Xie Chichun - Chapter 24

**The Cries of Wild Geese Pass in October**

In the tenth month at Wild Geese Pass, the wind was as sharp as a blade.

In the capital, perhaps only a light snow had just begun to fall, the trees standing bare and desolate. But here on the northern frontier, the vast, undulating wilderness was already stripped of life—only withered yellow grass remained, dotted occasionally with a few ancient trees, their branches barren, not a single leaf left.

The frigid midnight wind howled across the land, whipping up clouds of yellow sand, churning the moonlight into a murky haze.

Han Jie stood alone on horseback amidst the desolate expanse, his iron armor icy to the bone.

His battle robes had long been torn to shreds, and the bloodstains seeping through the gaps in his armor had frozen stiff. His shoulders, back, legs, arms—there was hardly a single part of him left unscathed. His sword hand was stained crimson, numb from the biting wind.

But what felt even more numb was the chest that had once burned with fervor. His loyal heart, devoted to serving his country, had been utterly shattered. Now, all that remained in his mind was hatred—

The Jingning Marquis’s estate in the distant capital had been exterminated. Every single soldier who had followed the Han father and sons at Wild Geese Pass had been ambushed and slaughtered without exception. In just one night, this impregnable fortress had been drenched in blood.

Han Jie had never imagined that after he and his father and brother had fought tooth and nail to defend this northern stronghold, repelling countless fierce attacks from the Tiele people, they would still fall prey to the new emperor’s carefully laid trap.

The night before, there had been no sign of anything amiss. But in the dead of night, his father, Han Sui, had been assassinated in his own tent. Then, the deputy general had produced an imperial decree from the new emperor, declaring the Jingning Marquis’s household guilty of treason.

Treason? When had he and his father ever harbored such thoughts? They had given their all to protect their homeland!

The new emperor’s butcher’s blade had already been raised. Han Jie and his elder brother, Han Yu, had fought their way out at the cost of their lives, fleeing westward. The eight hundred soldiers who had followed them had been slaughtered one by one. Now, only he remained—standing alone under the cold moon and merciless wind, on the brink of death.

He pressed a hand to his chest—his heart was still beating. His fingers brushed against the cold, rough surface of his armor before dipping inside, where they found a warm, smooth jade pendant—a token Xie Xuan had given him at their wedding, praying for his safe return to the capital.

*Xuanxuan, Xuanxuan.*

The thought of her made Han Jie tighten his grip on his sword, his arm trembling.

In his breast pocket was the letter she had sent him half a year ago, written in her familiar handwriting. She had told him that the physician had confirmed her pregnancy and that she hoped he could return by the eleventh month to witness the birth of their child. Between the lines, her joy and anticipation had been palpable. He could almost picture her as she wrote—sitting quietly by the window, her beautiful face unable to conceal her happiness as she penned the letter, her maid Fangzhou grinding ink beside her, the two of them sharing in the excitement.

Han Jie had waited eagerly for seven months. With his father’s permission, he had already packed his belongings, ready to depart in mid-October and race back to the capital, to hold his beloved wife and newborn child in his arms, to embrace them fiercely, to kiss them.

But in just a few days, everything had changed.

Now, the entire Jingning Marquis’s household had been purged. According to the messenger, not a single soul had escaped.

Then what of her? And their child… had they also…?

She was so delicate, and with her pregnancy—how could she have endured such cruelty?

His body shuddered violently. Han Jie felt as though his entire being was convulsing with pain. Unable to bear the thought any longer, he spurred his horse into a frenzied gallop through the pitch-black night. The wind roared past his ears like the furious howl of the heavens. His wounds split open anew, warm blood seeping out before freezing in the bitter wind.

Her image flickered endlessly before his eyes—her playful dependence as a child, the shy tenderness after their wedding. He could almost hear her calling him *”Brother YuJie”* in his ear, her voice a mix of joy and reproach, sorrow and despair.

She had relied on him since childhood, entrusting him with her whole heart when she married into the Han family. And how had he repaid her?

Four years of waiting, a year of pregnancy—she had waited in the capital, longing for his return, but before he could fulfill any of his promises, everything had been ripped away in an instant. Now, how could he ever make it up to her?

His heart twisted as if scalded by boiling oil. Han Jie hunched over in agony, a trickle of blood seeping from his lips.

The cold wind still howled. For a moment, the roars and war songs of his soldiers echoed in his ears—those brothers who had once fought and bled alongside him, only to turn their blades against each other in the end.

His family was gone. His brothers were dead. In this vast, desolate world, he no longer knew where to go.

Grief and hatred intertwined. Finally, Han Jie’s gaze turned south—toward the quiet courtyard of the Jingning Marquis’s estate, toward the ruthless emperor in his palace.

The dead could not be brought back to life. All that remained for him was vengeance.

Even if he hacked that venomous snake into pieces, it would never be enough to quell his rage!

