A Short Story Collection with Non-Human Protagonists - Chapter 5

Chapter 5: The General’s Dream

Tang Shu returned from the northern frontiers having contracted a strange illness. She bore no external wounds, yet she remained in a deep slumber for days, unable to wake.

The General’s Mansion posted a reward: ten taels of gold to anyone who could cure the General’s stubborn affliction. Every renowned physician in the capital made a trip to the mansion, but none could discover where the root of her illness lay.

Being unconscious, Tang Shu naturally knew nothing of these events. She was trapped in a nightmare of swirling war fires.

The war drums of the frontier were thundering again. Her iron armor was soaked in blackened blood; she fought amidst a rain of arrows and raging flames, on and on without end. A black feral cat, clutching a sachet in its teeth, darted out from a burning military tent. It was dark, as if the sun had been extinguished.

When the south wind blew, Tang Shu faintly heard someone calling her.

“General, General.”

Tang Shu swung her blade and turned her head in a panic. To her surprise, she saw a pure white fox sitting before her, composed and serene, possessing the air of a transcendent immortal.

…In a place of clashing steel and iron horses, why would a fox suddenly appear?

Before Tang Shu could think further, the war horses, the tents, the watchtowers… everything around her abruptly dissolved. She was in a void of vast, empty whiteness. Even the wind was silent.

The fox spoke to her: “The dream is broken and the soul is weary; you have exhausted your spirit. It is time for the General to wake.”

Tang Shu opened her eyes to find herself lying on the couch in the General’s Mansion, drenched in a cold sweat. The great dream had finally ended.

The servants wept with joy. “The General is awake! The General is finally awake!”

Tang Shu was still looking around blankly, searching for the silhouette of that white fox. Once her consciousness had fully returned, her maid, Yu’er, explained the sequence of events.

When those famous doctors had all been at their wits’ end and everyone was in despair, a young lady surnamed Liu arrived. She claimed to have some knowledge of shamanistic arts and wished to diagnose the General. The household had never heard of this Miss Liu and were highly skeptical, even threatening her: they said if she couldn’t cure the General, that was one thing, but if she caused the General any harm, it would be counted as a grave crime.

Miss Liu did not retreat; she insisted on seeing the patient. Upon arriving at Tang Shu’s bedside, she judged decisively: the General was not suffering from a physical ailment, but had been struck by an evil curse from a barbarian witch doctor.

The crowd found this even more preposterous but listened nonetheless. They watched as Miss Liu spread a roll of white paper by Tang Shu’s couch. Using incense ash from the burner as ink, she drew a skeleton on the paper. Then, she bit her own fingertip, placing a drop of blood on the brow of the ash skeleton and another on the center of Tang Shu’s forehead.

The moment the blood touched her brow, Tang Shu choked up a mouthful of black blood. Clotted within the mess was a small piece of parchment covered in dense, foreign script.

“The heart of the curse is broken. The General will wake soon.”

Leaving these words behind, Miss Liu departed the mansion. No one expected that within half a day, Tang Shu would indeed make a full recovery.

Having heard this bizarre tale, Tang Shu wished to meet Miss Liu to thank her savior in person. However, the household searched the capital high and low several times over, but never found a trace of her.

“It doesn’t matter! Since the General is awake, Miss Liu will surely come to the mansion to claim the reward. You’ll see her then,” Yu’er reasoned.

But Yu’er evidently had not anticipated that even after the search notices had been posted for months, Tang Shu’s savior never showed up. Perhaps she was a mere traveler passing through the capital, or perhaps she was a reclusive lady of noble birth who cared little for a few ingots of gold.

Though Tang Shu felt regret, she did not fret for long. she remained busy as the young, successful female general—decked in purple and gold, riding fine horses and wearing light furs.

On the first day of the ninth month, Tang Shu took Yu’er to the Bodhisattva Temple to offer incense. The temple was teeming with people; it was incredibly lively, as if half the capital’s population had squeezed into this one temple to seek the Bodhisattva’s protection.

