Bridge Across the Land Read online

  In the darkness, Angela feels a nippy block stuffed into her hand, she slaps it to get rid of the dirt first then and only then put it inside her pouch. She suddenly realizes that she exchanged the radish for Tianyin’s hand, perspiration pours at the thought of danger. She then quickly takes a step forward and searched in a hurry, like a scary bunny she at once finds herself crashing into his side. She does not even think before she grips his arm and holds it next to her cheek as if it were hers, shaking and panting. Tianyin is startled and stays immobile. He touches a soft arm and feels a warmth that travels from the veins of his arm into his chest. Angela is suddenly embarrassed and releases her hand, huffing and puffing, she nervously says, “I . . . . cannot see . . . . can you see?”

  “Um.” Tianyin responds briefly. His heart is immediately warm with a bit of shyness and a bit of light. Actually he cannot see either, he just remembers everything that he touches and paints a picture in his mind. But . . . . at present, she probably needs a bright lamp.

  Stroking his arm, he finds her hand and puts her soft hand into his right palm and then says steadily, “Don’t let go. I will take you.”

  The vegetable cellar is dark and the two lock hands like glue, never to part. Tianyin can only laugh at himself quietly. He cannot see the road ahead clearly himself either, can he really lead her well?

  More than half of Tavalu Village has been searched and Tianyin still has not been found. Units of soldiers break through doors and walk through houses, opening chests and turning over closets. Although they do not hurt anybody, they frighten people and animals. Wonbayer leads his horse on a stroll, looking about everywhere.

  He is slightly maniacal. They had clearly seen the two escape into the village; they cannot disappear into thin air. As he ponders, a rider with a bow on his back sprints over, dismounts and says succinctly, “Report—two Mongolian horses discovered on the south side!”

  Wonbayer’s ears stand up in alarm. Hopping onto his saddle, he speedily says, “Take me!”

  In front of a farmhouse with white walls, a stocky and chubby woman trembles in her legs and holds her breath out of fear while the brown haired farmer next to her is tongue-tied and anxious. Surrounded by teams of Mongols, the door to their house is wide open, the table is crooked and the dishes are turned over; a complete mess. The blue-eyed farm woman sees Wonbayer dismount, she rushes forward, muttering and gesturing with her hands. One of her arms points to the vegetable cellar. She appears innocent and quivers in apprehension. The Lead of One Hundred Men hands over his reins to a subordinate and walks over to the two Mongolian horses, confirming by checking their mane and hooves. He gazes to the right with a frown, seeing the farm woman muttering and sweating worryingly, poking in the direction of the vegetable cellar. Her husband tries to help and a long string of words floats, the veins of his forehead swell.

  Wonbayer understands the gist of what they are saying. He goes up to them, sticks out two fingers and asks with his eyes.

  The fat head of the farm woman nods wildly, pecking anxiously. She also shows two fingers, one pointing at her blue eyes and one pointing at his dark eyes, signing like a mute.

  Wonbayer roughly understands. He waves his hand for the soldiers to secretly surround the vegetable cellar. They bang open the wooden door. It is extremely gloomy inside and the opening is narrow and steep, a flight of stairs lead the way into a pitch-black darkness like hell. Wonbayer stands at the opening of the hole and does not dare to enter. The troop is in the open while Tianyin is in the shade. If Tianyin were ambushing from beneath, he would kill each one who enters, no two words about it. Even if several hundred warriors enter, they will become corpses piled on top of one another.

  “He sure picked a fine place . . . .” He grumbles to himself. Then he stands akimbo and gathers his energy to scream in a clangy voice into the vegetable cellar, “Tianyin, we know you are inside, Come out immediately!”

  Underground, light leaks in through the open door, dissolving the darkness like black porridge melting, so things can be seen. In a daze, the harshness of Mongolian words overhead makes Angela abruptly feels a chill, she tosses what is in her hand. She turns and sees Tianyin crouched down next to her, hand on his sword and pulling it out soundlessly. The silver dragon hisses as it grinds the sheath. He presses on the blade horizontally. His face is frosty with caution and his entire body tense, waiting for battle. Thin lips pursed tight, his ebony eyes are fierce and ready to kill.

