gnovel Chapter 51 The Time of Parting, the Beginning of the Return East
Chapter 51 The Time of Parting, the Beginning of the Return East
Mu Yunlingyuan took the package, which still carried the warmth of her fingertips. It felt heavy in his hand, not only because of the weight of the items, but also because of the unspoken affection and concern she conveyed.
His Adam's apple bobbed slightly; a thousand words caught in his throat, but ultimately condensed into a low, solemn sentence:
"Okay, I understand. Mandala... thank you. Take care too."
He could offer no further promises; words seemed inadequate at this moment. But his hand gripped the package firmly and tightly, as if he were holding onto a pure warmth that transcended tribe and self-interest.
As Mandala watched him take the package, the tears in her eyes seemed to intensify, but she quickly blinked to suppress the moisture, and forced a gentle smile to her lips as she nodded lightly.
Mu Yun Lingyuan took the cloth bag, which still carried the warmth of her fingertips and the faint scent of ink and sea buckthorn. His fingertips touched the surface of the bag, and he could almost feel the fine and neat stitches on the wristband inside.
Those were the worries and prayers she had sewn in stitch by stitch, by the light of the lamp in her tent, on countless nights.
He did not immediately tie the package to the saddle. Instead, he paused for a moment, then raised his hand and untied the wolf tooth pendant that he had worn close to his body for five years, which was tied with a cowhide rope around his neck.
The wolf tooth was large and sharp, with a warm luster from years of wear and tear. There were still some dark marks at the root of the tooth, which were the blood and soul of its original owner, a fierce steppe wolf.
This was the spoils he obtained when he was ten years old, on the edge of the wilderness, after a near-death experience, by ambushing, tracking, and finally killing the first adult wolf with a short dagger.
In grassland tradition, this is a symbol of a boy's transformation into a warrior, one of the few marks that prove his strength during his lonely years of growth, and a "talisman" that accompanies him through many difficult times.
He stepped forward half a step, and under Mandala's slightly surprised gaze, with utmost gentleness and almost reverence, tied the string of wolf fang pendants, still warm from his body, to her chest.
The rough leather rope brushed against her dark hair. His movements were careful, as if he were touching fragile glass, or protecting the grass sprouting in the first snow.
He gazed into her eyes, his voice low but clear, deep, and powerful, like a vow etched into a rock, carrying the most solemn promise of a man of the grasslands:
"Mandala, forgive me, I cannot grant you romantic moments under the moon and flowers at this moment, nor dare I speak of earth-shattering love. I can only, and only wish for you, peace and safety year after year."
He paused, his gaze passing over her, as if he saw the smoke of war on the road south, and also the peace of a more distant future:
"When I return to my unit, no matter how arduous the journey ahead may be, I will do everything in my power to return safely to see you."
When the storm has passed and the dust has settled, I will come to fetch you and take you to see the true four seasons of this northern grassland.
His voice gradually took on a warm, hopeful tone, painting a picture that was both ordinary and precious:
"In spring, we'll go see how the sea buckthorn flowers break through the remaining snow and bloom into the first golden hue. In summer, we'll lie side by side on the highest grassy slope, listen to the eagles roaring in the clouds, and watch the sun rise and set. In late autumn, we'll walk slowly along the grass waves dyed golden red by the setting sun, accompanied by the cattle and sheep returning to their pens. In winter nights, we'll sit around the warm fire, listen to the wind and snow howling outside the tent, and talk about everyday things that only we understand."
His gaze refocused on her face, utterly serious.
"I once said I would plant a hundred miles of datura for you, and that wasn't boasting or trying to show off to anyone."
I just want you to know that from now on, every spring that belongs to us, I will be by your side, watching the flowers bloom year after year, covering our meadows, watching the wind gently brush against the curtain of our shared yurt—that will be a testament to our peace.
Mandala listened intently, feeling the heavy weight of the wolf tooth pendant in her hair and the lingering warmth of her body; the interplay of cold and warmth penetrated to the very core of her being.
Tears finally welled up and filled her eyes, swirling in her clear pupils and blurring the image of the person before her. But she didn't let the tears fall; instead, she tried her best to put on a smile brighter than the morning glow, a smile tinged with tears.
She raised her trembling hand and gently touched the wolf fang in her hair. Then, she took out a neatly folded, snow-white hada (ceremonial scarf) from her bosom.
She stepped forward, stood on tiptoe, and gently wrapped the white hada around Mu Yunlingyuan's neck, then carefully tied a sturdy and beautiful knot on his left wrist.
Her movements were equally gentle and focused, as if she were performing a sacred ritual.
"This hada is a blessing from the Eternal Heaven and the grasslands. It will protect you and ensure a smooth journey, turning misfortune into good fortune."
