The moment I walked out of the tent, I knew—
This wasn't an escape. It was a permitted test.
The moon was unrealistically bright, illuminating the entire camp as clearly as day. My shadow was dragged long, cast on the sand, following me all the way to the edge of the camp.
No one stopped me.
The Wolf Guards stood in the dark, like several stones. They saw, but didn't move. Moonlight hit the copper buckles on their waist scabbards, reflecting fine points of light.
I walked very slowly.
Not afraid of being discovered. But—I was thinking, if I really walked out, where would I go? Hundreds of miles of grassland in all directions, no Uber, no Google Maps, not even a person to ask for directions.
I looked down at my clothes. Moon-white Han-style skirt, already so dirty you couldn't see the original color, hem stained with dried grass juice and mud spots. No pockets, no phone, no wallet.
How many days could I survive on the grassland?
Two days? Three days?
I kept walking. Wind blew from behind, cold. My fingers had already lost sensation. I touched my ears—empty. That pair of turquoise earrings fell off at some point. They belonged to the original host, I had always worn them, because my ears had piercings, not wearing anything always felt like a piece was missing.
Now gone.
There was a low wooden fence at the camp edge, more like for blocking horses, not people. When I stepped over, my skirt hem got hooked by a wood thorn. I bent down to pull it, fingers touching the soil—cold, hard, like frozen.
Then I saw those boots.
Not the Wolf Guards' boots. Wolf Guards wore leather boots, worn white kind. These boots were black, leather better, boot shafts embossed with silver patterns. I recognized this pattern—Li Yuanhao's knife handle also had it.
I slowly straightened up.
He stood outside the fence, back to the moon. I couldn't see his face clearly, only his outline—very tall, much taller than Li Yuanhao. Shoulders very broad, standing there like a mountain. Not Li Yuanhao's youth not yet fully grown frame, but fully grown, the kind that pressed people breathless.
Four people stood behind him. Not Wolf Guards. Quieter than Wolf Guards, heavier. Like four swords stuck in the ground.
Moonlight shone on them, no reflection. They wore matte black armor, wrapped from head to toe, even eyes hidden in helmet shadows.
"Is it you?"
His voice was very low. Not Li Yuanhao's deliberately lowered, boy-acting-adult low. Real low, vibrating from the chest, like distant thunder.
My heartbeat skipped a beat.
He stepped out of the shadow one step. Moonlight hit his face—that was a face worn by wind and sand, angles harder than Li Yuanhao's, eyes deeper than Li Yuanhao's. Li Yuanhao resembled him. Not features resembling, but that— that "I am a knife" feeling. But Li Yuanhao's knife was in its sheath, his knife was out of the sheath.
"This is the thing that distracts him." He said.
Not asking me. Asking the people behind him.
No one answered.
He looked at me. That gaze—not Tuoba Lie's curious look, not Wolf Guards' evaluating look, but another. Like looking at something that shouldn't exist. Not hate, not anger, but—unworthy.
"Kill."
Two words. Voice very flat. Flat like saying "put out the light".
The person behind him moved. No hesitation, no questioning. Like Wolf Guards—no, faster than Wolf Guards. One of them walked toward me, hand on knife hilt. Moonlight shone on his hand back, veins bulging, like earthworms crawling on skin.
I didn't run.
Not unafraid. But—my breathing stopped. Not deliberate, body made the decision itself. Air in lungs was pressed by something, pressed tight, not a shred could be squeezed out. Pupils dilating, world brightening, moon, tent, that person's knife—all things became clearer than day.
Then—quiet.
All sounds stopped. Wind sound, heartbeat sound, blood flowing in ears sound, all stopped.
So people really become quiet when about to die.
I even felt a bit relieved.
Maybe, this way I can go home.
The sound of knife unsheathing was very loud in the night. Silver moonlight shone on the blade, flashed my eyes. Blade stopped two inches in front of my neck.
Didn't fall.
Because someone gripped that knife-holding hand.
Not grab, but grip. Five fingers tightening, knuckles white, force so great that black-armored person's wrist made a slight crack sound.
"No."
Voice came from the camp side. Not heavy, but deep.
Everyone stopped.
He walked over. From inside the camp, through that low fence, stepping on the path I just walked. Moonlight shone on him, showed his not yet fully grown shoulders, showed his hand holding no knife, showed his face—
Eleven years old. Hand injured. Ears hanging the turquoise not taken off during the day.
His right hand gripped that black-armored person's wrist. Left hand—empty, hanging by side. His fingers were trembling. Not fear trembling, but gripping too tight, used too much force trembling.
He let go. That black-armored person stepped back one step, didn't look at Li Yuanhao, looked at his father.
Li Yuanhao turned around, facing that man.
He didn't look at me. He looked at his father.
"You are defying me?" Western Xia King's voice didn't change. Still so flat, so low. But his eyes moved slightly. Very subtle, if I wasn't this close, wouldn't notice.
Li Yuanhao didn't retreat.
"Yes."
One word. Voice very light. His lips trembled slightly when saying this word. Not fear, but—a person exerting force.
Wind stopped.
The entire camp stopped. No one moved, no one spoke, even horses stopped neighing. Those four black-armored people like four statues, even breathing inaudible.
Western Xia King looked at him. That look—not anger, not surprise. Something I couldn't quite read. Like a person looking at his own knife, finding the knife has its own thoughts.
"She makes you weak." Western Xia King said.
"Not her." Li Yuanhao said. His voice cracked on the second character, like a not-yet-fully-changed voice stuck. He cleared his throat. "It is my choice."
