Chapter Thirty-Five: Obsidian Radiance

The next morning, Yang Yaozong rose later than usual. The torrential rain that had raged all night had now ceased, yet the sky remained overcast, the sun nowhere to be seen.

He still felt a dull heaviness in his head upon waking. If it weren’t for the broken window in the room and the faint trace of blood on his neck, he would have been certain that everything that happened last night was merely a dream.

Yang Yaozong took out the blueprint he had drawn the previous day and checked it once more. After confirming there were no mistakes, he put it away. He remembered vaguely that he had written two poems at his desk last night, yet now the table was empty. Had he burned them himself? Frowning, his headache grew worse, so he decided not to dwell on it. He laid out a fresh sheet of paper, picked up his brush, and wrote:

Red Beans

Red beans grow in the southern land,
Each spring new branches sprout and stand.
I hope you’ll gather them, my dear,
For they evoke the deepest longing here.

He nodded, satisfied with the neatness of the script. Waiting for the ink to dry, he carefully folded the paper and tucked it into his robe.

When he opened the door, Xiaohua was already waiting outside. Seeing Yang Yaozong looking somewhat listless, she asked, “Sir, did you not rest well last night?”

Yang Yaozong nodded. “Mm, the rain and thunder were too loud. I couldn’t sleep.”

Xiaohua glanced into the room and noticed a brazier with some ashes inside. She entered, picked up the brazier, and headed out. “Sir, you must have practiced your calligraphy last night. I bet it didn’t turn out very well.” She knew Yang Yaozong’s handwriting had always been poor, and only with daily practice was it improving. At first, she used to mock his writing, saying it looked like a dragon dancing, with no order or form. It was rare for a scholar to be so unskilled with a brush. Yang Yaozong always replied that his family had been too poor to afford paper and ink to practice. After hearing this, Xiaohua had felt sorry for him, apologizing and feeling deeply that his life before coming to the Nangong Manor had been pitiful.

Stretching his limbs outside the door, Yang Yaozong said to Xiaohua as she carried out the brazier, “The window by the desk is broken and won’t open. Please find someone to repair it later.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll have it fixed once I’ve finished tidying up.” After a moment’s thought, she asked, “Are you going out today? Shouldn’t you select a horse from the stables later?”

While stretching his legs, Yang Yaozong replied, “Yes, after breakfast, come with me to the stables and help me pick a good horse.”

After breakfast in his room, Yang Yaozong noted that it was nearly si—almost nine o’clock—according to the clock Bruno had given him. He smiled to himself, appreciating the convenience of having a clock. He went to the kitchen and asked one of the young maids for six red beans and a small cloth pouch. With the paper from his poem, he folded a heart, wrapped the beans inside, and placed them in the pouch.

Once everything was ready, he headed out.

At the street corner, he happened to see Ruyi approaching from the direction of Qinhuai Avenue. She also spotted him, hurried over, and bowed. “Good morning, Mister Yang.”

Yang Yaozong smiled. “Good morning, Ruyi. Would you do me a favor and give this little pouch to your young lady?”

Ruyi accepted the pouch. “Do you have any message for her?”

Yang Yaozong nodded. “I may be staying at the palace for a while, tutoring the Crown Prince. If I have time to return to the manor, I’ll visit your young lady. There’s no need for you to come over every day in the meantime; it’s too much trouble. When I move back into the manor, we’ll speak again.”

Ruyi nodded, her cheeks flushing as she handed him a folded note. “My young lady asked me to give you this. And I’ll pass your words on to her. It’s no trouble for me, so long as my young lady is happy.”

Yang Yaozong accepted the note with a nod. “I’ll head back now. Goodbye, Ruyi.”

Ruyi smiled shyly. “Goodbye, Mister Yang!”

Back in his room, Yang Yaozong unfolded the note Ruyi had brought. It held only four delicate words: “Xiner misses you.” The handwriting was elegant. As he gazed at the words, he inhaled the scent of ink and a faint lingering fragrance, as if Xin herself had brushed the paper, and his heart was warmed.

After a while, he refolded the note and searched for a place to keep it safe. Finding nowhere suitable, he placed it in the pocket of his freshly changed robe, resolving to buy a sachet for such treasures to carry with him always.

Before long, Xiaohua had finished breakfast and came to find him. Together, they made their way to the stables.

The Nangong Manor’s stables were located in the right-side courtyard, which Yang Yaozong had never visited without Xiaohua’s guidance. This side courtyard was about the size of the rear garden and contained three spacious stables in a row. In front of the stables lay a broad training ground, and several horses were feeding from the troughs.

Yang Yaozong stopped before the first stable and observed a sturdy chestnut horse. It had a broad, strong neck, a straight back, well-defined muscles, and a glossy coat. “Xiaohua, what kind of horse is this?”

“That’s the master’s horse, a tribute steed gifted by the emperor—a Hequ horse. Master named it Thunderclap. It’s powerful but has a terrible temper, even more stubborn than most. No one but the master can ride it. Even the young lady once tried, and it reared up. When it was first brought to the palace, no one could tame it but the master, so the emperor gifted it to him, saying its temperament matched his own. The master is very fond of it, hence the name Thunderclap.”