Just as they were about to head home, Yu’er suddenly grabbed Tang Shu’s sleeve. “General, look quickly!”

Tang Shu followed Yu’er’s finger and saw two porters carrying a black sedan chair, walking slowly along the ridges of the fields.

“What about that chair?” Tang Shu asked, puzzled.

Yu’er was both excited and anxious. “General, go after it! That is Miss Liu’s sedan! I recognize the willow leaves carved on it, there’s no mistake!”

Tang Shu immediately mounted her horse and galloped after it. She intercepted the sedan at the foot of the Autumn Slope Bridge.

“My Lady, please proceed first.”

The Liu family porters assumed Tang Shu was in a hurry and moved the sedan to one side to clear the path. Tang Shu dismounted and pulled a sachet from her robes. It was made of ice-silk satin, embroidered with a golden autumn osmanthus rain; its cold fragrance was tempered with the slight bitterness of medicinal herbs.

“I found the Lady’s sachet on the road and have come specifically to return it.”

The porter squinted at it. “This is not my Lady’s sachet. You must have the wrong person.”

Tang Shu insisted on handing it over. “I must trouble you to let the Lady identify it herself.”

The porter didn’t know whether to take it or not, standing there awkwardly.

“Give it to me,” a clear female voice came from inside the sedan.

An arm reached out from behind the curtain to take the sachet. A pale green jade bracelet slid over a wrist as smooth as cream; the fingers were slender and white, like orchids carved from spring snow.

Tang Shu waited a moment before the person inside spoke again.

“The General fights in the south and the north, her courage surpasses the three armies; she is a person of great benevolence and righteousness. It was my honor to be able to dispel the General’s illness. I shall accept this sachet as payment for the consultation. The General need not dwell on this matter further.”

Through the curtain, in just a few words, she had identified Tang Shu’s status. This Miss Liu was truly a person of great ability. But Tang Shu had always been a stubborn soul who would fight to the death rather than surrender; she wasn’t about to retreat just because of a few words.

She cupped her hands in a respectful salute. “I can never repay Miss Liu for saving my life. I wish to prepare a humble gift and visit your home in three days to offer my thanks. I hope Miss Liu will grant me this.”

A cool breeze of late autumn lifted the sedan curtain.

In that instant where light and shadow crossed, Tang Shu saw a fleeting face through the gap—the brow held a frost that was half-melted, but the pupils were a gentle, warm brown, like a sliver of the setting sun caught in amber. Unfortunately, before she could look closely, the curtain fell back with the wind.

Miss Liu seemed to sigh, a sound as light as a cicada’s wing, not meant for her to hear clearly.

“The seventh house in Gourd Alley to the east of the city, the one with the twin-fish pattern carved on the stone block. Thank you for your trouble, General.”

Tang Shu remained dazed in the lingering charm of that brief glimpse until the porters lifted the sedan. Only then did she snap back to reality and step aside to let them pass, nearly forgetting to bid farewell.

“Farewell, Miss Liu.”

The General had faced a besieged city without fear of mountains of blades and seas of blood; she had stood alone in the Purple Dawn Palace to remonstrate, unafraid of the Emperor’s wrath. Yet, because of this chance encounter at the foot of a bridge, she had completely lost her footing. Annoying sparrows chirped day and night on her eaves, mocking her for being unable to eat or sleep in peace.

Three days later, after changing her clothes seven times, Tang Shu finally went to Gourd Alley for her appointment. The Liu residence was an elegant, quiet courtyard deep within the winding alley. Tang Shu brought twelve crates of gifts, which piled up like a small mountain in the yard.

Miss Liu passed through several pearl curtains to greet her. Tang Shu finally saw her savior’s true face.

Bones of frozen porcelain and a soul of jade, truly a banished immortal from the Moon Palace. The brows held three parts of cold snow, and the cheeks were stained with a touch of spring dawn.

The peerless beauty Tang Shu had imagined a thousand times was still far surpassed by the young lady before her. She had never seen anyone so beautiful, so gentle, yet so vivid; one look was enough to melt a person into a cinnabar-colored warm mist.

