Chapter 38: Black Sandstorm
A light rain and gentle breeze fell among the chinaberry blossoms. A maidservant at Lychee Grace Pavilion pushed open the lattice window, and the laughter of an infant drifted up from over the water.
Prince Jing had spent the previous night with his Princess Consort. At dawn, he had left for his study, but midway, he heard the sounds of playful giggling coming from the pavilion. His heart warmed with joy. Stepping inside, he found the maids had laid out a white felt rug, upon which little Suiguan sat, plump hands adorned with gold bangles, dressed in a bright red bellyband, adorably resembling the childlike Guanyin figures on New Year prints. At the sight of Prince Jing, the child gleefully waved both arms, babbling cheerfully.
Xue furen’s hair was in disarray, draped only in a gauzy morning robe, reclining languidly on the couch as she watched Suiguan play. Her gaze was distant, but upon seeing Prince Jing, her eyes flickered with longing and silent hope.
“Here comes Father,” Prince Jing scooped Suiguan into his arms, gently rubbing the child’s cheeks affectionately. He glanced at Madam Xue’s worried face and asked softly, “Little Suiguan, you’re already up so early. Did you keep your mother up all night?”
Tucked into his sleeve was a letter–an urgent missive sent days earlier from Wang Fu in Ganzhou. It reported that Li Wei had already taken Chun Tian beyond Yumen Pass and was heading toward Yiwu.
Prince Jing had read it with a sigh. He had kept this news from Xue furen for days now, but paper could no longer conceal the flame. Knowing he could not avoid her much longer, he decided it was time.
With this in mind, he handed the child over to the nursemaid and asked her to take the child outside to play. Then, stepping into the inner chamber, he gently tugged at Xue furen’s sleeve. “Come, let me do Miaomiao’s hair.”
Xue furen’s red lips parted slightly. “Wouldn’t dare trouble Your Highness. Let me serve Your Highness instead.”
She rose gracefully. Her robe slipped loosely down to her elbows, revealing arms like polished jade. With slender fingers, she loosely gathered her hair into a knot, then led Prince Jing to the couch. She spread a white jade writing table, set out twin embroidered pillows, lit a lotus lamp and brewed fresh tea, lit incense in the bronze burner, and knelt beside him with an ivory comb in hand, slowly kneading his shoulders.
The fragrance of tea soothed the senses. As the warmth settled in their stomachs and the room quieted with only the two of them, the earlier closeness lingered in the air. Prince Jing looked at her face, still carrying sorrow and complaint, and said in a gentle voice, “At the end of last year, Duan family’s second son returned from the Western Regions. On the road back, in Suzhou Prefecture, he came across a girl of fourteen or fifteen who claimed she came from Chang’an and that she might be connected to you. I had someone investigate, and it’s truly Chun Tian.”
At his words, Xue furen was overtaken with joy. She stood abruptly, eyes brimming with tears, hands trembling as she grasped his robe. “Your Highness, do you mean Niuniu, my Niuniu has been found?”
Prince Jing saw her expression and sighed inwardly. He drew the urgent letter from Wang Fu hidden in his sleeve and handed it to her. “See for yourself.”
Xue furen’s face shone with uncontainable delight as she eagerly took the letter . But as she read, the joy on her face froze.
Her pale, delicate fingers held the thin yellow hemp paper. Her gaze lingered at the final lines of ink, then slowly returned to the beginning. Word by word, she read every line.
There were not many words on the letter, yet Xue furen stared at it for an exceedingly long time, so long it was as if her gaze could pierce through the thin paper. At last, she looked up and asked, “She… spent several months recuperating in Ganzhou, and just a few days ago, she left Yumen Pass to go to Yiwu in search of someone?”
Prince Jing nodded, his eyes fixed on Madam Xue.
“Why would she go to Yiwu?” she asked him, and also herself–half in confusion, half in sorrow, part understanding, part despair. Her red lips trembled. “Why travel thousands of li away from home… to Yiwu? To seek whom?”
