards.

From Gaochang to Chang’an, they had to cross the Great Sea Route, passing through a great desert strewn with gravel, the boundless shifting sands of the Gobi, grasslands where not a soul could be found, towering snow-capped mountains, and then through layer upon layer of fortresses, including several major towns garrisoned by the Northern Rong’s troops.

From the moment Yang Qian’s party set out from Gaochang, they endured life-and-death trials. Some died of thirst, some of hunger, some of exhaustion, some of illness, but far too many fell beneath the blades of the Northern Rong cavalry.

Yet they never turned back, always pressing eastward.

In the end, this group of men that yearned to reach Chang’an and plead for reinforcements vanished into the endless Gobi.

Many years later, a merchant caravan from the Central Plains trading with the Northern Rong passed through Shazhou and found a skeleton half-buried in the shifting sands. Moved by pity, the merchant decided to give the bones a proper burial, and in doing so discovered a still-intact bundle beside the remains. Inside was a Ten-Thousand Word Letter written on silk cloth.

It was a cry, a desperate appeal to the Central Plains from the people who had lost their homeland, every sentence thundering with passion, every word steeped written by blood.

The bones in the sands were Yang Qian’s. Despite enduring unimaginable hardship, he had never reached Chang’an. He had died alone in the desert.

With his last breath, he had signed the ten-thousand-word letter with his name and final wish, begging whoever found it to take it to Chang’an in his stead.

His young life was long gone, but the bones still lay in the posture of crawling eastward.

“I will not turn back until I reach Chang’an.”

Aside from Yang Qian, none who had marched with him left their names. Dozens of young men were swallowed by the sands, their bodies lost to the desert.

They had lived and died honoring their vow.

The merchant, deeply moved, arranged for the letter to be delivered to Chang’an.

At last, this blood-written appeal reached the hands of the Son of Heaven. Yang Qian’s wish was fulfilled, only in death.

By then, Zheng Jing had already risen to the rank of Chancellor. He ordered the letter to be made public, shaking the world to its core.

Yang Qian’s name soon spread through every street and alley of Chang’an. At court, ministers expressed their views; among the common folks, debates raged. Across the empire, public outrage swelled, and petitions poured in, all urging the Emperor to send troops to reclaim the lost lands.

But it was already too late.

The Northern Rong had grown powerful, while the Central Plains dynasty was riven with internal strife. Now beset by crises within and without, the empire lacked the strength to launch a distant campaign.

The ministers submitted memorials with great zeal, but their debates over military action were in truth thinly veiled attacks against one another, each faction using Yang Qian’s story as a weapon to purge dissenters.

Zheng Jing, helpless, persuaded the young Emperor to posthumously honour Yang Qian and his companions as Righteous Men, and issue an edict to stir the hearts of the people. And so, the matter of sending troops to recover the lands north of Hexi faded into oblivion.

A few years later, the Northern Rong advanced eastward. The Great Wei fell, its nation lost, its families destroyed, and corpses were strewn across the land.

…

Presently, in Gaochang.

Yaoying smiled as she gazed at the spirited and handsome Yang Qian before her, emotions surging in her heart.

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

In every era, in every land, when the nation lay in ruins, there were always heroes like the Zhu family ancestors, Xie Wuliang, and Yang Qian. Men who would take it upon themselves to save the common people, sacrificing themselves and spilling their blood, facing death without fear, and forging ahead with unflinching resolve.

When she had first arrived in Gaochang and made inquiries about Yang Qian’s character, the answers had left her both amused and exasperated,  “Yang Qian? A reckless youth who wastes his days on cockfights and falconry, chasing pleasure without a shred of accomplishment. A spoiled nobleman, notorious far and wide.”

Yaoying couldn’t help but doubt, “Could it simply be someone with the same name? Or perhaps the withered bones that had ultimately been buried in the drifting sands belonged to someone else entirely?”