  Angela suddenly realizes that the person up above . . . . is the perpetrator who killed Kyrigu and Hesig.

  The two hide and breathe softly in this dangerous situation. The young woman is extremely worried; peering over at Tianyin, her palms are sweaty and cold. She is afraid that he will fight with his life and cannot defeat the multitude.

  “Come out, I did not come to kill you. I just want to make you a deal!” Finished with the words, the sound that follows is quivers dropping onto the ground, a series of clangs that created piles like mountains. “We have removed our weapons!”

  The Mongolian words sound again. Angela does not understand, she only sees Tianyin listening quietly and intently, pool-like eyes glistening with murderous intent as he somberly bites his cheek; his handsome face half dark and half light in the face of the illumination through the door. The large palm that holds her kindly is now gripping the handle of the sword tightly, veins pop and muscles edgy on his hand.

  “You only have one road. If you don’t come out, I am going to pour in water.”

  At a standstill for an extended period of time, Angela’s back breaks out in a cold sweat; anxious and breathing shallowly, she only hears the beating of her heart, tense like a taut string. Without warning, Tianyin slowly rises, he lifts his sword and stands up. His inky lashes close and blink, his longish eyes scan across, burning with hatred and viciousness, as if he is determined to fight it out. That outstretched sword slowly points to the ground next to his boots, flickering where there is light. His sword is about to touch the steps.

  “No!” Angela suddenly feels a chill up her spine and hobbles forward. Hanging on to his arms, she shivers and says, “You cannot go up . . . .”

  She has lost Kyrigu, lost Hesig; no, she absolutely cannot loss him too! The young woman lifts her head glumly and sees that pair of crystal black eyes. She cannot bear to let him take one more step. She forces her eyes shut and they are wet. She figures she might as well approach Tianyin and grab him by the waist; her wrists in a lock as she objects to let him go no matter what. She sobs, “I refuse to let you go up . . . . I refuse!”

  Tianyin trembles as Angela bumps into him; he is stunned. All of a sudden he feels a softness around his waist, full of warmth. He dips his head and looks, he sees her watery eyes well up with tears, completely revealing her tenderness. She is concerned and shows anguish on her face, which absolutely makes him melt. For some reason his wave of bestiality recedes and the shell around his heart peels and shatters, leaving only the thumping of his heart. From childhood to adulthood, she is the only one who has ever told him to retreat . . . . Tianyin stares and feels warm in the heart. He turns to pat her on the shoulder, speaking calmly and serenely, “Wonbayer says he just wants to make a deal, not to kill me. He is a straightforward person, I believe that is not a lie.”

  “No, you cannot go . . . .” Shaking her head, Angela stubbornly clamps onto him, dragging him and trembling like mad to prevent him. Her white teeth next to his belt. She obstinately opens her mouth, “You will die . . . .”

  Tianyin touches his waist and with a sword in one hand, he lightly unfastens her arms like metal cuffs. Sable eyes clear and pure, he looks directly at her and says imperturbably and seriously, “Don’t worry, they will not have me killed so easily.” He takes a couple of steps back, then up a tier, saying again, “Believe me.”

  Angela helplessly stands alone and knows that she is not as strong as him; she
can only watch him walk toward the light overhead, thump, thump, bleakness chokes her up.

  Tianyin’s boots restrain his strength and he walks as if over cotton. He goes up the steps with sword in hand. His entire body gradually emerges from underground, like the morning sun breaking through. His towering body taut, chin tucked in and eyes sharp as he browses upward. He sees piles of quivers and metal arrows by the opening of the vegetable cellar. In bright daylight, Mongolian soldiers surround him with empty bows, arms down awaiting orders. Wonbayer in his armor and helmet faces Tianyin. Wonbayer drops his hammer-like weapon and stands with his legs apart.

  Tianyin is as mighty as a leopard, ruthless like pushing waves; he frightens the hundred soldiers into retreating cautiously and not dare to make a false move. He says gloomily, “Say it, what deal?”

  “Wonbayer peers behind him and does not see Hesig and knows half the story. He tries to speak first, his thick lips apart, “First of all, Lacson put the poison on my arrow, I did not know—”

  Tianyin cuts him off, staring with hatred, shockingly biting, “What is the use of your saying this now?”