Her whole body shook. Inside, her heart was a tumultuous sea. She could not tell if this was joy or grief. “She didn’t say a word, hid it from all of us. She exchanged silver, bought horses, hired servants, returned to the old house, crossed the Yellow River, made it to Hexi… So it was all to go to Yiwu? Has the child gone mad?”
“This can’t be.”
Prince Jing watched her murmur to herself. Her fair complexion grew increasingly pale. Her frail body trembled. Her long lashes fluttered, and tears like strings of pearls rolled silently down, soaking into her robe.
She frantically returned her gaze to the letter, reading it again and again. Then she turned to Prince Jing, her expression bleak and panicked, her voice torn with anguish: “Her father is in Yiwu!”
Xue furen’s past was a chasm she could never cross. Though Prince Jing had once so easily plucked her from the Wei household, in all the years since, despite his wealth of effort, he had never surpassed the place held by her deceased husband.
How could a mere military officer compare with a prince of royal blood? Although Prince Jing had easily took her from the Wei family, and yet, in her heart, that man, her late husband, weighed heavier than even him, despite his efforts.
Xue furen drifted like a shadow through the day, eyes swollen from weeping. By nightfall, she could hardly form words through her sobs. No amount of coaxing from Prince Jing moved her.
“I’ve already ordered Wang Fu to follow their trail and intercept them at Yumen Pass. Give it a few more days. Your daughter will be brought back. Rest now, don’t cry yourself ill.”
Xue furen clutched her embroidered handkerchief. “You said the Duan family’s second son saw Niuniu, even looked after her for a time. Summon him. I must ask him myself, how could she possibly, all on her own, travel thousands of li to such a faraway place?”
Tang Sansheng was dispatched to the Duan estate to invite Duan Jinke to the residence.
Duan Jinke, seeing a close attendant of the Prince arrive in haste, was surprised and assumed something urgent had happened. He didn’t even have time to change before he followed Tang Sansheng back to Prince Jing’s Residence.
They passed through the many layers of the estate and headed toward the rear gardens. Puzzled, Duan Jinke bowed and asked, “Sansheng gonggong, is His Highness not receiving me in the outer study? Why are we going to the inner quarters?”
“You’ll know soon enough, Young Master,” Tang Sansheng replied. “His Highness likely just wishes to ask a few questions. Nothing serious.”
Tang Sansheng led Duan Jinke to the lakeside waterside pavilion. The windows of Lychee Grace Pavilion were tightly shut, curtains drawn low. Duan Jinke saw Prince Jing pacing inside the main hall, brows furrowed deeply. Upon Duan Jinke’s arrival, Prince Jing immediately called for Tang Sansheng to serve tea.
Duan Jinke caught sight of the name Lychee Grace Pavilion and breathed a sigh of relief, so this was the residence of Prince Jing’s favored concubine, Xue furen.
To one side of the hall was an adjoining chamber. Hanging from the doorway was a beaded curtain made of nine-petal lotus pearls. A delicate fragrance drifted through the air, and a woman’s shadow flickered faintly behind the veil. He understood immediately.
“Jinke,” said Prince Jing, “tell me in detail what happened last year when you rescued that girl at Red Ravine Valley.”
He knew what Prince Jing wished to ask and had already learned the connection between Xue furen and the girl from that day.
Duan Jinke was prepared. He calmly recounted the scene: how the girl had been wounded, her appearance, her clothing, the dagger hidden in her boot. Just then, from behind the curtain came a gentle, oriole-like voice choked with sobs: “Second Young Master, you say she carried a dagger, dark as iron, could you draw it for this Concubine?”
Tang Sansheng promptly brought brush and paper. Duan Jinke sketched the dagger’s form. He had once brought that very dagger with him to Chang’an, later passing it to Li Wei for the journey to Ganzhou. He had seen it many times and knew its details well.
