Chapter 19: Hungry?
Trigger Warning: This chapter includes depictions of sexual assault/r*pe.
Lu Mingyue had seen many dead bodies in her life.
From Gusu to Hexi, people died every few days, unable to withstand wandering about in a desperate plight. After reaching the Shaliu Encampment, beneath the packed-earth beacon towers, bones lay in heaps, the remains of border settlers who had collapsed and been buried in haste.
But the last dead person she saw had been killed by Helian Guang.
She saw it happen. The dagger in his hand swept across the man’s throat like a sickle through wheat–smooth, practiced, terrifyingly natural. Warm, crimson blood spurted from the blade, and she still remembered the moment it splattered onto her face: sticky, hot, metallic. Disgusting.
It had happened on a night when she’d been walking alone and was accosted by a lewd drifter who tried to drag her into a dark alley.
And then Helian Guang appeared.
In that instant, she had felt a surge of gratitude toward this cold, taciturn man, this uncle who had once been a bandit and now lived quietly, as if he had turned over a new leaf. But the moment the man fell lifeless to the ground, she looked up and saw Helian Guang’s pale eyes. They stared down at the pile of flesh with an expression of pure loathing and icy indifference, like it was rotten meat.
She didn’t dislike Helian Guan–but Han and Hu, after all, were not the same.
Neither of them ever spoke of that incident again, the silence between them tacit.
Helian Guang had come for Jiayan, his elder brother’s son, and the only kin he had left in the world. Lake Qinghai had since become territory of the Tubo kingdom, but one branch of the Bailan Qiang people, driven westward in flight, had found a place of refuge in the far reaches of the land. Helian Guang intended to follow his tribe and join them. But Lu Mingyue refused to hand the boy over and in the end, all three of them remained in Gongde Alley.
Lu Mingyue did not particularly like Helian Guang, but he was, after all, Jiayan’s uncle and he had once saved her life.
Yesterday, when she took Jiayan out in the mule cart, they returned home to find the courtyard entrance coated in a patch of slushy snow and mud.
Hélian Guang scooped Jiayan up by the waist and carried him inside, making the boy giggle with delight. She, dressed in newly embroidered shoes, was just about to step down from the cart when Helian Guang turned around. His hand shot out, firmly grasping her foot mid-step. His gaze was sharp, intense—he stared at her for a moment, then lifted her by the waist, carrying her over the muddy patch.
His shoulders were broad and solid, and the hands locked around her waist were strong. The dense musk of a man rushed over her, making her face flush and her heart pound, not just from the closeness, but from the offense. The moment her feet touched the ground, she raised her hand and slapped him crisply.
Helian Guang’s brow furrowed deeply, his pale eyes narrowing as he stared at her for a moment.Then he turned without a word and walked off. He did not return that night.
When she struck that slap, Jiayan had been standing right there beside her, protesting,“I told Uncle Guang you loved those shoes the most! That they’d get all dirty if you stepped in the mud, so I asked him to carry you inside! Mother, why did you hit Uncle Guang?”
Her face burned, how could she possibly explain to Jiayan the rules of propriety between men and women? The boundaries between an uncle and a sister-in-law–the need for distance.
But Helian Guang had now been gone for a full day and night. And she was beginning to wonder: if he did not return today, was she supposed to go on as usual or should she do something?
Outside, the night was still, the wind biting and silent. Where would he go on a night like this, when the wind itself had turned to blades of ice? Inside, the lone lamp shone and she sat alone, unable to focus on her needlework, her mind in chaos. Should I apologize? she wondered bitterly. Did she really have to apologize, to offend, to curse myself, only then would Jiayan’s anger be appeased?”
Even with his infamous tolerance for alcohol, Helian Guang was dead drunk tonight.On the west side of the city, there was a small tavern that sold nothing but ice-cold shaodaozi, fiery, throat-scorching spirits poured out by the jar, very refreshing. Being a man of few words, he drank in silence, each jar downed felt like saying a sentence.
Gongde Alley was pitch dark when he returned. He had not meant to come back. He had wanted to leave for good, free and unburdened. Just leave the widow and child behind, cast them to the back of his mind. But under some kind of compulsion, he had to come back.
He longed for the smell of home.
From the moment he was born, Helian Guang had known only the fate of the Bailan Qiang people, a fate soaked in sorrow.
Slaughtered, hunted, enslaved, abused. The Bailan Qiang lived a life worse than yaks and mastiffs. He and his brother were raised in a cowshed, and later, they fled and scraped for survival. He had never truly known what home meant.
Until he met her.
Helian Guang jumped down lightly from the wall. In the whole house, only a single dim lamp was lit. But he stayed in the shadows, never able to see the gentle face within it. And here he was again: cold, thirsty, hungry.
Lu Mingyue had heard the faint sound outside, and when she saw a second oil lamp gradually flicker to life, she finally exhaled in relief. After a moment of thought, she stepped outside and walked to the front of Helian Guang’s room. She then asked, “You’re back so late. Are you hungry? Did you eat anything? What would you like? I can cook for you.”
She had probably never said that many words to Helian Guang in one breath.
