Bridge Across the Land

by Yvonne Wang

The rest of the Mongolian soldiers panic and go up. They see their brothers dead on the spot; they are immediately speechless—without the mastiff trainers, the Tibetan dogs will not listen to other people’s commands; they are useless objects on the battlefield that way. Examining that dark shadow, he is seriously hurt and depleted of energy. He is soaked wet, back hunched and vomiting up nothing; suddenly, he withers and tumbles.

  They agilely pull out their sabers, yelling kill and charge forward; their feet step on the pools of water so liquid splatters into floral patterns. Together, the soldiers surround him and attack him.

  Dust-like dew plunge from the sky, sobbing in woe. A vicious battle.

  The shadow suffers several consecutive cuts that go right through his stomach and chest; he is already a bloody man, but he stubbornly resists like the Lord of Death. He wields the sword and stabs ferociously as if aided by spirits. He fights a last good fight with all his might. Using his sword and bathing in red, he shouts in anger, raging with murderous violence as if an indulgent hanging waterfall that rushes down with horrifying might. His sharp blade splits intestines and the shadow is drenched in red stain; but he twists and extinguishes one before him and one after him, attacking madly and with determination—the Mongolian soldiers become cowardly and fall, one after another.

  Finally, only the obscure shadow remains standing and panting among the sea of corpses.

  “Tell me—Why would I bring back someone who will assassinate Great Khan?” Inside the stone cave, Lacson bends forward and looks oppressively; what is behind his vicious face is unpredictable but he clamors evil. His Chinese is blurred and flat, half-baked. Above Angela’s head a devilish light glitters and closes in inch by inch. Angela’s breath stops and is stuck in her throat, horror is all over her face and fear fills her eyes; she sits on the ground paralyzed.

  Lacson stands up straight all of a sudden and leers with his creepy eyes, somber expressions that appear harsh. He circles the young woman, lifting his head to scan the stone cave, he says slowly, “Do you know why I have you stay way up here in this cave, apart from others?” He pauses to meet her eyes with his, cunningly cock his head, squeezing and lifting the corners of his eyes, his tone is tortuous. With hands behind his back, he speaks slowly, “Because—were I to say that you want to assassinate Great Khan, those soldiers will not believe me and Baidar will not believe me . . . . in the end I will be slapped with the crime of assassinating the princess.”

  Angela purses her lips into one line and stares at him while knitting her brows, but her hands and feet are stone cold.

  “But—” He grinds his boots so they face each other, his features serious and frigid like craggy mountains with hovering shadows, “If I don’t take care of this, then after you murder Great Khan, they will then say that I brought trouble back to Mongolia . . . . either way it would be a crime.” He sighs and shakes his head, laughing bitterly at that moment; then immediately turns as gelid as steel. He breaths in the moisture deeply and says openly, “I am someone who cares about my rank, so the best method is—”

  The young woman looks at him despicably. Lacson bends his knees and crouches down so that he is at her eye-level in his cunning deception. He lifts his jaws and raises his eyes and slowly utters, “To tell them that the princess took things too hard and committed suicide.”

  Angela is shocked all of sudden and diffidence drains all the color from her complexion. Lightning strikes her head and muddy waves roar in her heart; it is as if mountains exploding and avalanches breaking. She rapidly bounces off the ground and runs for her life, rolling and charging toward the outside of the cave.

  Lacson trips her, his cruelty completely revealed. He suddenly plops down and strikes. He seizes her by the arm and hangs on to her forcefully, throwing her against the stone wall and the other elbow locks her throat. With the strength of a tiger that carries heavy weights, he strangles her and is overwhelmed with violence. Angela is like a baby doe, how could she be his match? She is slammed against the rock wall in pain and feels something is missing—her knife has been removed.

  Lacson draws out the shiny knife, eyes spraying viciousness; he captures the young woman and twirls her with a whoosh so that she is thrown onto the ground. He pounces forward and presses her down like a massive weight that can squeeze rocks dry and shatter steel. He grits his teeth fiercely, moving her fingers and trying to force the knife into Angela’s hand. Clenching her fist tight, he points the sharp knife towards her neck, gradually lowering it. His veins are green and swollen on his neck. Angela pushes him up with all her life; her arm resisting his raw strength and her face moves aside to avoid the dagger. She kicks with her two legs randomly, screaming like mad and resisting. The silver blade is in front of her eyes and is closing-in. Her forehead and temples are drenched in sweat, her two arms weakening and she gazes hatefully at this atrocious face.