  Wonbayer only feels as if he is punched in the chest and lungs; frustrated, he looks elsewhere and gasps, he drops his head and agrees, exhaling, “Let’s make a deal. I do not want to kill you. As long as you hand over Great Kahn’s knife and the princess, I can let you go.”

  “Why?” Tianyin’s eyes sharp, striking back immediately with a question.

  “It is because I promised Kyrigu not to kill you.” Wonbayer discloses sincerely.

  “Ha, promised?” Tianyin’s fierce pupils are inflamed, as if to melt this person with his glare; he resentfully says, “You had promised to assassinate Ögedei together.”

  Wonbayer’s muscles twist into knots, his nostrils snort and he stands akimbo to exhale. He nods and grinds his teeth, saying, “. . . . it seems like you still don’t understand today. Alright, let me tell you why.”

  He walks over slowly, fists tight as he recollects, saying, “That is right, I am an offspring of the State of Jin, my uncle—the last emperor was stabbed to death by the Mongols. In principle I should avenge to revive my country at any price, throwing away everything and let everyone around me become a chess piece, let them sacrifice their lives for the already extinguished State of Jin . . . . but I tell you, I cannot do it.

  Tianyin studies him frostily. Wonbayer looks back while walking tardily, gritting his teeth and speaking from his heart, “I have my life, I have people very important to me—Tianyin, you do too, you should understand. The revival of the State of Jin is just an impossible dream. And my life cannot be imprisoned by my heritage! Mission to save the country, responsibility bestowed by heaven—just a bunch of crap. The most important thing for people is to take care of themselves so that people around them are at peace. That way we will not have lived our life in vain . . . . What is wrong with the Mongols? You are a Chinese and they still cherish your talents and use you. Can you say their battle tactics and war equipment are not the best?” He stares directly at the other person, uttering slowly, “A weak country must be defeated; the powerful one is king. It has always been this way for centuries and millennia. What is the point of overturning it?”

  Tianyin’s face is green, stark and silent as if wrenching to squeeze out water. His grape-like eyes goggle rigidly while the tips of his fingers are cold. After a long time, he frigidly says, “Only a weakling like you will say this.”

  At the same time, something in his heart slides down an old wound and into a bottomless pit that is as horrifying as hell; it calls forth hidden pain that he has had for so many years. Tianyin had to bear down on his heels. As a chill climbs up his back and his hair is blowing in the wind, he quivers in fear all of a sudden.

  “In short, I suggest you abandon the plan to assassinate Great Khan.” Wonbayer exhorts him cordially while extending his palm for what he wants, saying, “I will not say anymore, hand the princess and the knife to me. We can split immediately.”

  Tianyin swallows slowly, his Adam’s apple shudders. He changes his stance with hands behind his back; he rolls his eyes and resists passively; deep and mysterious, he speaks icily, “You found the wrong place. Princess is not with me.”

  Wonbayer does not believe him, opening his mouth he says, “Who is that girl with one blue eye and one dark brown eye?”

  “That’s the child between a Song Chinese and a Polish woman. That knife does not belong to her either.” Tianyin answers quickly, eyes steady.

  Wonbayer did not expect this. His wide face is full of doubt and worries. His bean-like eyes peer while he thinks in shock; suddenly he recalls something. His muscular neck tense, he says, “Is that Song man someone named Hanyuan Wang?”

  Tianyin is secretly shocked, something tugs at his heart, he pretends to be calm and says, “Right.”

  “Then that girl cannot be his real daughter.” Wonbayer utters each cruel word succinctly, “Baidar found a Chinese tombstone at Krakow, on it is the carving ‘Adoptive Father Hanyuan Wang—Angela’ something. If she has to lie to you then there is only one possibility, she is Great Kahn’s offspring.”

  His words are like a bell that tolls death, splitting him asunder! Tianyin is shocked. He knows that Wonbayer always speaks the truth and feels numb as if struck by lightening. The sky seems to become gray, an ill omen hovers over him. The instrument’s string is cut and the drum is ripped; the river swallows him whole and ghosts all around sneer. He bites his cheeks and stare at Wonbayer with hatred, he forces his ashy lips to purse tight while bitter blood drips inside him, splattering into petals.

