Shu Nuan sat in a carriage with her small blood-stained hands chained together. The little girl’s head was slightly lowered, and her long eyelashes trembled. Her mind was abuzz with thoughts of an incredible encounter.
In the midst of the war, she had knelt in front of his horse. Flustered and afraid, she had looked up to beg him to take her in.
At that time, she had not known the identity of the rider, only that he had been leading the Beiguo Army home in triumph. Behind him the Beiguo flag had been flying, and behind that, smoke had surged towards the heavens.
Shu Nuan had been captured along with the concubines and palace maids, all of whom had been forced to follow behind the troops. A long journey in freezing weather had followed, with the cold chains all the while scratching their hands and feet.
All they had known was that the captives would be branded as slaves, to be rewarded to the Beiguo soldiers upon return.
So along the way, many prisoners had discussed which general would be a good one to follow. After all, if they got the chance to follow a general, even becoming a simple concubine would be a fortunate outcome. Being sold as a slave could never result in something good.
Although the country had died, the people had to live on. Their freedom had been taken away, and fear and uneasiness filled their hearts. Perhaps the truest sign of enslavement was that the people dared not even think about forming a grudge, let alone acting on one.
When the army unit had stopped to take a rest, she had used the opportunity to take care of some “unladylike matters”, almost getting run over by a raging red steed in the process. Scared, she hadn’t even dared look up to see who the rider had been.
Thump
Shu Nuan had thrown herself on her knees, and softly spoken words the snowstorm had threatened to hide.
“General, please take me in!”
The rider had calmly taken a sip of wine while holding no intention to dismount. Upon hearing the soft voice he had looked at the girl kneeling beneath his steed, with her shivering form covered in bloody rags. Looking at her snow-covered face, he had been able to see how very scared she had been.
Then two soldiers had come to take her away, but Sheng Qianmo had stopped them.
“Let her go,” he had ordered.
The soldiers had hesitated for a moment before letting the girl go.
Sheng Qianmo had looked at the girl kneeling on the ground, and she had looked back up while trembling with fear and cold. Frost and snow had continued falling on her disheveled head of hair. The clothing on her chest had torn during the travel. Looked at from afar, proverbial flowers seemed to bloom around the scene of a kneeling little girl meeting the gaze of an indifferent man seated high above her. She had looked at him as one looks at a saviour, reverently, with her head tilted back. Her eyelids had been flushed pink by the cold wind, and two quivering black pearls had conveyed to him her uneasiness.
What had interested Sheng Qianmo was a tiny tear mole at the corner of her right eye.
Although the girl’s small face had been dirty, her eyes had been like dewy flowers in full bloom, with a tear mole printed beneath the right one.
“General, please save me! I don’t want to be a slave to anyone else…”
Her voice had been weak and quivering like a kite barely holding onto its string: fragile, but pleasant to experience. Yet even these words like water droplets had caused ripples in his heart.
Sheng Qianmo had dismounted his horse, looked calmly down at the girl at his feet and uttered in a low voice, “Will you be my slave?”