  The danger and the suspense. Suddenly, she hears an angry roar and the gravels move and the clouds part, a shadow descends from heaven like a thunderous cannon. He knocks over Lacson with his head and with a bang, the Mongolian knife flies off and falls on the ground. Tianyin’s entire body is red and filthy; the whites of his eyes stark red like an awesome beast thirsty for blood. The dam of his emotions breaks and his is drenched scarlet like a devil on fire, more like a ghost than a human. Lacson goes cold with horror.

  Tianyin knocks over the villain and does not stop for a moment. He follows down his arm and overthrows Lacson. Rolling forward boldly, the air about him appears about to swallow summits and oceans. He leans forward and jumps, locking Lacson underneath him. The two are entangled in a battle.

  Angela grips her neck and sits up in a hurry. She lifts her head and takes in the scene. Her eyes immediately become misty and her soul boils. It’s him!

  The two lock arms and their eyes protruding and ferocious, beating on each other ruthlessly and in an embrace trip outside the cave. Lacson is suddenly riding on top but flips over when Tianyin hooks him with his foot, presses on him like a mountain and locks his neck. Struggling and breathing, Lacson tries to remove his wrist. He raises his arm to poke Tianyin’s eyes, Tianyin moves aside. Lecson twists his leg around Tianyin to knock him off balance. Lacson stomps on the ground and twists his collar and straddles over him, but a steely knee presses into his stomach. Tianyin turns his waist and whips Lacson’s face with his leg. Then Tianyin forces him down and is about to pierce him with a sword—Lacson pulls out his sling knife ready to block, but who would have known that his knife is only halfway out, the silver blade already arrives. He moves aside and raises his knife horizontally, half sheath and half blade, head to head with the clang of the sword. Tianyin is pounding with rage and presses the sword down, slicing mightily and without hesitation. The two wrestle, sharp weapons cutting at each other.

  Lacson resists with his knife and sweats profusely. Right then, he sees there are already many cuts in Tianyin’s abdomen area and the wounds are severely smashed like porridge, so he kicks with all his might. Tianyin experiences serious pain and his bloody body is suddenly all shaken up. He immediately loses his grip. Lacson then hangs on to his head and roll about two feet away. Catching a glimpse of Angela, he steps right up and raises his knife to stab her. His arm is in a straight line, power exploding through the tip of the knife.

  Angela’s eyes reflect the danger. Mouth open and blood frozen, she sits on the ground frigid and frightened, staring at the weapon charging at her. Tianyin snorts and watches nervously, hobbling along to chase after him. With an angry scream and a force to his shoulder and elbow, his sword lunges, cutting straight into Lacson’s spleen and stomach.

  The leopard-like knife is just above her brows when it suddenly freezes. Angela watches in shock at how stunned Lacson is; his mouth is open and his eyes rolled back. He stretches his hand to deliver the blade but half of a steely sword rips through his insides and comes out the other end. Blood splat
ters, spraying all over her face.

  Lacson whines and coughs up blood, venomous resentment entering his bones; his narrow eyes are filled with vengeance. He hangs on the sword, lifts his head and goes mad. He retracts his wrist and takes his blade backwards and pierces himself, vigorously thrusting the knife once more—that knife is next to the sword, cutting through Lacson’s ruptured intestines; it pierces through in reverse and spears Tianyin’s stomach with a pop.

  The two stack on top of each other; sword and knife against each other, standing in red liquid.

  Angela is terror-stricken and stares at Tianyin. She only feels that her ears are blocked and her heart is shut down. Her soul is lost and the four walls are swaying chaotically.

  Tianyin’s abdomen is already rotten and shapeless, one more cut does not make much difference. His ferocious eyes only light up as his one hand grabs Lacson’s hair and his other hand whirls and pulls out his sword, slicing Lacson’s neck. Lacson fall over with his knife from the front while sooty liquid pours, dying the stone walls red. He is dead instantaneously.