  “Ha . . . . I . . . . then,” He parts his white teeth and the words burst forth with difficulty, “Is that not more useful to me? I will definitely not . . . . hand her over.”

  Wonbayer sighs, hands on his strong waist, he shakes his head and says crudely, “I am very sorry, you can only hand them over. I do not want to kill you, but with so many warriors watching, I have no reason to let you go without cause. I have to guarantee that you cannot assassinate Great Khan again.”

  “Yeah . . . .” Tianyin sneers and takes half a step back. The heels of his boots touch the arrows, his dark eyes are suddenly filled with enmity, ruthless and cruel—without a warning, his sword promptly switches hands and his foot hooks an arrow. He bends to grab it in the air with his hand. With a lunge and the bounce of his wrist, the power of which breaks through wind, the flying arrow becomes a dart. With a whoosh it pierces into the right side of Wonbayer’s chest. He screams in shock, red fingers pressed upon his wound. The Mongolian soldiers around him are careful and defensive; they all pull out their knives and move in closer by a step, but Wonbayer raises his hand to stop them.

  “Then let me give you a cause.” Tianyin straightens his back, like wintry steel, he says callously, “The distance between here and Moscow requires exactly three days in travel. If you do not leave now, it will be too late.”

  “Jerk . . . .” Wonbayer presses the arrow and pants, listening inwardly for the countdown of death.

  “Get out of here,” Tianyin raises his head and challenges them like the Lord of Death, “If one person is not enough, then let the rest of you all try—” His feet touching the mountain of arrows, he stretches both arms slightly as he is overwhelmed with violence and danger. Unpredictable, Tianyin says, “You—are not as quick as I am.”

  The soldiers are afraid and hesitate, looking to each other nervously. Wonbayer wants to say something else but finally swallows it, he only tosses out these words, “Tianyin, you are vicious . . . . but don’t you regret it!”

  Immediately, he picks up his hexagonal hammer and rapidly mounts. The soldiers withdraw like clouds. They are racing against time, leaving in a flurry of horse whinnying and dust.

  Tianyin straightens his back and digs into his feet; deep eyes seeing them off while his viciousnes
s remains. Seeing that battalion of horses move away and gradually vanish, he knits his brows and stiffens his face, hanging on to his sword bleakly.

  Angela waits in the cellar and hears the enemy cavalry roar with their hooves mightily and leave, she finally let out a breath. She tiptoes onto the steps. She sticks her head out of the wooden door and sees Tianyin standing like a tower; his silver sword next to his arm and his serious face goggling clusters of grass. she asks, “They . . . . left?”

  Tianyin notices, turns his head and sees that it is her. Suddenly his pupils dilate and a mix of emotions tumble, twisting and churning inside him; his steel-like body shakes ever so slightly. The Angela before him has bright hair and clean brows, eyes like dew and a soul that is humane, but . . . . she must be the real Mongolian princess. Actually he had always suspected; it is just that he does not know when . . . . he refused to suspect . . . .

  Who are you really?

  Why . . . . did you lie?

  Did she lie to him or was he lying to himself?

  “Um.” He is wooden and depressed; his eyes are as deep as the sea; his fingers are stinging and his sword is let loose. At one time, she treated his injury kindly and stubbornly acted as the doctor; under the setting sun, she sobbed in his embrace; in the starry night, her sick body hot and soft . . . . and her tenderness and care just now are still circling his waist.

  If she were the Mongolian princess, her life cannot be preserved. But if she . . . . at the same time . . . . is also his younger sister?

  What should he do?

  . . . . Is this really the kind of feeling brothers and sisters have?

  Tianyin’s expression is complicated with his dark pupils changing and flashing. He is worried, tired, surviving and wounded. Angela is shocked and confused, looking dumbfoundedly. Her foot pauses on the steps and half of her is outside of the cellar while looking at him. Their eyes meet. Wind blows over green grass. Spring rays hover over Tavalu Village. Inside and outside the vegetable cellar there is a tall and a short figure.