The door swung open with a soft creaking noise, and there he was–leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed across his chest, the smell of alcohol heavy on him. His face was sharp and cold, eyes unreadable as he stared at her, saying nothing.
She struggled to pull a smile onto her face. “You’re back so late.”
She saw that inside his room, aside from a bed, a table and chair, and a single oil lamp, there was nothing: no heated kang bed, no brazier, not even a teapot. It was bare, hollow, cold like an ice cellar.
Lu Mingyue’s smile froze on her lips, caught in her throat like a bone. She had never once thought to ask how he slept, what he ate, how he lived. In a room this cold, how did he even lie down at night?
Helian Guang’s gaze was like needles, sharp and piercing. She was stunned for a moment, then lifted her head slightly to meet his eyes, her own gaze flickering. “Are you hungry?” she asked softly.
Asking a vulture if it’s hungry, before it tears flesh from bone to put into its stomach, it was never full.
Helian Guang leaned in, and a wave of alcohol-laced breath rolled onto her cheek. His pale eyes locked onto hers, and in a slow voice, he said: “I’m hungry.”
He clamped a hand around her wrist. With the gentlest tug, she let out a soft “Aiyo” as she stumbled straight into his arms. The door slammed shut behind them.
The room, like the world outside, was still cold.
“Helian Guang!” She let out a cry of surprise, “What are you trying to do?”
He drew in a deep breath, fragrant warmth pressed into his arms, the warmth and fragrance of her filling his chest, a subtle scent drifting to his nose like fine jade nestled in silk. It was like a spark hitting dry tinder, and suddenly, a blaze roared to life. Without a word, he lifted her up, arms locking around her waist, and slung her over his shoulder, striding toward the bed.
Frightened, Lu Mingyue punched and kicked Helian Guang on the shoulder, repeatedly rebuking him, “Helian Guang, you set me down. You quickly put me down, are you crazy, I am your sister-in-law!”
She kicked and flailed with hands and feet, but to him, it felt no more than a tickle. His chest burned with restless heat, his eyes flushed red, his breath ran hot, blood surging like a tide with nowhere to go. It felt as if all it would take was a blade to cut open his chest and let that flood of searing blood pour out at last.
Helian Guang tossed her onto the bed. For the first time, his face was so close to hers. In his eyes, beneath the coldness, flickered clusters of leaping flames. At this moment, he smiled at her: “According to our Qiang customs, after an elder brother dies, his cattle, sheep, wealth, wife, and children all belong to his younger brother. I have no sister-in-law, only women.”
Lu Mingyue trembled all over, looking at his high brows and deep eyes, the beast-like gaze in them. She raised her hand, and with a fierce slap, struck his cheek, saying harshly: “I am Han, and this is Ganzhou, the land of the Han Chinese. According to our Han customs, the eldest brother’s wife is like a mother. Even if you’re drunk, you should show me respect.”
The man tilted his head after being slapped, he shook his head, as if trying to sober himself up.
His lips, soaked in the smell of alcohol, quickly descended as her words lingered, briefly brushing against her lips like a dragonfly touching water. Helian Guang leaned down, holding her and rolling with her, turning into a tangled heap on the bed.
She had always adhered to propriety and had never experienced such a humiliating moment. Helian Guang’s strong arms wrapped around her trembling body, holding her tightly in his embrace. His lips followed hers, kissing her passionately, each kiss growing more intimate.
Her desperate fingers scratched his arms and cheek, leaving trails of blood, but he paid no attention. His head and neck were buried in the nape of her neck, deeply inhaling and lightly kissing the fragrance of her skin.
“Helian Guang, Helian Guang,” she called his name as if chanting a spell, each utterance binding him further. “I’m going to scream, Jiayan is outside, everyone’s outside. Let me go.”
He paid no attention to her words. He was rarely so drunk, rarely able to be close to her like this, holding her soft body, trapping her arms and legs, his voice low and husky as he whispered her name into her ear: “Mingyue, Mingyue.”
“It is you in my heart that I adore,” his lips moved to her ticklish ear, kissing it gently, again and again.
Lu Mingyue felt her blood surge under the pressure, her clothes disheveled, one shoe lost somewhere. She wished she had a dagger in her hand, ready to kill this damn man.
“I will kill you.”
The sound of her clothes tearing almost made her convulse and faint. She felt as though she were freezing to death in this room, and it seemed like there was no way out. Her pale, trembling back revealed a red string tied at her waist, bright and striking, like a plum blossom blooming in the snow, breathtaking and heart-wrenching. A savage pleasure surged within him as he pressed closer, melting the icy cold with the heat of fire, turning the ice into spring rain.
She felt as though she might not survive: “Helian Guang, I will kill you.”
His face, rarely flushed, lifted, and he responded seriously, “Good.”
She had sharp teeth, a lovely face that was as delicate as fallen flowers, and she was about to bite his arm with all her might, but he was not afraid and only focused on his own madness.