  The stone cave is suddenly quiet and the protracted battle finally ends. Tianyin immediately becomes weak and all his strength is depleted. His legs suddenly go weak and all drive dissipated. He pushes over the corpse, half open his tired eyes, shake a bit, lean against the stone wall and slide down onto the ground, collapsing.

  “Tianyin!” Angela calls him movingly, crawling over and kneeling; her heart is as if being severed. At a loss, she hangs on to the broken body with a thousand wounds, hands that are sticky red and sobbing breathlessly as if at the edge of an collapse.

  She only sees Tianyin in a black shirt soaked in purple stains breathing feebly. His face is wet with blood and he sits against the stone wall; he swallows the red blood below his ashy lips. He grabs Angela’s hand, breathing shallowly and speaking softly. His dark eyes sincere as he eagerly tells her, “Don’t kill Ögedei, don’t . . . . kill someone dearest to you . . . .”

  “No . . . .” Angela embraces his cold hands, shaking her head and sobbing. She sticks her head into his fists and sobs, “He is not someone most dear to me, he is not . . . .” She is grief-stricken and tears fall bitterly, weeping, “In my mind . . . . there is only one dad. I don’t want to be a Mongolian princess; I only want to be Dad’s daughter.”

  Tianyin is tired and rests his eyes, then he wearily opens them slowly. Injuries all over, he is still in a spreading pool of warm blood. He reaches his hand out to hold her hair, his handsome face turbid and red, smiling faintly, “Silly . . . . You . . . . are always Dad’s daughter . . . .” His sable eyes dreamy as he surveys her face, he frowns slightly and continues, “It is just that . . . . you happened to be the Mongolian princess too . . . .”

  Angela’s heart quivers listening to these words, touched by his sentiments. Something gets caught in her throat; she cries out.

  This is the first time and should be the last time that she sees him smile. Just like seeing him cry when Uncle He passed away, that was the first time and the last time for her; she watched him cry. Always Dad’s girl . . . . always . . . . she and Tianyin are always the closest. She is extremely grieved, the sorrow is unbearable as she holds onto his hands, shaking her head and sobbing, “You should not have come back . . . .”

  “No, I want to come back . . . .” Tianyin mutters as he turns his head aside weakly to get a view of what is outside the cave: the green mountain ranges and the forests in the distance, rain and fog pour down and the sky is covered with a gray blue. His eyes are colorless, as if wanting to see through the mundane world. He says lightly, “‘Where saving lives is foremost, forget the world’s situations ‘ . . . . I finally understand what it means . . . . today . . . .”

  Angela follows his glance and looks at the continuously falling rain; worries and sadness seep in, a thousand ripples of tears in the sobbing.

  Tianyin’s hands and feet grow cold and a vague pain is dull and numb; his black hair with red strands are stuck to his face. With difficulty, he gazes back into the eyes of Angela and softly reminds her, “Don’t forget, go to Hangzhou . . . .”

  She nods heavily and caresses his bloody cheek, clear tears slide down and she stubbornly utters sincere words, “I want you to go with me. We can open up a medical clinic together. Everyday . . . . we will be with Uncle He’s children . . . drinking and chatting . . . .”

  “Okay . . . .” Tianyin agrees generously and immediately, forcing a smile. He leans against the rock peacefully and says lethargically, “Then let’s go . . . .”

  Um.” Angela wipes her tears and nods with determination. She turns around and holds his arm, carrying his smashed body on her back. She feels that Tianyin has nearly lost all his blood. His muscles and bones are extremely light. She forces back her despair; she picks up the Mongolian knife and long straight sword, one step at a time, they walk down the hill.

  The drizzle rustles, the large water screen overhead is empty and the fields of forests are boundless.

  She doesn’t know how long they’ve ridden.

  The dust and rain moisten like gel, clear screens fly and disperse and wind rolls over wet pearls. The sky is gray and the earth is overgrown with weeds; seas of clouds are ashy and sinking. On the road is a lone rider skidding along, leaving only a trail of imprints. Soaring next to the wide forest are thick branches that drip green, as if to yield the road to them, grieving in silence.