His back was very straight. Standing there, like a not yet fully grown tree, roots already sunk down.
Western Xia King was silent. Silent for a long time. Long enough for the moon to walk a stretch behind clouds, long enough for my legs to start going numb.
Wind came again. Blew from the grassland, making Li Yuanhao's clothes flap loudly. His hair was blown loose by wind, several thin braids resting on shoulders, turquoise swaying under moonlight.
"You want to oppose me for her?" Western Xia King asked.
Li Yuanhao didn't answer immediately.
He turned his head, looked at me. That look—not sharp, not probing, not empty. Something I had never seen on his face before. His lips pressed very tight, chin exerting force. He was enduring something.
Then he turned back, looking at his father.
"She is mine."
Three words. Voice not heavy. But heavier than a knife.
Wind stopped. This time really stopped. Even grass didn't move. Air solidified in that instant, solidified in those three words.
Western Xia King looked at him. Looked for a long time.
Then he raised his hand. Movement very slow, slow like slow-motion replay. I thought he was going to hit him. He didn't. He put his hand on Li Yuanhao's shoulder.
"Good." He said.
One word. Very light. Light like leaking from between teeth.
"Then she lives, you bear for her."
He withdrew his hand, turned and walked away. Those four black-armored people followed him away. Boots stepping on sand sound getting farther, lighter, finally disappearing in wind. Their shadows were dragged long by moonlight, like four knives sliding across the ground.
Camp became quiet again. Moon still hung in sky, unrealistically bright.
Li Yuanhao stood in place, back to me.
He didn't look back.
"Why do you want to leave?" he asked.
Voice different from before. Not that deep confrontation-with-father deep, but something lighter, thinner. Like a layer of paper, one poke and it breaks.
"I didn't want to leave." I said.
"You crossed the fence."
"I was taking a walk."
He turned to look at me. Moonlight shone on his face, showed his not yet fully grown jawline, showed those two turquoise on his ears, showed his eyes—
His eyes were red. Not crying, but—I couldn't say. Like a person enduring something for a long time, almost couldn't hold back. His eyelashes were trembling. Very light, if I wasn't this close, wouldn't notice.
"You took a walk," he said, "walked half a camp."
"Mm."
"Crossed the fence."
"Mm."
"Two more steps, you would be out."
"Mm."
"After going out?" He looked at me, "Where were you going?"
I didn't answer.
"You have nowhere to go." He said, "You have no food, no water, no horse. You can't speak Tangut, don't know the way. You don't even have a thick coat."
He was right. Every point right.
"Then why do you want to leave?" He asked again.
I looked at his eyes. Those eyes still red, but he didn't cry. He wouldn't cry. He probably hadn't cried for a very, very long time.
"Because," I said, "I don't know why I should stay here."
He looked at me.
Wind blew, cold. My fingers had already lost sensation. My ears empty, that pair of turquoise earrings didn't know where they fell.
"You stay here, because of me." He said.
Not question. Statement.
"You stay here, because you need to stay here." He looked at me, "You need someone to need you."
This sentence he said before. In the last lesson, on the day we saw each other.
"You fear you are useless." He said, "You fear not being needed."
Wind came again. Blew my skirt against my legs, cold.
"But you don't need to fear." He said, "Because—"
He paused.
"I need you."
Four words. Very light. Light like wind brushing past.
He didn't look at me. He turned around, walked toward camp.
"Go back to sleep." He said, "Class tomorrow."
He left. Walked very fast, like afraid I would call him. Moonlight shone on his back, shadow dragged long. His shoulders not yet fully grown, but his back very straight.
I stood in place, watching him walk away.
Wind blew from grassland, cold. My fingers had already lost sensation.
But my eyes were hot.
He stood there, didn't look back. Like nothing happened.
But I knew—
Just that moment, he had crossed a line.
A line he might not even know himself.
I crossed the fence, walked toward my tent. Moon followed behind me, like an eye refusing to close.
I didn't look back.
But I knew, from today on, people in this camp looking at me will be different.
Not because I am Han.
Because he chose to keep me.
In front of all reasons not to keep, he chose "I need you".
I pressed my hand to my cheek. Hand still clutching those earrings, stone edges digging into my palm.
Still cold.
But I felt, not that cold anymore.
Inside the tent, the youth sat on the fur pile.
He held his right hand before his eyes. Bandage still there, she changed it yesterday. Need to change tomorrow. He put his hand down, touched his chest. There was a piece of paper. And a board, pressed deep inside the fur pile.
He closed his eyes.
"I need you."
He said this sentence. He never said this sentence to anyone. He never knew this sentence could be so light, yet so heavy.
She heard it.
He opened his eyes, looking at the moonlight leaking through the tent top.
She said, she didn't know why she should stay here.
He didn't know why, this sentence made that place in his chest hurt a bit. Not wound hurt, but another. He couldn't describe it.
He only knew, he didn't want her to leave.
Not because she was useful. Not because she taught him to read. Not because she wasn't afraid of him.
It was—
He couldn't say.
He only knew, when she crossed that fence, his hand moved before his brain.
He chased out.
He never chased anyone.
He turned over, pressing his right hand on his chest. There was a piece of paper, and a board.
He didn't move them.
He closed his eyes.
Tomorrow, she will teach him to write "Lie".
Write better looking.
He said Tuoba Lie's handwriting was ugly. Actually not.
He just didn't want her to know, someone's handwriting was better than his.
He didn't know why he didn't want her to know.
He closed his eyes.
Moonlight shone on his face.
He fell asleep. Right hand still pressed on chest.
There was a piece of paper. Writing her name on it.
End of Chapter 9