Chapter Twelve: The Three-Year Promise

The water grass on the soft mud sways gracefully at the bottom of the stream; in the gentle ripples of the River Cam, I am content to be a blade of water grass.

Picking up a charcoal pencil, he sketched a string of small, floating duckweed on the white paper. Immediately, he quickly outlined a few small flowers, a bend of flowing water, and a fisherman sitting dazed on the bank.

Shaking his head, Zhang Qian looked out the window, where the sun shone brilliantly.

It was *Xing*, not *Qing*. He had finally figured out her name. The process, however, had been somewhat embarrassing.

Yesterday afternoon, when she had gently pulled on her horse’s reins, her cheeks flushed with the rosy glow of sunset, he had, as if possessed, blurted out: "Miss Qingqing, have you lost something?"

Cringe. Cringe to the point of no return!

All the awkwardness of his two lifetimes combined probably didn't equal that single moment yesterday.

Fortunately, she was more candid than any girl he had ever met in the twenty-first century. After a slight look of astonishment, she had nimbly jumped off her mount, shaking her head with a smile: "I dare to inform Brother Yongzhao, my name is Qingxing, not Qingqing. My uncle helped choose the name; it is said to come from the Book of Songs."

In an instant, the sunlight shimmered, and the breeze turned gentle.

"The cress—the floating cress, to the left and right we gather it. The modest, virtuous young lady, waking and sleeping, I seek her..." Lifting his pen, he wrote a few lines of the poem beside his sketch, a blissful smile spreading across his face.

Were any more words needed? Certainly not. He was a humanities student, after all; he could still recite the first classic of the Book of Songs, "The Osprey."

And so, his heart, which had wandered across two dimensions, was no longer lonely.

In truth, his earlier words hadn't been entirely wrong; she had indeed used the excuse of losing something to draw her companions and maids away before turning back.

Therefore, the time for them to be alone yesterday afternoon had been very, very short. So short that just as he had gathered the courage to hold her hand, she had already blushed, hopped back onto her mount, and vanished into the sound of calling voices coming from afar.

Did I really hold her hand yesterday? Raising his hand to look at it closely, Zhang Qian’s eyes were filled with doubt, possibility, and uncertainty.

Yet, in the palm of his hand, a lingering warmth seemed to remain.

"Three years!" He picked up his pen again and, beside the fisherman, fiercely wrote down a deadline. Then, he exhaled a long breath, his expression gradually turning grave.

Although the time they had together yesterday was short, it had been enough for him to learn a great deal.

***

The young woman’s name was Yang Qingxing, born to the Hongnong Yang clan. Her father was named Yang Ju, who served as the Governor of Shanzhou. Her grandfather, Yang Lin, had served as a grand councilor and had once held the position of Chancellor during the reign of Wu Zetian.

The Tibetan Empire had sent envoys to request a marriage alliance. The Tang Dynasty was riddled with internal decay and lacked the strength to deal with both the Tibetans and the Turks simultaneously. Thus, in April of this year, Li Xian had adopted the daughter of the Prince of Yong, Li Shouli—his grand-niece, Li Qianqian—as his foster daughter, bestowed upon her the title of Princess Jincheng, and promised her to the Tibetan King as his queen.

At the time, Princess Jincheng was only nine years old, young and frail.

To demonstrate the steadfast loyalty of the Great Tang, the Prince of Yong’s close friend, Yang Ju, had offered his own youngest daughter as a handmaiden to the princess, to be sent alongside her to the Tibetan King by Emperor Li Xian.

"Forgive me, Brother Yongzhao. It is not that I am shameless for telling my grandfather about my feelings for you without confirming them with you first," the ruby-like girl, Yang Qingxing, had said, her voice gentle yet resolute. "It is just that there is no time to waste. I had to gamble on the chance that your feelings for me are the same as mine for you!"

"I don't blame you, I truly don't. All these days, I have been guessing your thoughts, but I just couldn't be sure!" Zhang Qian’s reply at the time had been incoherent, never expecting a Tang dynasty girl to be so bold.

"My grandfather said he would exhaust every means to delay the princess’s departure for at most three years. If within these three years the Tibetans cannot control their greed and invade our borders again, the marriage will naturally be called off. At that time, I only hope you will not despise me for being past my prime!"

She was, after all, the daughter of a military family; even if she was shy, her words were resolute as iron.

"In my homeland, women cannot marry until they are twenty. Any earlier, and the law of the land would not permit it!" As if possessed, or perhaps missing a screw in his brain, Zhang Qian’s response had not been gentle at all.