Tang Sansheng handed the sketch to Madam Xue behind the curtain. The moment she laid eyes on it, she knew, it was her late husband’s belonging. Her beautiful eyes widened. In that instant, her heart shattered, and she was struck speechless.
Duan Jinke could hear the soft, muffled sobs behind the curtain, like pearls tumbling onto jade. He hesitated, uncertain whether he should continue. But Prince Jing, weary and helpless, sat down at the table and instructed, “Continue.”
So Duan Jinke continued, describing how Li Wei later rescued the girl in Ganzhou, how she recovered over the winter, and how she had questioned Cao Dening about Xue furen. He spoke of her life in the city, even down to her daily interactions with the mule caravans in Blind Alley.
Xue furen listened as though spellbound. Hearing that her daughter had healed, that she was well cared for and at peace, eased her heart a little. But when she learned that, after the death of Madam Li, the girl had left without a word and headed westward alone, it was like a knife twisting in her chest.
She knew what her daughter had set out to do. The realization struck like a bolt of lightning, it awakened all the long-slumbering years of her life.
When Duan Jinke finished speaking, only the sound of soft weeping remained behind the pearl curtain.
He took his leave, and though Prince Jing’s mind was in turmoil, he did not ask him to stay. As Duan Jinke stepped outside, he caught a glimpse of a beautiful woman lifting the curtain, her face streaked with tears. The woman was mature and charming, graceful and radiant, her brows and eyes bore an uncanny resemblance to Chun Tian.
He couldn’t help but marvel at fate’s strange arrangements. If he’d known back then that the injured girl from Red Ravine Valley was someone of such background, he would have brought her back to Chang’an at all costs.
That day, the Moheyan Desert was oddly still. The usual hot winds were gone; not a breath of breeze stirred. It was like a pot of water that had once boiled and was now eerily silent, heat still rippling into the air. A few heavy, low-hanging clouds loomed at the horizon, thick and heavy, mirroring the dull gray wasteland below, pressing down on the hearts of travelers, making it difficult to move forward.
Only by enduring until dusk did the caravan continue onward.
Another two days’ journey, and they would reach Wild Horse Spring. Old Kouyan spoke slowly of its scenery, Moheyan Desert’s only oasis, shaped like a crescent moon. Around the spring grew lush vegetation, thick red willows, and cool clear water. Birds and beasts roamed freely there. It was, he said, a place of strange and wondrous beauty.
The group, spurred on by these words–and with water skins nearly drained–had ridden through the night without pause, eager to find a new source of water.
At dawn, the stars and moon faded into a pale sky. A sharp wind howled across the desert sands, the endless dunes stretching out beneath a blazing horizon. They needed to find shelter before the sun rose high and the heat became unbearable.
The morning sun blazed like fire, white clouds stretched like silk, and the golden sands rolled on without end, as though the desert itself knew no weariness, immune to the passage of time.
Just as the rising heat became intolerable, a patch of gravel-strewn ground emerged in the distance, a terrain of broken ridges and jagged rocks. The travelers quickly made their way in and found refuge behind towering, wind-carved stones.
Chun Tian had been riding all night. Her legs had gone weak and nearly gave way as she dismounted. At last she slumped down onto a rock, panting for breath, clutching her waterskin as if it were life itself.
Li Wei, passing her a reminder, said, “Two more days to Wild Horse Spring. You may drink a little more, but not all at once.”
She hugged the waterskin and nodded obediently, while Li Wei took some grain cakes and went to feed the horses.
Everyone else had no strength to sort baggage. They chose the shadiest places and laid down to rest. Just as they began to drift into sleep, the dry wind that had been whistling through the stones suddenly stilled.
Then came a moment of eerie silence. The air thickened like glue. Without warning, a wind roared from the north. Its voice rose from a low, bestial growl to a high-pitched screech, like iron claws raking across a bronze mirror. Then came the heavy, metallic stench of earth, thick and pungent, pouring into nostrils, stinging down throats.