When she returned to the mansion, Yu’er pulled her aside to ask for details. She was still in a trance.

“What does Miss Liu look like?”

“…Beautiful.”

“Did she keep you for a meal?”

“…She did.”

“What did you eat?”

“…I forgot.”

Yu’er covered her mouth and laughed. “Look at you! You don’t look like you met your savior; you look like you’ve seen a ghost and lost your soul!”

After all that tossing and turning, she finally knew where Miss Liu lived. From that day on, Tang Shu found every trivial reason in the world to see her. On clear nights, she invited her to watch the moon; on rainy days, she played chess with her. They watched flowers in the south of the city and listened to operas in the west. The ginseng her subordinates brought back from the north was mostly set aside for Miss Liu. The new rice from the manor was, of course, for her to taste.

Though Liu Jin was reserved and cool by nature, she never refused Tang Shu’s invitations. Having grown up on the battlefield with only fine steeds and stars for company, Tang Shu had never been so close to a young woman. She thought that she must be Liu Jin’s closest confidante. Perhaps even more than a confidante—there were unspeakable feelings between them.

During the Double Ninth Festival fair, when they were nearly separated by the crowd, Tang Shu held Miss Liu’s hand for the first time. It was a warm, soft, slender hand that fit perfectly into Tang Shu’s palm. Their body heat warmed each other, as if the overlapping lines of their palms could merge into one from that moment on.

On a tipsy, starry night, after eating a late snack in the pavilion, Tang Shu refused to let her go home, resting her head on Liu Jin’s lap to listen to many strange and bizarre stories. Humans could turn into demons; demons could turn into humans. Tang Shu closed her eyes as Liu Jin gently combed her hair with her fingertips, like the softest spring breeze tangling into her temples—a numbing, tingling itch.

Liu Jin always wore the osmanthus sachet Tang Shu had given her. She had somehow altered the recipe, creating a warm, sweet fragrance. The evening breeze stirred a pond of withered lotuses; Tang Shu lay in that sweet osmanthus-scented sugar water, forgetting the smoke of the desert and the snow blocking the mountain passes. She only wished for this moment to last forever.

Until one day at court, Tang Shu overheard the idle chatter of several colleagues.

“My son somehow offended a spirit recently and ran a high fever for half a month. It was all thanks to a Miss Liu in the east of the city, who performed a ritual to resolve it. Truly effective.” “That would be Lady Immortal Liu, wouldn’t it? I’ve heard of her as well. Strange illnesses that imperial physicians cannot cure can be healed without medicine, so long as one asks for her help with a sincere heart…”

Tang Shu’s heart felt like it had dropped into an ice cellar. After the court was dismissed, she galloped straight to the Liu residence. She stood in the courtyard amidst the heavy rain, questioning Liu Jin indignantly: “I thought… I was different from them.”

It was the last rain of autumn, sliding down her neck and soaking her clothes—a cold that pierced her heart and carved into her bones. Liu Jin looked at her through the curtain of rain, her brow slightly furrowed.

“I never said you were the same as them.” Saying this, Liu Jin reached out to pull her under the eaves.

Tang Shu refused, insisting on standing in the rain. “But you never said I was different, either.”

Liu Jin gazed at her wistfully, her eyes becoming as damp as the mist, holding glistening tears. Tang Shu thought she must be a very bad person to make the most beautiful girl in the world cry. She said nothing, just waited in silence. Her heart felt as if it had been cut by a blade; every beat tore open the wound, dripping with blood.

She waited until the city was submerged by rain and then reappeared, until winter ended and spring came, and the west wind once again withered the greenery. Finally, Liu Jin spoke, her voice seemingly trembling slightly: “What if… you truly are different from them?”

Tang Shu did not understand why, with the rain being so heavy, there were a thousand butterflies fluttering their wings in her chest. A splash of water erupted under her feet. A general would not be bound by the hesitant sorrows of a young girl’s heart. She was going to step through the curtain of rain and kiss her beloved.