Clearly, the ruby-like Yang Qingxing did not know where his homeland was, nor did she believe that any country in the world would delay a woman’s marriage for so long. Yet, she still felt the sincerity hidden behind his words.

She smiled faintly, turned toward her horse, and stood with her back to him, trying to hide the tears in her eyes. "Three years from now, if the Tibetans have restrained themselves from invading and the Imperial Court has no intention of keeping Princess Jincheng... then, Brother Yongzhao, please forgive me, for I shall have no such fortune..."

"I have been trying to find a way to break this marriage ever since the day I saw you jump onto your horse!" His words spilled out, still devoid of any gentleness. It was as if he neither understood what gentleness was nor knew how to please a girl.

Yet, in that moment, those words were more heart-stirring than any vow.

"Rest assured, three years is enough! I am the successor of the Mohist school. A past leader could block an entire nation’s army with his own strength. What is the mere Tibetan Empire? Three years from now, if anyone tries to take you from my side, I will make them see what it means to turn the heavens and the earth upside down!"

Indeed, when he said that, he had chased after her and held her hand tightly, as if he could make her feel his strength.

Her hand had gripped his back just as tightly; in an instant, her knuckles turned white, and her body trembled.

She knew that she was not as brave as she had pretended to be.

He knew that turning the world upside down would not be easy.

But some promises, once spoken, are like oaths—they will hold even if the seas dry up and the mountains crumble, never to be changed.

"Hoo—" He exhaled another long breath toward the rising sun, tucking away the memories, the happiness, and the heartache. Zhang Qian set down his pen and began to assess his assets.

***

His medicine was still being sold on consignment, but it no longer belonged to him.

The high-quality imitation watch would likely last a few more years, but aside from telling time and serving as a tradeable item, its usefulness was limited.

His small Swiss Army knife was excellent for peeling fruit or performing surgery, but using it to kill or fight would be a joke.

As for his smartphone and solar charger, judging by the length of the recent charging times, Zhang Qian realized with sobering clarity that these two "magical treasures" would likely not last three years.

"Sigh—" With another soft sigh, Zhang Qian began to understand why the old fox, Yang Lin, had always maintained an attitude of "taking three swings at the tree regardless of whether there are dates or not."

Compared to the era and the nation, everyone was as insignificant as a grain of dust.

The reason the old fox helped him was merely out of the guilt he felt toward his granddaughter. From beginning to end, what the old fox truly counted on was that the Tibetans would fail to control their greed and invade within three years, not that a grassroots, eighth-rank official like Zhang could overthrow the nation's policy of marriage alliances.

If the Tibetans invaded within three years, Princess Jincheng would naturally not need to be married off, and Yang Qingxing would regain her freedom. By then, Zhang’s position would be just right—neither too high nor too low—and the Hongnong Yang family wouldn't lose face by marrying off a granddaughter who would be considered quite old by the standards of the time.

And if the Tibetans truly controlled their greed and did not invade, the old fox would have done his part and could send his granddaughter off to the marriage carriage without guilt. For the Hongnong Yang family, even as a handmaiden, she would be marrying a king, making it a match of equal status.

"Old bastard!" He whispered a curse at his future grandfather-in-law, then grabbed the charcoal pencil and ground it fiercely against the inkstone.

The charcoal could not withstand the pressure and shattered. Zhang Qian rubbed the shards between his fingers and nodded in satisfaction.

Charcoal was easy to come by; sulfur and saltpeter could be found in any pharmacy. It was time to create the ultimate weapon. Even if he didn't use it immediately, it was better to be prepared.

At the thought of this, he looked up, intending to order his steward to buy sulfur and saltpeter under the guise of alchemy, only to see the little fatty, Ren Cong, standing at the door of the room.

"When did you get here? Do you need something?" Zhang Qian was startled, his brow furrowing instantly.

"I just arrived. Seeing you were drawing, I didn't dare to make a sound," the little fatty Ren Cong explained with a smile, completely oblivious to Zhang Qian’s annoyance, as he pointed to the white paper on the table.

"Speak if you have something to say, and don't scare me like a ghost in the future!" Knowing the little fatty was simple-minded, Zhang Qian couldn't bring himself to get angry, so he glared at him and urged him to speak.

"Brother, is your painting skill also passed down from our master?" The little fatty Ren Cong just shrank his neck, feigning fear. Then he walked in with a grin, pointing at the fisherman in the drawing, and began to pry. "What is this you've drawn, Brother? I recognize the cress and the flowers. But what is this black heap next to them? It looks like a toad! Hey, Brother, have mercy! Someone help! The senior brother is acting out of shame and trying to kill me to silence the witness—"