Chapter 131

Chapter 131

Book 3, Chapter 29 (Part 3)

And so Duan LIng is led out of the tent once more. When he’s brought inside the command tent, he finds four battalion commanders in addition to Batu standing there, with an army inspector standing in the centre. The four battalion commanders are having a heated argument while Batu is frowning, clearly rather fed up with these people, so much so that he doesn’t even feel like bothering to talk to them.

“I gave you a thousand soldiers.” The inspector sneers sarcastically. “And what did you bring back? A Han? You were sent there to fight! Borjigin!”

Batu replies, “Even if he’s Han, he’s still my captive. What was that guy’s name again?”

“Huapuernu!” Another battalion commander charges over to face Batu angrily, snarling, “He was one of my warriors!”

“He wanted to take my captive from me. He even said he wanted to drag him away to comfort the troops, and on top of that, he drew his weapon against me. I had no choice but to kill him.”

“Borjigin.” The inspector says, “Let’s not mince words. When will you be able to take Ye?”

As soon as the inspector brings that up, Batu is left with no choice but to swallow his wrath. “Give me another ten days. Hejian was about to be taken already.”

Another of the commanders say, “You’re better going home to your ma’s teats. Tolul happens to be needin’ someone to mind his horse. Borjigin, can you or can you not fight? Why can’t you just get the battle over and done with?”

“Unless you want to fight the Khitans and the Han at the same time,” Batu says, “you’re going to have to wait!”

“The Khitans wouldn’t come here so quickly,” says a battalion commander with a hooked nose.

“This captive can understand what we’re saying.” Batu says coldly, “You’ll be held accountable for whatever consequences that come out of what you said just now.”

Duan Ling is trying to figure out the strength of the Mongols’ forces. There are five battalion commanders each in charge of a thousand men, which means only five battalions of a thousand have crossed into Chen territory. Is there a main force also? What could those things that the Hook-nosed man said earlier mean? While he’s pondering this, he never expected Batu to say such a thing; everyone turns their gaze on Duan Ling then. The army inspector draws his sabre and tosses it onto the floor.

“Kill him right now,” says the inspector. “I say so.”

“We can’t kill him.” Batu says, “I’m keeping him because I have a use for him.”

“Who on earth is this captive anyway?” The inspector asks.

“He … has information about the Han. At any rate, I have a use for him. We can’t kill him.”

When Batu finishes talking, he picks the sabre off the floor and spins it around in the air before casually sticking it into the table in front of the army inspector. “Once ten days have passed, it’s not too late for you to take him away if I still haven’t captured Ye by then. I’m leaving.”

Batu turns around, and under everyone’s watchful gaze, he grabs the rope tied to Duan Ling’s hands and wraps it loosely around Duan Ling’s neck several times. Then throwing an arm over Duan Ling’s shoulder, he shoves him out of the tent, and just like the way he used to in the Illustrious Hall all those years ago, half coercing and half hugging, he drags Duan Ling back with him.

“I’m going to see how many of my soldiers you’ve spared. I’ll be back later at night to keep you company. Go ahead and have dinner on your own.”

“You’re so busy,” Duan Ling says sarcastically.

“Can’t do a thing about that. You’re bloody brutal, downright a mad horse. Here, you’d better keep this shirt for yourself. Keeping you invulnerable … it’s good stuff.”

Batu strips the White Tiger armour off of his body and unties Duan LIng’s hands again. As soon as Duan Ling’s hands are free he tries to push his arm against Batu’s chin in an attempt to flip him, but Batu’s prepared — he flips the armour open with his left hand, and with a single pulling motion with his right, he’s worked Duan Ling’s struggles into his movements and slipped Duan Ling’s head through the armour.

Duan Ling’s a bit wordless.

Strength is everything, and Batu was the one who taught him most of his wrestling moves, to begin with. He has no weapon so he can’t use his sword skills, and in hand-to-hand combat Batu basically has him on a short leash. Both of his hands are trussed behind his back, and soon enough he’s tied up with the rope again.

“I’m leaving.” Batu doesn’t think much of Duan Ling’s resistance at all. He makes Duan Ling sit down, and leaves again after tying him to the pillar.

The only thing Duan Ling wants to do is cuss him out — this is just too humiliating!

When they came back earlier, Duan Ling had already noticed that there’s a strip of old, worn-out cloth wrapped around Batu’s bare arm.

What’s that? Duan Ling thinks to himself.

He’s the only person in this tent now, but this still isn’t the best time to run. This is the chance of a lifetime — he must find some way to spy on the Mongolian military situation. There are five thousand men, and Batu is one of five battalion commanders. The Mongols don’t really recognise heirs by default unlike the Han, so Tenmujin’s four children must make a name for themselves before the soldiers will want to follow them. Ögedei had inherited the Khan position while his brothers have each gone off to wage war.