The noble clans she had invited through Old Qi’s invites were chosen after careful consideration, but when she mentioned bringing Yang Qian, Old Qi had firmly opposed by saying, “Princess, Yang Qian is young, rash, impulsive, and idles away his days. Such a man is not worth befriending. I heard that just a few days ago, he quarrelled over a dancing girl out of jealousy and even offended a clan elder, earning himself a harsh reprimand.”

Yaoying had hesitated for a long time before deciding to meet Yang Qian in person. After all, of all the people with the same name and age, and who also happened to be a descendant of a noble family in Hexi, he was the only one.

No matter how one looked at it, those dry bones must have had something to do with Yang Qian.

The moment she met him, Yaoying knew she had found the right man.

When the middle-aged members of the noBility all spoke with an awkward accent, and even some white-haired elders had forgotten the speech of their homeland, the youngest of them, Yang Qian, could speak flawlessly in Hexi’s official dialect. He was the one whose bones would one day lie in the sands, still facing east.

Yaoying had smiled on the spot.

Yang Qian revealed all his thoughts the moment he opened his mouth. He even deliberately provoked her, testing her. Now he was following her, trying to uncover her true background.

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

Because he longed, at every moment, to re-establish contact with the Central Plains.

Yang Qian had meant to intimidate Yaoying during their confrontation, but she only smiled without a word, calm and composed. He was still young and could not keep his composure. With a cold sneer, he said, “Princess Wenzhao, calamity is upon you, your death is at hand, yet here you Lounge about at leisure. This Yang truly admires you!”

Yaoying chuckled lightly. “What does Young Master Yang mean by this?”

Yang Qian replied arrogantly, “Does Princess Wenzhao think that those people you met today are all trustworthy? Let me tell you the truth, to your face, they swore to the heavens that their hearts are set on Chang’an, weeping as though their own mothers had died, vowing never to reveal your identity. But in truth, every last one of them is scheming behind your back. For all you know, someone has likely already reported you to the palace.”

Yaoying’s expression changed slightly. She asked, “Then what does Young Master Yang think I should do?”

Yang Qian lifted his chin higher. “My ancestral home is in Hexi. For generations, the Yangs have been renowned generals of Hexi. My grandfather once served as the Commander-in-Chief of Hexi, and before his death, he exhorted me never to forget our homeland. Now that the Great Wei has unified the Central Plains, our Yang clan naturally pledges allegiance to the Great Wei. You are a princess of the Great Wei, stranded here in Gaochang and left without support. As a son of the Yang family, it is my duty to protect you.”

He subtly puffed out his chest, trying to make himself appear taller and more robust.

“If you trust me, take refuge at my family’s manor. I swear no one will dare harm you while I live!”

At those words, the others exchanged glances, their expressions varied.

Yuanjue suddenly felt a strange, unpleasant sensation in his heart, some parts anger, other parts unease, The princess is the Mordenga Maiden of Buddha’s son! This brat has no right to meddle in her affairs!

He looked towards Yaoying.

Yaoying was still smiling. She had indeed not misjudged him. Of all the people she had met today, Yang Qian was the most genuinely sincere towards her.

She asked with a smile, “And does Young Master Yang not fear that those people might go to the palace to report you as well?”

Yang Qian straightened his back even more, his fingers tightening on the hilt of his long sword. “I am not afraid of them! My family has generations-old ties to the Yuchi clan. Even if they complain to the King himself, I can still protect the princess.”

Yaoying tilted her head up to glance at the sky. “Young Master Yang is right. Among the Zhao, Yang, and Zhang clans, there are certainly those who yearn for the Central Plains, but there are also those who have allied with the Northern Rong. They are not all to be trusted. When I met them and told them my identity, I am sure there were some who wanted to seize the chance to curry favour with Lady Ina…”

A trace of pride crossed Yang Qian’s face.

Yaoying’s tone suddenly shifted; the corners of her lips curved faintly. “Young Master Yang, how do you think we should deal with those faithless, treacherous people?”

Yang Qian was taken aback.