Her voice was slightly choked, yet exceptionally clear and firm, "And this wolf fang,"
She touched the pendant in her hair again with her fingertips. "It's your heart, your courage, and your promise. I wear it, as if... you've never left."
She took a half step back, looked up at him, her gaze piercing through her tears and reaching the depths of his soul:
"I will be here, in the land of the Hu, waiting for you. Waiting for the south wind to bring you news, waiting for the winter snow to melt and pile up again and again."
I will wait for your safe return, and then, together with you, to see all the scenery you promised, to wait for the hundred miles of datura flowers... blooming all over the mountains and fields, year after year.
Just then, Tai Chu Cang Ye, who had been standing motionless to the side and behind like a statue, slightly turned his head, looked at the flowing clouds in the sky, and whispered a reminder. His voice was still cold, but it broke the thick atmosphere of parting:
"Master, the clouds are moving south at an accelerated pace. The wind will pick up in half an hour. We need to pass through the mountain pass ahead before the wind picks up."
Mu Yunling took a deep breath, forcefully suppressing his tenderness and reluctance back into his heart.
He looked deeply at Mandala, a look that contained the reluctance to part after twelve years of being together day and night, the determination to face the unknown future, and all the tenderness that he had kept hidden for so long, which he only showed to her.
Without further hesitation, he nimbly mounted his horse.
The warhorse seemed to sense its master's emotions, raising its head and letting out a long, resounding neigh that shook the grasslands, as if bidding farewell to this place it had been confined to, and also as announcing the start of a new journey.
"Mandala, wait for me," he said finally, his voice not loud, but it carried far on the wind.
"Ling Yuan, I'll be waiting for you." She nodded vigorously, her voice clear and distinct.
A timely gust of wind swept up the fine snow on the ground, and also carried away these two simple promises, scattering them across the vast grassland, as if to let all things in heaven and earth bear witness.
Mu Yunlingyuan raised his left hand, and the white hada scarf on his wrist stood out against the black sleeves of his clothes, swaying gently with the rise and fall of the horse.
He didn't turn back, his gaze instantly sharpening like a drawn blade, sweeping over the fully equipped and ready troops, and he shouted the order, his voice drowning out the rising wind:
"Let's go!"
At the command, the long-awaited troops surged forward like a floodgate opened.
The eighteen riders of Silver Moon took the lead and rode out like black arrows. Tai Chu Cang Ye spurred his horse and closely guarded Mu Yun Ling Yuan's flank. Wang Meng, Jin Peng, Qing Shi, Bai Xiang and others followed closely behind.
Further back, the Hu tribe's cavalry resembled a moving steel jungle, their thunderous hooves scattering snow and causing the earth to tremble.
The sound of thousands of iron cavalry advancing converged into a powerful and stirring symphony across the vast grassland, rolling southward.
Mu Yunlingyuan rode forward for about a hundred zhang before turning behind a raised grassy slope, cutting off the view from the direction of the royal court.
He finally couldn't resist and pulled hard on the reins, causing the warhorse to rear up and come to a steady stop.
He looked back.
Far away, on the snow-covered ground at the valley entrance, that moon-white figure still stood quietly. Against the backdrop of the boundless white snow and the yellow grass, it was small yet incredibly eye-catching, like the last sea buckthorn flower on the ice field that refused to wither.
She raised her hand, gently pressed it against the wolf fang pendant in her hair, and slowly but forcefully waved it in the direction he had gone.
The cold wind howled past, whipping her hair and clothes, making them flutter as if telling a story, like the most tender yet persistent farewell in this grassland world.
Mu Yunling felt a surge of warmth in his heart, and he also raised his left arm, which was tied with the hada, high and swung it forcefully in that direction a few times.
Immediately, he gritted his teeth, turned his horse around, and the whip cracked in the air with a sharp sound. "Giddy up!"
The black warhorse galloped forward like an arrow, quickly catching up with the group and joining the surging southward torrent.
The wind grew stronger, whipping up sand and snowflakes that lashed at my face. The familiar, crisp fragrance of sea buckthorn from the nearby Hu Di royal court was gradually replaced by the smell of dust and ice.
However, the wooden bookmark held close to her body still seemed to retain the scent of ink and her essence, and the white hada scarf on her wrist fluttered in the wind, like her silent companionship and blessing.
The deep-seated concern and commitment in his heart are like a lighthouse in the dark night, illuminating the way forward and becoming his deepest source of confidence and motivation to overcome all obstacles and move forward without hesitation.
The journey back east begins here.
Behind them lie unfinished words and gazing eyes; ahead lies a vast stage of blood and fire, power and intrigue, awaiting heroes or tyrants alike.