When it’s Tenmujin’s grandsons’ turn, the rules remain the same; Batu needs military glory before he can convince the masses, and perhaps this is the reason why he’s become a battalion commander.

That he can lead a thousand men proves that he’s already quite capable.

Duan Ling bends down, puts his face near the bread, and starts eating. It’s already afternoon; He wonders if Wu Du’s figured out where he is yet. After having some food, Duan Ling can’t help but feel sleepy, and he falls asleep.

He has no idea how long he sleeps for, but he feels Batu untying the rope around his arms and covering him with a blanket. Batu is back, and this time, he burrows under the blanket to sleep next to Duan Ling.

Duan Ling waits a long time. Nearly an hour passes before Batu begins to snore softly in deep sleep. Duan Ling opens his eyes, but as soon as he starts moving Batu’s awake again. “Don’t think of running.”

Batu turns over and puts all of his weight on top of Duan Ling, and he’s about to reach under Duan Ling’s clothes to tickle him just like he used to when they were children when Duan Ling immediately stops him, “Don’t touch me”

Batu stops moving. Duan Ling says, “If you touch the inside of my underclothes, you’ll die a horrible death.”

If Batu is poisoned he’ll be in a world of trouble. He has no idea where Wu Du is, and if the Golden Crow bites Batu, not only is there no antidote that can save him, Duan Ling won’t survive either.

“Do you have poison? I’ve been meaning to ask you how you managed to poison so many of my people to death.”

Duan Ling turns his head to the side and gives Batu a sidelong glance.

Batu yawns, obviously not having slept enough and feeling a bit restless. He scratches his neck, takes off his shirt, and strips down to his waist. Digging a towel out of the basin, he begins to wipe himself down; his muscles are brimming with strength.

As he washes up, he’s still blatantly staring at Duan Ling. He’s always been like this, without the least restraint when he’s looking at people — just like a wild beast.

Duan Ling asks him, “What’s that tied around your arm?”

Batu unties the strip of cloth and approaches Duan Ling, handing it to him. The fabric is filthy and smells of sweat, obviously something that he carries with him everywhere. Duan Ling realises with a start that this is the same strip of cloth he tore off of his sleeve and tied to an arrow, the same letter he shot over to the Mongolian envoy Amga!

The words written in charcoal are already so blurry as to be unreadable. Batu ties it back on his wrist.

“Is that … the letter I sent you?” Duan Ling asks.

“Yeah,” Batu replies absentmindedly as though he’s thinking about something else still; his mind has been constantly wandering.

“We’re meeting again after such a long time. So do you not have anything else you want to talk about?”

“Talk about what? It’s the past. What’s there to talk about?”

He finishes cleaning himself, tosses the towel aside, and takes wine and meat out from beneath the rack. “I’m seeing you again now, aren’t I? There’s nothing to say about all that stuff. Right now, you’re at my side. You’re here. You’ve been here all along. You’ll always be here. I don’t want to know about what happened in the past anymore.”

Sometimes, Duan Ling really can’t comprehend Batu’s thinking, and things between them used to be like this as well. After all these years apart, he’s actually finding Batu even harder to understand now.

“Want a drink?” Batu hands him a wine jug.

“No,” Duan Ling says, chilly.

“You still haven’t learned how to drink, I see.”

Duan Ling feels like he’s just about to suffocate; he finds that this reunion hasn’t gone at all the way he’d imagined it to go — there hasn’t been a word of reminiscence. Everything seems to proceed both as a matter of course and outside of his expectations.

Batu digs out his dagger, wipes off the blood it acquired from killing someone earlier, and using it to slice up chunks of mutton, he begins to eat dinner. The sky gradually grows dark. He eats for a while before lighting a lamp, illuminating the two of them.

“Aren’t you at all concerned about my past?” Duan Ling asks.

“Not at all. I’m far more concerned about your future.”

Duan Ling suddenly laughs. Batu drinks a sip of wine, and he also starts to laugh, regardless of Duan Ling.

“Have a drink. Come on.” Batu turns with the wine bladder and feeds Duan Ling a couple of mouthfuls. Mongolian wine is damn strong; Duan Ling coughs hard several times. It tastes like firewater burning down his throat, turning his face red.

Batu glances at Duan Ling, and there seems to be something unusual conveyed in his gaze; he reaches out and tucks a lock of Duan Ling hair behind his ear before meticulously studying his face. In that instant, Duan Ling can feel that Batu is staring at him the way a wolf would.