The silk robe had fallen off, and her spirit was drifting away, like a phoenix and a dragon in a whirlwind. The wine was at its peak, and the spring breeze was just right. Who could resist the temptation of a carefree youth who would sail a boat, picking lotus flowers? Together, they entered the Peach Blossom Spring, its ten miles of fallen flowers, crossing the spring tide and the rain. The frozen river of the three winters met the warmth of spring, where the fragrant paths on both sides were filled with tender red flowers. There were countless old dreams and foolish passions, all of which were consumed by the soul.
The wine fueled her madness, and she smashed the broken bowls with reckless abandon. Originally, they were but a lonely man and a resentful man, yet she was no longer a pure maiden. With weapons in hand, they entered the nine-story chaos tower, where peach petals bloomed and flower dew dripped, creating yet another captivating, soul-stirring scene.
Lu Mingyue was delicate and frail, unable to withstand a night of such turmoil. All she felt was a deep, unshakable bleakness, each moment endured was simply another moment survived. By the time Helian Guang’s desire was spent, she was utterly drained, body and spirit alike, and sank into a heavy sleep.
And yet, within the warmth of the quilt, skin to skin, limbs entangled, in such a cold room, she had somehow found the warmest place to hide.
When she awoke the next morning, for a brief instant, she was dazed. She was wrapped in the thick scent of a man, her back pressed to a firm, heated chest, and a strong arm still circled her waist. Behind her came the steady rhythm of his breathing. The man, it seemed, had also stirred, she could hear the faint rustle of movement beneath the covers. Her body, sore and aching, remembered every detail from the night before.
Lu Mingyue held herself completely still, a single moment stretching out like eternity .Fully awake now, she didn’t know how to turn around, didn’t know how to face such a situation.
All she felt was a shame too heavy to name, and a wave of long-buried bitterness: years of braving the world alone, held together only by the brittle threads of propriety, ethics and self-restraint, now collapsing all at once. It was as if she were reliving the agony of her youth: the day her home was destroyed, her family lost, the day she was dragged from a tower of silk and splendor and thrown into a damp, cold prison cell.As though her entire life had been sentenced to this: to guard the desolate frontier, alone and freezing, until the end of her days.
Living is nothing more than just barely surviving..
“Mingyue.” From behind her, Helian Guang softly called her name.
She had half a mind to leap up then and there, scream at him like a madwoman, hit him, curse him, damn him to hell. Let him burn, suffer, rot in the eighteenth level of the underworld. But Lu Mingyue did not move, except for the quilt on her body, she had nothing to cover her shame.
Beneath the covers, Helian Guang shifted for a moment, fumbling with something. After a quiet rustle, he pressed a cold object into her hand.
It was the first time he had ever spoken so many words to her. “I remember once hearing you tell Madam Li that your mother used to have a rare piece of jewelry, a hairpin with eight precious stones. She had planned to save it as your dowry. I found all eight treasures and had a pin made for you. Will you look at it? See if you like it.”
It was a filigree hairpin, gilded and inlaid with eight jewels of different hues. Its shimmer danced like sunlight on water–radiant, dazzling, alive with color, breathtaking to behold. Each gem had been painstakingly gathered by Helian Guang from merchants along the trade routes, then set into the pin by a skilled artisan.
Lu Mingyue stared down at it, her eyes blank, unmoved. The ornament rested in her palm. “I will kill you,” she said.
If she killed him, she wouldn’t survive either. She was just a weak woman without even a weapon in hand, a widow easily subjected to rumors and gossip. What would happen to her child? Would her child become another orphan, alone and helpless, bullied and mistreated?
Helian Guang grabbed her other hand and forced a heavy object into it. “My knife. Aim for the throat or the chest, either way, it’s a guaranteed death.”
“I know you look down on me. You think we Qiang people eat raw meat and drink blood, that we’re barbaric and crude. That we’re slaves, bandits, savages. But Hu people and Han people alike–we bleed, we feel pain, we laugh, we cry. We also know how to care for women, how to love children. Marry me. You and Jiayan, I’ll take care of you both.”
Lu Mingyue clenched her teeth, letting out a muffled cry. Clutching the jeweled hairpin in her hand, she stabbed wildly at Hélian Guang’s chest like a madwoman. “You barbarian—bastard—beast!”
She struck him again and again, dozens of times. Hélian Guang did not even frown. He let her stab him, let the blood flow freely from his chest. Lu Mingyue broke down completely, sobbing uncontrollably. The spring breeze and moonlight she could never return to… the quiet dreams behind lattice windows—
All of it was gone. Even the last shred of dignity she had fought to preserve, shattered.
Helian Guang wrapped his arms around her, wiped the endless tears from her face, and soothed her in the most direct way he knew.
This land was not gentle, nor was it so civilized. It had no room for fragile dreams. It did not care for constraint. Here, people were like ants–living however they could.
And survival was what mattered most.
TN: Hope everyone is doing well! I know this chapter will not be very popular and I completely understand. While I do not personally agree with or enjoy reading some of the depictions in this chapter, they reflect the lived realities of women in ancient China, particularly for those who do not have the luxury of protection or the resources for protecting themselves. I have chosen to translate this chapter preserve the author’s intent and historical context.
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