“Grandfather, where are you going?” Kouyan Ying called out as his grandfather sprang up and hurried beyond the stony refuge to check the situation. The old man’s pipe tumbled from his mouth into the dust.
“Everyone, get up,” Old Kouyan called calmly over his shoulder. His voice was level but firm. “A black sandstorm is coming.”
“Black sandstorm?”
Some rushed out to look.
When they’d entered the rocky refuge, the sky had been clear, the sun brilliant red, the boundaries of earth and sky crisp. But now, on the edge of the heavens, a churning black wall of dust loomed–phantasmal, like something out of a dream.
The sandstorm had arrived.
Old Kouyan frowned, his expression composed. He began issuing orders: “Quickly, tie the camels and mules together. Unpack all the gear. Stay away from any loose boulders. If one comes loose in the wind, it’ll crush you.”
The caravanners scrambled in chaos, retreating to the rocky outcrop, untying packs, checking water skins, securing feed. The more they panicked, the more disorder reigned.
Kouyan Ying stood with arms on his waist, eyes alight as he stared into the distance. It was the first great sandstorm he’d ever seen. He squatted in the open like a showman, shouting and performing somersaults, “Hah! Hoo! The sandstorm is here!” until Old Kouyan rapped him smartly on the head. “You little rascal, go help the others!”
Huang Sanding and Guo Pan, who had few belongings, quickly tethered their mounts and joined in helping the others haul gear and hold down the animals.
Li Wei, watching the swirling mass at the horizon, his face unreadable, calmly turned to Chun Tian and said, “Put on your wind hood and face cover. Now.”
He stepped toward the horses, unfastened a waterskin and some rations, and placed them in her arms. Then he guided her to the base of a massive rock wall and draped a felt blanket over her shoulders. “Lie flat on the ground. Don’t lift your head.”
Chun Tian’s heart was a tangle of anxiety and awe, but she obeyed without question, dropping down onto the sand. Even so, she couldn’t help but glance around, just in time to see Li Wei securing the horses and the caravan’s pack animals all in one place. The usually docile beasts huddled together, pressing close to the earth, their heads tucked low.
Within moments, the once-vast blue sky turned a turbid yellow. Dust filled the air as the wind grew more violent, more frenzied. Sand and stone flew like blades, lashing at the world with ruthless fury. The sun vanished like a pale shadow swallowed by the storm. Across the gravel plain, a heavy, surging haze of earth swept toward them, drowning everything in its path in a wavy fog.
The caravaners barely managed to pile their soft packs beneath the stone ledge, wrapping everything tightly in felt. The bags on the pack animals trembled in the screaming wind. With a sharp rip, one was torn away with a crackling sound.
“Quick, the grain cakes!” the merchants shouted. “Get them down!”
Li Wei helped the merchants loosen the final pack from the mule, just as the storm’s edge reached them, its claws of dust and wind already at their faces.
The world had gone utterly dark.
A tidal wave of yellow sand surged forward, swallowing the sky. In this blinding chaos, the wind howled with demonic rage, dragging dust in long, whipping spirals across the desert. The gravel plain roared beneath them, the cry of the earth low and deafening. Strange rock formations trembled as if they might wrench themselves from the ground and take flight, a dull cry echoing from the ground. Dust swirled, split, and twisted like mad dancers possessed.
Dust choked the air. Curled beneath her blanket, Chun Tian buried her face in the earth, eyes shut tight, but she could still hear the tearing, shrieking wind, an unrelenting scream. It felt as though the northern storm would rip her away like a pebble on the ground. Pebbles stung her back, flung by the wind. The roaring in her ears burst like thunder.
She could barely stay down, struggling against the sense that she might be hurled into the sky. Clutching the food and water, she opened her mouth to cry out, only for the blanket to be whipped away. Harsh, coarse yellow sand poured into her nose and mouth, burning its way into her chest.
Chun Tian coughed violently, choking on grit.
At that instant, a body crashed down over her. Through a layer of thick sheepskin, it pressed her firmly into the earth. A strong hand seized the blanket and folded it inward, sealing her completely beneath it, yet still left a narrow gap for her to breathe.