The night wind cut to the bone. Severely wounded, Han Jie tumbled from his horse. In the overwhelming cold, only the jade pendant against his chest remained warm—like her soft, gentle hand, lightly pressed over his heart.

***

By the time Han Jie secretly returned to the capital, it was already New Year’s Eve.

The once-prosperous, bustling capital of his memories had been completely transformed. Most of the great noble families of the previous dynasty had been purged. Under the new emperor’s ruthless rule, the court was in decline, the people lived in fear, and everyone tread carefully, afraid to speak out. Though dusk had only just fallen, households had already bolted their doors and windows. Peddlers and laborers hurried home, brushing past strangers with wary glances.

Even on what should have been the most festive night of the year, there was little joy in the air.

Han Jie wore coarse commoner’s clothes, a sharp dagger hidden in his sleeve. At a glance, aside from his tall and sturdy build, he looked no different from any other traveler.

Keeping his head low, he moved swiftly through the streets and alleys, gradually approaching the familiar estate.

The plaque bearing the name *”Jingning Marquis’s Estate”* had long been removed. The vermilion double doors were covered in cobwebs, the official seals that had once marked them as confiscated now eroded by wind and rain.

Han Jie scaled the wall and slipped inside.

The rockeries and buildings were all familiar, but everything was in disarray—potted plants in the courtyard had been overturned, valuables inside the rooms looted, shards of porcelain littering the floor. The once-magnificent estate now stood in ruins, empty and desolate.

Snowflakes began to drift down in the gloomy night. Han Jie made his way to the courtyard where he and Xie Xuan had lived. It was just as ravaged—the keepsakes he had brought back from the frontier destroyed, Xie Xuan’s beloved calligraphy and paintings torn to shreds, scattered alongside crushed rouge pots, spilled ink, and broken hairpins of gold and jade.

Staggering inside, he startled a stray cat that darted out from under a table like a gust of wind.

His heart ached unbearably. As he brushed his fingers over the familiar furniture, he could almost see her standing by the bed—her morning laziness still clinging to her, her makeup untouched, yet smiling brilliantly at him, calling him *”Brother Yujie.”*

The bright red of her dress had been gorgeous, but it paled in comparison to her radiant beauty.

His Xuanxuan had been the most beautiful woman in the world—his deepest tenderness, now his most painful wound.

He called out her name, but only emptiness answered.

Months of suppressed agony finally shattered. Han Jie collapsed before the bed, clutching the embroidered quilt with white-knuckled force.

Never in his life had he regretted anything so bitterly. He hugged the pillow she had once used, desperate for any lingering trace of her warmth.

Back then, all he had wanted was to serve his country, to earn glory for her sake, so she could walk proudly among the noblewomen of the capital, radiant and admired. But in the blink of an eye, fate had overturned everything. The path to honor had been severed, and now he would never have the chance to give her any of it.

Never again would he hold her soft hand, pull her into his embrace, kiss and cherish her.

Never again would they lie side by side, whispering in the dark, their cheeks brushing tenderly.

Never again would he hear her sweet laughter, admire spring blossoms and autumn chrysanthemums with her, or wander through gentle mountains and rivers.

If he had known, he would *never* have left her side. He would never have chased empty fame at Wild Geese Pass, leaving her to wait alone in the capital.

Now he understood—those unfulfilled dreams of glory were nothing compared to the simple warmth of being by her side.

In his hand, he clutched a broken jade pendant he had picked up at the courtyard gate. Its silk cord was filthy with mud, but the jade itself was still smooth. Wiping it clean with his sleeve, he could almost feel her warmth again.

*Xuanxuan, Xuanxuan.*

The thought of the Jingning Marquis’s household left to rot in the wilderness, of Xie Xuan’s despair and loneliness in her final moments—pregnant and abandoned—made his heart feel as if it were being sliced apart. He had wanted to give her the most splendid life, yet in the end, he hadn’t even been able to give her a proper grave.

She had been the little girl he had cherished since childhood, the warmth he had held close to his heart amidst the winds and sands of Wild Geese Pass, the wife he had missed every single moment.

Every promise he had made to her—of love and companionship, of sharing wine and tending flowers—now pierced his heart like a blade.

Emperor Wei Yong, that mad, venomous snake—after slaughtering the loyal and innocent, how dare he sit safely in his palace, ruling the world?

Han Jie drove his dagger deep into the ground, his eyes burning with hatred.

***
The new emperor, having schemed his way to the throne, had fortified the palace defenses to an extreme. Attempting to infiltrate and assassinate him would have been suicidal.

So Han Jie bided his time, hiding in an abandoned farmhouse outside the city.

The Jingning Marquis’s household had been wiped out. The Hengguo Duke’s estate had also collapsed. His old friends and allies would likely want nothing to do with a “traitor” who was supposed to be dead. The only things left that mattered to him were Xie Xuan’s belongings.

