Chapter 10: The Unspeakable in a Thousand Ways
The crane’s cry, piercing through the wind and snow, spread across both banks of the Luo River.
The crowd rose to their feet, voices rising everywhere. Some stood on tiptoe, straining to see more clearly what was happening on the distant bridge, while others climbed onto the slanting branches of the locust trees along the riverbank. But the winter trees were brittle and could not bear so many people. With a crackling sound, more than a dozen locust trees snapped, and at least several dozen commoners fell into the freezing river water. Fortunately, many priests from the Li Palace and Zhou soldiers were stationed around the area today, and boats were prepared downstream. It didn’t take long for the people to be rescued from the river. Their lives were safe, but the sting of the icy water would surely leave them with a bout of illness.
The battle on Naihe Bridge had not yet begun—no one had even seen Xu Yourong’s figure—yet the scene was already in chaos. This showed just how much anticipation people had for this confrontation.
The large ship was slightly closer to Naihe Bridge. The important figures on board had already spotted the figure beneath the bridge in the wind and snow. There was a slight stir, then silence.
Just then, Tang Thirty-Six and Zhe Xiu somehow boarded the ship from somewhere. After meeting up with Su Moyu, they began searching for a good spot to watch. The bow was filled with important figures and elders. No matter how arrogant Tang Thirty-Six was, this wasn’t the time to cause trouble. He glanced around, suddenly brightened, and squeezed his way to Mo Yu’s side with the other two. Mo Yu glanced at him but said nothing.
Tang Thirty-Six looked toward the distant Naihe Bridge and said, “Is it really starting just like that?”
Mo Yu watched the young man on the bridge and the young woman beneath it, saying nothing, her emotions complicated.
This battle was a contest between the young leaders of the northern and southern factions of the national religion, as well as a clash between the old and new schools within it. More importantly, it represented a confrontation of wills between Her Holiness the Saintess and His Holiness the Pope.
Chen Changsheng stood on the bridge, watching the flowing water and the snowflakes falling onto the surface before vanishing. The tension and anxiety in his heart, like those snowflakes, gradually faded away without a trace.
He sensed something and turned to look toward the wind and snow.
It was a simple movement, not heavy, but very slow, because this turn had taken many years to make.
Through the wind and snow, he saw the young woman beneath the bridge.
This was his first time seeing Xu Yourong, his former fiancée, the owner of those letters and the bamboo dragonfly.
Just as he had thought earlier on the bridge, in a sense, his life had been changed because of this young woman.
Too many things had happened because of her, yet this was their first meeting.
Before meeting her, he had heard too many things about her and too much praise, but he still wondered what she really looked like—whether she had a cascade of glossy black hair, whether she was truly that beautiful... Now, he didn’t see her face or her black hair, but he found that the her standing in the snow beneath the bridge matched his imagination perfectly.
She wore a white dress, held no umbrella, and had a veiled hat on, its hanging gauze covering her face.
He could only vaguely make out some features, not clearly, but it should be beautiful.
Even unseen, it was beautiful, because it was an unspeakable beauty.
Yes, even with the veil covering her face, just her standing there quietly made one feel that words could not describe her beauty.
She stood in the wind and snow, as if she might drift away with the wind at any moment, vanish with the snow without a trace.
She was never meant to belong to this mortal world; she should have been alone on some remote cliff, pure and aloof.
Seeing this young woman in the wind and snow, Chen Changsheng finally understood why Xu Shiji and Tang Thirty-Six both believed that seeing her would change his mind, why Tang Thirty-Six said many who saw her lost their lives to her, why she was said to be beyond words.
...
...
The light gauze on Xu Yourong’s face stirred in the wind and snow—it was a nod of acknowledgment.
Chen Changsheng nodded in return, thinking he should say something now. But in the next moment, he realized he had overthought things in the past few days and in this moment.
The young woman in the snow clearly had no intention of speaking; she just stood there quietly.
Both banks of the Luo River fell silent.
Only the sound of water gently flowing around the large ship could be heard.
One could even hear the sound of snow falling.
Everyone, like Chen Changsheng, felt that he should say something now. People wanted to hear what he and Xu Yourong would say before the battle.
This battle on Naihe Bridge might mean a lot to the court and the important figures in the Li Palace, and the commoners of the capital were also well aware of it, but they didn’t care too much—who would inherit Her Holiness the Saintess’s authority, who would be the next Pope, had little to do with ordinary people’s lives. After the Baicao Garden Incident back then and the bloodshed at the National Academy, the capital was still this capital.
What people cared about more were the grudges and entanglements between the two sides of this battle.
Chen Changsheng and Xu Yourong had a marriage contract between them. Or, as rumors had it, that contract had been forcibly annulled by His Holiness the Pope. But that didn’t change their relationship.
They were once betrothed, meant to be a couple.
This was somewhat poignant. Last autumn, the people of the capital had besieged the National Academy over this contract, cursing Chen Changsheng like a dog, even inventing special sayings. Yet just a year later, the people of the capital had changed their attitude, hoping instead that the marriage would succeed. Because in their eyes, Chen Changsheng was now fully worthy of Xu Yourong, and he was a Zhou native—better for Xu Yourong to marry him than Qiu Shan Jun.
What the people on both banks of the Luo River were thinking or waiting for, Chen Changsheng and Xu Yourong didn’t know, and probably didn’t care.
They just calmly faced each other through the wind and snow, without speaking.
For a long time, neither spoke.
Until the end, neither of them said a word.
The silence of Naihe Bridge was never broken, only startled by an action.
Xu Yourong reached out and grasped her sword.
The sword she used was, of course, no ordinary blade—it was a famous sword.
The Zhai Sword of the Saintess Peak, after centuries, had finally returned to the hands of the current Saintess.
Her hand gripping the hilt was pale, three shades whiter than snow.
Chen Changsheng didn’t notice this; he was looking at her eyes, but found he couldn’t meet her gaze no matter how he tried.
The gauze hanging from the veiled hat seemed somewhat strange.
Xu Yourong drew the Zhai Sword from its sheath.
A sword’s hum rose from Naihe Bridge, drifting up and down the Luo River.
Ripples appeared on the calm water’s surface, then waves turned into surges, ceaselessly crashing against the ship’s bow and both banks, splashing loudly.
At the same time, countless surges rose within Chen Changsheng’s sea of consciousness.