She lay enveloped beneath Li Wei, the world blacked out around her. All she could hear was the storm growing wilder, more ferocious. Somewhere beyond the muffled dark were the cries of camels, the whimpers of mules, and the frantic shouts of the caravaners.
The sandstorm roared like waves breaking against cliffs, battering her eardrums. Li Wei could feel her trembling beneath the blanket and, through the coarse fabric, reached for her hand and gripped it tightly.
Motionless beneath the felt cover, Chun Tian clung to him in return. The storm seemed endless, an eternity of shrieking wind, crashing sand, and suffocating earth passing through the felt blanket, battering against her chest.
Heaven above… please… have mercy. Please spare us, these tiny ants in your vast world. Don’t turn us into just another pair of bones along the road.
At the peak of the storm’s fury, she could feel it tearing upward from the ground, trying to drag her into the sky. But the hand that held hers was steady as roots sunk deep into the earth. It held her down, anchored her fast and so she clung to him with all her strength through the felt blanket.
She didn’t know how long had passed. Gradually, the piercing howls of wind began to fade, replaced by another kind of wind, long and mournful, at times sharp, at times gentle.
Li Wei struggled to rise from the ground. Seeing no movement beneath the felt blanket, he feared Chun Tian might have lost consciousness from lack of air and hurried to peel the cover away.
He was met at once by a pair of wide, limpid, apricot eyes, clear as autumn water, free of dust, round and bright like a cat’s, innocent and striking. They were dark as obsidian, bright as quicksilver, radiant and glassy, like jade cooled by frost or gleaming gemstones fixed unwaveringly on him.
His own reflection was held within her pupils.
His fingers froze.
The two were far too close. Li Wei suddenly came to his senses, realizing his impropriety. He abruptly released her, bracing one knee on the ground and turning aside to tug down his face covering, spitting a mouthful of sand onto the earth.
Chun Tian emerged from beneath the sheepskin cloak, everything before her dim and dark. She blinked several times before realizing her eyes stung. The gale had passed, but yellow sand still drifted in the air, sifting down in a soft patter against her body–shhhh, shhhh–like silkworms devouring mulberry leaves. Her nostrils filled with the thick, muddy scent of earth, pressing heavy into her chest.
Even with her wind hood and face cloth, her nose and mouth felt clogged. She raised a hand to wipe her face, only to smear a film of dust and sand across her cheeks and lips.
Li Wei had shielded her from the brunt of the storm and now looked even more wretched for it. Sand and gravel caked his back, his face coated in dust so thick it obscured his features entirely. Even his eyelashes were laden with grit. Only his eyes, those deep, black eyes, shone all the more vividly, dazzling and clear, through the grime.
He frowned, furrowed his brows and wiped the dirt from his face, slowly revealing his features.
She noticed the noble slope of his brows, the long shape of his phoenix eyes with their slightly upturned corners, like the final careless stroke in a meticulous painting. His nose was straight and high, his lips faintly dark in color, full in shape and bearing an innate gentleness. Then he exhaled, stood up, and turned aside to remove his boots and outer robe, shaking off the thick layer of sand.
Beneath, he wore a light gray fitted garment, cinched tight at the waist, emphasizing his broad shoulders and long legs, the narrow taper of his waist. His sleeves were rolled to the elbows, exposing muscular , firm forearms bronzed by the sun, veins faintly raised beneath taut skin.
Chun Tian then found herself gazing at a polished stone, its surface scraped smooth by the storm. Sand hissed across it in soft drifts, drumming faintly–tonk tonk. A thin layer of dust settled, then was brushed away again by a breeze, revealing the ochre striations in the rock.
Anxious, she sprang to her feet and hurried off to check on the horses, hers and Li Wei’s.
TN: Hi everyone!! The sandstorm is no joke, it sounds terrifying! The desert is definitely a place full of beauty but also hidden dangers~
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