  The horse mane is dabbled wet and people’s clothes are moistened. Angela takes Tianyin, riding the kidnapped horse as she rushes eastward. Water soaks her forehead and temples, her white face is at a loss and emptied out.

  She does not know where to go. She feasts her eyes on the vast yonder and sees the other end of the great earth in an endless blue. The body behind her is bloody and hollow, sadly bleak in the muscles and bones. His two hands around her waist; he closes his eyes and is barely breathing. For a long, long time, he did not utter a sound.

  But she continues to ride straight ahead. The screen of rain hazy with fog makes the mountain ranges hidden and blurry, disfiguring everything in the world. The path in the forest stretches on endlessly, the fine drizzle quietly falls into that endlessness. This scene is forever. This moment freezes in time.

  Only she carries her loved one, walking hopelessly. There is no origin and there is no destination. Almost like a tragic dream. Jade dew permeate the sky, slide and cover the corners of her eyes. She can hear that last bit of his life slipping away behind her, each bit eats away at her and there is no return.

  The mountains and rivers are desolate and sleety; the shadow of the horse moves alone; people seem small and pathetic.

  Suddenly, the hand on her waist releases and falls heavily on her thighs. Next, his head also pauses and drops at once. Bang, falling onto her shoulder like it is a pillow; not a bit of strength left. Angela stops steering the rein. She is so stunned that her pupils do not move and her body is still like a clay statue. Her mind is an utter blank.

  Tianyin . . . . left.

  In a hurry, she picks his hands up by her waist and squeezes them, trying hard to hold them together. She clutches him tight. Lowering her head, the accumulated sadness makes her entire body quiver in pain; tears of the size of beans fall and she sobs out loud. Like streams that flow down her face, her face is tragic and her cries rip the heart echo through the forest, ricocheting back and forth under a canopy of rain.

  . . . . . .

  The two are thrown off the horseback. Tianyin does a turn in the air so that he falls first on the hard gravel path. The pain sears his back and he but slightly wrinkles his brows. Angela is tied to him so has to plop on him entirely. Their eyes are in close proximity as she stares at him. Suddenly she is awe-struck—those eyes! That pair of sable eyes!

  They really are black, eyes as dusky as mine!

  . . . . . .

  Me
anwhile, Tianyin kneels by the mat and puts the overcoat on her.

  Angela is astounded. A knife of crime and a warm coat, locked in time as these two people made their moves.

  . . . . . .

  “You . . .” He swallows half of his words upon seeing Angela’s insistent eyes and fast hands. She grabs the wet towel and Tianyin immediately defends by receding as a habit, avoiding her. And yet the young woman is firm and natural; with one hand pressing on his muscle and one finger wrapped in cloth, her focuses her eyes to cautiously wipe in detail, cleverly cleaning and changing the lesion.

  . . . . . .

  Angela does not resist but sobs continuously. Leaning on his chest and clinging, she weeps sorrowfully. She protests about her disasters to someone who brought her the disasters. She keeps pouring forth her despondency so that tears stain his white shirt. She cannot stop for an extended period of time.

  In an orange twilight cast into the forest and rays of light sprinkled across the sky, there are reflections of a pair facing each other and kneeling. Gold seeps through the cracks of the woods and warmth comes late. The valley sun is weary, gentle and round, sitting overhead in a blaze. The clouds burn and heat up earth as colorful floating effulgence pervade.

  . . . . . .

  Angela speaks slowly and carefully, “Hanyuan Wang.”

  Clang, his elongated saber falls, knocking stones down to the ground.

  Tianyin loses all light to his eyes. He abates his breath with his lower jaws twitching and trembling. His frozen facade dissolves, revealing his apprehension for the first time. His rage completely evaporated. He stands rigidly and shaking; his head is a complete blank while blood rushes to his forehead. Straightaway, his mind is restless and chaotic; his bones are light and his muscles frosty.

  . . . . . .

  He sadly scrutinizes her for a long time. Resentment seems to grill him; regardless of how his face seems to pulsate with pain. He turns and walks away, kicking up and catching the sheath on the ground. He takes a deep breath to calm his emotions. Fingers white from grasping the sword and the outline of his plain clothes shakes. You cannot tell whether it is the wind moving or the person trembling.