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But that look in his eyes does not linger too long. Soon, Batu is turning away again, seemingly hesitating about something.

“That day, after you left,” Duan Ling asks, “what happened?”

He has decided to be the one to initiate this line of questioning. Ever since their reunion, he keeps getting this feeling that Batu is acting rather unnaturally, and the way he’s behaving right now looks to be an act he’s putting on.

“Do you really want to hear it?” Batu answers his question with a question.

“Tell me. Stop pretending. You can’t fool me.”

There’s a hint of intoxication in Batu’s eyes as he stares at Duan Ling. “Then you tell me — what am I thinking right now?”

“You’re thinking about how you’re going to trade me for Hejian, Ye, and the city of Changzhou. Or maybe you’d use me to force Great Chen to a peace deal.”

“Wrong. I give you two more chances.”

A slight furrow appears between Duan Ling’s eyebrows. “You’re thinking that since I’m clearly the crown prince, why would I allow the Cai Dog to take my place.”

“Wrong.” Batu laughs. “Isn’t that obvious? Lang Junxia didn’t manage to rescue you, so he brought the Cai Dog back to impersonate the crown prince so that he can be the emperor in the future.”

“Why would he do that?” Duan Ling has this vague feeling that Batu seems to know something he doesn’t.

“How would I know? You guessed wrong again though. You still have one last chance.”

Duan Ling turns the question over and over in his head, and says at last, “You want to let me go.”

“Still wrong.”

“Then what are you thinking about?”

Batu crawls over to him. Duan Ling is sitting cross-legged on the floor, and he looks up at Batu who’s kneeling on one knee before him, looking down at him from above.

Batu puts a finger beneath Duan Ling’s chin to make him look up. He says solemnly, “You’re better off not knowing.”

Duan Ling isn’t sure what to think.

Batu’s face is sharply defined with deep-set eyes, a tall nose, and his dark blue eyes look just the way Duan Ling remembers them. His features give him a sense of ruggedness, and by his expression, he also seems to be a bit annoyed with Duan Ling.

This guy certainly holds a grudge; Duan Ling wonders how he managed to get on his bad side again. He always looks like he’s dissatisfied with everything.

“Now this is what you’re really like,” Duan Ling says. “Always looking like someone owes you money. What are you thinking about?”

Batu takes a deep breath. He doesn’t even know what to tell Duan Ling anymore.

“I’m wondering … if I fucked you right now,” Batu says, “would you cry and yell and hate me for the rest of your life, weep and wail like a little woman?”

Duan Ling stares at him in stunned silence.

The Mongols are always fond of treating their prisoners of war that way. In their barbarous customs, young people are spoils of war, and they don’t really care whether the prisoner is a man or a woman. The Mongols seem to think of this behaviour as a kind of subjugation. When he escaped from Shangjing and was found by the Mongol army in the Xianbei mountains, Duan Ling himself was nearly dragged into a room and taken by a soldier.

“So that you can go flaunt to your dad and those battalion commanders of yours that you fucked the crown prince of Southern Chen, is that it?” Duan Ling says sarcastically.

“Nope.” Batu says, “Not the crown prince of Southern Chen. Just you.”

Duan Ling is momentarily speechless. He lifts one foot and puts his knee up against Batu’s chest. “Keep your distance from me, Batu. If you really did that you’ll regret it. I’ve never heard about anyone fucking his anda. Tengri is definitely going to send you to hell.”

Batu can say nothing to refute it; he’s essentially hoisted by his own petard — when it comes to fighting Duan Ling is no match for him, but when it comes to talking neither is he a match for Duan Ling.

Batu stares at Duan Ling a while longer, and as though he’s changed his mind about something, he shuffles away and sits down, breathing out a long sigh.

“After your dad sent me away,” Batu says, “I returned to my tribe and sent letters to you six different times. Not a single one of them reached you.”

“What’d you send me letters for?”

“They were going to invade Shangjing. I wanted you to hurry and run as quickly as you can.”

“It’s already too late. What’s the point of telling me this now?”

“No point at all. Do you know what they did to me when the letter ended up in our spies’ hands? My dad broke four of my ribs in front of Ögedei and nearly chopped off my hand. In order to try to save you, I laid up in bed for half a year. Even now I don’t have much strength in my right hand. The day Shangjing fell, I ran away from my dad’s army and travelled for a thousand miles on my own, ran two horses to death trying to save you, and nearly died in the hands of your Han people.”

Duan Ling stares at Batu in a daze.

“Oh,” Duan Ling says.

“Mmhmm,” Batu replies, “Duan Ling, you’re such a thoughtless, heartless person. So heartless.”

Duan Ling can say nothing to refute it.

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