Yang Yaozong nodded and moved to the second stable, where two men were grooming a white horse with blue speckles. It was robust, with sturdy legs, a large head, broad forehead, and deep chest. Compared to the Three Rivers breed next door, it was shorter and had stubbier legs.

Xiaohua addressed the men, “Uncle Zhong, Brother Zhong, the young master is here to choose a horse.”

Hearing her, both men emerged and bowed. The elder, whom Xiaohua had called Uncle Zhong, said, “Forgive us, sir, we didn’t know you had arrived.”

Yang Yaozong smiled. “No matter, I’m here to pick a horse for daily use. Uncle Zhong, you’ve always overseen the stables, haven’t you?”

“Yes, sir. I’ve managed the stables for over twenty years, and now my eldest son helps me with the work.”

Yang Yaozong glanced at the younger man, who appeared in his thirties—strong and honest-looking.

“What breed is the horse you were just tending?” Yang Yaozong asked.

The younger man hurried forward. “I dare not let you call me brother, sir. My name is Zhong Liang. The horse my father and I were grooming is a Mongolian warhorse. Though not tall, it is extremely enduring and has a gentle temperament. Normally, a Mongolian horse can travel sixty kilometers in four hours; this one can manage over seventy. It is one of the young lady’s mounts, named Spotted Feather.”

Yang Yaozong nodded and looked at the other horses. In the third stable, he noticed a jet-black horse standing by the rail, turning its head to look at him.

His eyes brightened with curiosity, and he approached. The horse faced him directly. It was tall, with a lustrous black coat, compact and handsome build, deep chest, prominent muscles, strong limbs, and well-defined joints. Instinctively, Yang Yaozong reached out to stroke its neck with his left hand and placed his right hand on its forehead. The horse seemed to enjoy this, pressing its head gently against his hand.

Behind him, Xiaohua, Uncle Zhong, and Zhong Liang were all stunned. After a moment, Xiaohua exclaimed, “Sir…”

Yang Yaozong continued caressing the black horse, which responded with a quiet gentleness. Without looking back, he acknowledged her, “Hm?”

“Sir, this horse is a northern breed, presented as tribute by the Tungus. The emperor then gifted it to the master. Its temperament is even fiercer than Thunderclap’s. When the master tried to train it, he nearly fell. It’s gentle enough with the young lady but won’t let her ride. They tried every method, but to no avail, even after they left for another campaign. The horse has suffered much, endured many lashes, but its wildness has not diminished. Yet, with you, sir, it seems quite docile. I wonder, though, how skilled you are at riding—would you like to try?”

Yang Yaozong nodded. “Alright, but my riding skills aren’t great. Uncle Zhong, could you ready the saddle, stirrups, and bridle for me first?”

Before long, Uncle Zhong had the horse equipped and led it over. Yang Yaozong stroked the mane; the horse pawed the ground and tossed its head.

“Are you inviting me to ride?” Yang Yaozong laughed. “Very well!”

He grasped the reins, placed his foot in the stirrup, and swung himself onto the horse’s back. The horse shifted a few steps, then suddenly shot forward at a speed that left Yang Yaozong wide-eyed. Had he not clutched the reins tightly, he’d have been thrown off.

The horse dashed to the courtyard wall, made a sharp turn, then galloped around the training ground. As it ran, its mane streamed in the wind, and though the ride was bumpy, the sensation was exhilarating—reminiscent of driving a sports car in his previous life. The horse seemed to look after him, keeping the saddle snug beneath him to prevent being jostled off.

After several laps, Yang Yaozong gradually loosened the reins, and the horse slowed to a stop before Xiaohua and the others. Suddenly, the horse neighed loudly, reared up on its hind legs, lifting its forelegs high, body straight as a line. Yang Yaozong was startled, clamping his legs tightly around the horse, bracing his feet in the stirrups, and gripping the reins for dear life.

The onlookers were terrified, but the horse soon stood calmly again, without further agitation.

Yang Yaozong let out a hearty laugh, stroked the horse’s neck, and dismounted.

Xiaohua hurried to his side, her face scrunched up, eyes reddened with fright. “Sir, this horse is far too wild. Please choose another.”

Yang Yaozong laughed again. “This is a once-in-a-century steed—spirited and intelligent, a perfect match for me!”

He turned to Uncle Zhong. “Uncle Zhong, I’ll take this one. I’ll name it...”

He walked to the horse’s side, gently stroking its mane. “I’ll call you Black Radiance. Black for your coat, Radiance for your brilliance, as dazzling as sunlight. Do you like it?”

It seemed to understand, nodding, pawing the ground, then dashing off to circle the arena twice more. With head held high and forelegs raised, it neighed, as if about to leap into the air, then returned and nuzzled Yang Yaozong’s arm.

Yang Yaozong’s spirits soared as he gazed at the black horse, caressing its mane. “Black Radiance, Black Radiance, from now on, you are my Black Radiance!”