*”Green the robe, green the robe, lined with yellow. Grief in my heart—will it ever cease?”*

*”Green the robe, green the robe, skirt of yellow. Grief in my heart—will it ever end?”*

Many nights, Han Jie sat silently outside, going through her old things under the moonlight—his tall, solitary figure a picture of desolation.

***

In the sixth month, at the height of summer, the new emperor left the palace for his summer retreat.

The procession was grand, with guards clearing the way and commoners bowing in deference. But as they neared the retreat, an assassin struck—firing a crossbow bolt from two hundred paces away, piercing the emperor’s skull and pinning him to the carriage wall.

Dead. Eyes wide open in disbelief.

During the national mourning, rumors spread in hushed tones. Many secretly rejoiced.

***

A thousand miles away, Han Jie rode alone, Xie Xuan’s belongings in his pack. Taking advantage of the chaos, he slipped past Wild Geese Pass and headed west—to an ancient temple in a secluded valley where he had once taken refuge.

He sought ordination.

The abbot, a kindly yet dignified man in his fifties, took one look at Han Jie’s heavy pack and shook his head.

*”Your worldly ties are still too strong. You cannot enter the monastic life yet.”*

Then he closed his eyes in meditation, ignoring Han Jie completely.

But Han Jie stayed.

With his wife gone and his vengeance fulfilled, what else was left in this vast world but regret and longing? He helped chop wood and carry water, swept the floors, listened to sermons. Though he did not shave his head, he lived like a devout layman, chanting scriptures daily.

Yet the sutras spoke of letting go of love and desire—and every time he recited them, his mind flooded with memories of her.

Her laughter in the Hengguo Duke’s estate. Her quiet solitude in the Xuanguan Taoist temple. The way she would hug her knees in the bamboo grove, lighting up only when he visited.

Her hopeful joy when she married into the Han family. Their wedding night, when he had wished he could meld her into his very being, never to part again.

How she curled against him in sleep, her arms around his neck, as if afraid he would leave.

He had made so many vows, ignited so many dreams. He had gone to Wild Geese Pass seeking glory, wanting her to walk proudly among the noblewomen of the capital.

But before he could achieve any of it, fate had severed their bond.

Regret and longing weighed on his heart—a knot no scripture could undo.

The sutras encompassed all truths, yet none held the answer he sought.

He missed her so desperately. If he wanted to see her again, to make up for all his failures—which prayer should he chant to turn back time?

***

Ten years passed. The once-youthful general had become a silent, middle-aged man, his fiery spirit tempered by time—but the obsession remained.

He pored over every scripture, searching in vain for answers—until he stumbled upon an ancient piece of goatskin.

It seemed to originate from the far west, a land of bitter cold and desolation, where a glorious civilization had once flourished before being swallowed by the sands. The text was fragmented and cryptic, but Han Jie spent years deciphering it.

Then, without hesitation, he packed his bags and headed deeper into the western deserts.

***

He trekked across endless dunes, forded icy rivers, climbed jagged peaks. By day, the sun scorched him dry; by night, the cold was bone-deep.

In this barren wasteland, where even eagles were rare, he nearly died of thirst—until he saw it.

The Black Mountain.

A towering peak of jet-black stone, rising into the clouds like a bridge between heaven and earth.

According to the goatskin, a fire dragon dwelled within, breathing hellfire. It was said that a dark void within the mountain led to the underworld—and that the dragon had the power to rewrite fate, to bring back the dead, to turn back time.

Han Jie didn’t know if it was true.

But after decades of sorrow, it was his only hope.

Climbing the black boulders, he finally reached a massive obsidian gate, carved with strange, fiery patterns.

Without hesitation, he pushed it open.

Darkness swallowed him.

He felt himself falling, his body light but his mind unbearably heavy, weighed down by memories both sweet and agonizing.

In the deathly silence, he heard wind, fire, thunder—and Xie Xuan’s faint breathing, as if she were right beside him.

He reached out, but found only emptiness.

His fingers touched something scalding. His eyelids were too heavy to open. Then a voice boomed in his skull:

*”What do you seek?”*

*”To return to the past. To cherish her. To stay by her side.”*

*”What will you give?”*

*”Everything. My body, my life, all that I have.”*

*”Even if it means never entering the cycle of rebirth? Even if there is no next life?”*

Han Jie didn’t care about reincarnation. After years of longing, all he wanted was *her*. Without her, countless lifetimes would mean nothing.

With the last of his strength, he nodded.

*”I only want her.”*

Something searing spread through his body, devouring flesh and bone like wind eroding sand. His strength drained away like water through fingers.

As his body turned to ash, all that remained were his memories—vivid and crushing.

He would bear all the pain, traverse time itself, just to see her smile again. To walk beside her under sun and moon, to ensure she lived a peaceful life.

But he did not know—

That the same memories, just as agonizing, also lived in Xie Xuan’s mind.

***