White Horse Neighing in the West Wind - Chapter 8

Li Wenxiu thought to herself, “He and she must be especially happy today, so much noise, so much joy.” The “he” in her heart could only be one person. Naturally, Supu. And the “she” was that walking flower, Aman.

But this time Li Wenxiu guessed wrong. Supu and Aman were not especially happy. They were especially tense.

Beside the bonfire, Supu was wrestling with a lean, tall young man. This was the most important event of the festival, and the wrestling champion would receive three prizes: a fine horse, a fat sheep, and a beautiful woven blanket.

Supu had already beaten four champions in a row. The tall young man was called Sangser, Supu’s good friend, but a friend who meant to settle victory and defeat between them. For he too had long been in love with that walking flower. Such a beautiful face, such a graceful figure, such clever hands, who would not love her? Sangser knew well that Supu and Aman had been close since childhood. But he was a stubborn, proud young man. On the grassland, whoever’s horse was swiftest, whoever’s strength was greatest, that man held the advantage in all things. He had told himself for a long time: “If I can beat Supu in an open contest, Aman will love me.” For three years he had trained hard at wrestling and bladework. His shifu was none other than Aman’s father, Che’erku.

As for Supu’s martial skill, that, of course, had been taught directly by his father.

The two young men locked together. Suddenly Sangser’s shoulder took a heavy blow. He stumbled backwards, but as he fell, his right foot hooked out, and Supu toppled with him. Both sprang up at once. Two pairs of eyes locked. They circled left and right, searching for a gap in the other’s guard, neither daring to strike first.

Su Luke sat to one side watching, his palms slick with sweat, crying out, “What a pity, what a pity!”

Che’erku’s feelings were harder to name. He knew his daughter’s heart. Even if Sangser won, Aman would still prefer Supu, might even prefer him all the more for it. But Sangser was his student, and this contest was like a match between himself and Su Luke, “the first warrior of the Kazakhs.” If his student could beat Su Luke’s son, what glory that would be! The story would spread across a thousand li of grassland. Of course, Aman would be miserable for a long while afterwards, but never mind that. He still hoped Sangser would win, even though Supu was a good lad, and he had always been fond of him.

Around the bonfire the crowd shouted encouragement for the two young men. It was a contest between evenly matched opponents. Supu was strong and powerful, Sangser quicker on his feet. Who would finally prevail, no one could say.

Sangser dodged east, slipped west. Supu grabbed for a hold again and again, and every time Sangser twisted clear. The shouts of the young men and women rose louder and louder. “Supu, quickly, quickly!”

“Sangser, counter-attack! Stop running about.”

“Aiya, Supu’s fallen!”

“No matter, throw him down.”

The voices carried far across the grassland. Li Wenxiu faintly heard the crowd calling “Supu, Supu.”

She wondered, “Why is everyone calling Supu’s name?” So she rode her white horse toward the sound. Behind a great tree she saw Supu grappling with Sangser while the onlookers cheered with delight. Then, by the firelight, she caught sight of Aman’s face, a face flickering with concern and excitement, eyes glistening, anxious one moment, joyful the next. Li Wenxiu had never seen Aman so clearly before. She thought, “So this is how much she loves Supu.”

All at once the crowd gave a great shout. Supu and Sangser had both gone down. Through the wall of people, Li Wenxiu could not see the two fighters on the ground. But from the crowd’s cries she could tell: now Supu had flipped on top, now Sangser had pinned him down again. Li Wenxiu’s own palms were wet with sweat. Because she could not see the two struggling below, her anxiety only grew. Suddenly all the shouting stopped. Li Wenxiu heard clearly the ragged breathing of the two combatants. Then she saw one person rise, swaying unsteadily. The crowd roared, “Supu, Supu!”

Aman pushed into the ring and seized Supu’s hand.

Li Wenxiu felt happy and desolate at the same time. She turned her horse’s head and rode slowly away. The crowd surrounded Supu. No one noticed her.

She let go of the reins and let the white horse wander out across the sand as it pleased. She did not know how long she had been riding when she realised the white horse had reached the edge of the grassland. Beyond lay the Gobi Desert. She scolded softly, “Why did you bring me here?” Just then, two riders appeared on the desert, and then two more. In the moonlight she could just make out that the riders were dressed as Han Chinese, long dao in their hands.

Li Wenxiu started. “Could they be Han bandits?” In that moment of hesitation she heard one of them shout, “The white horse, the white horse!”

They spurred their horses toward her, shouting again, “Stop! Stop!”

Li Wenxiu cried, “Run!” and wheeled her horse back the way she had come. But she heard the rapid drum of hooves, and more riders were cutting her off ahead. East, south, north, enemies blocked three sides. She had no time to think. She could only urge her horse west at full gallop.

But westward lay the endless desert.

When she was small, Supu had told her about the ghosts of the great desert. No one who entered the desert came out alive. No, even as a ghost they could not escape. Once inside, you walked and walked, always in circles, never finding the way out. And then suddenly you would see footprints in the sand ahead of you, and your heart would leap with joy, you had found the path! You would follow those footprints, walking and walking, until at last you understood: the footprints were your own. You had been walking in circles all along. Those who died in the great desert found no rest even in death. They could not enter the paradise of heaven, for Allah did not watch over them. Instead their feet could never stop. They must circle the desert for a thousand years, ten thousand years, day and night, and never rest.

Li Wenxiu had once asked Old Man Ji whether the desert was truly so terrible, whether once you entered you could never come out again. When Old Man Ji heard the question, the muscles in his face had twitched, contorting into an expression of extreme horror. His eyes darted toward the window, as though he had seen a ghost himself. Li Wenxiu had never seen him so frightened. She had not dared to ask again, thinking the stories must be true, and perhaps Grandpa Ji had seen those ghosts himself.

She rode the white horse at a wild gallop. Before her, yellow sand stretched to infinity, desert without end. She thought of the ghosts who circled there forever, and her fear grew. Behind her, the bandits galloped in pursuit. She thought of Papa and Mama, of Supu’s mother and brother, knowing that if those bandits caught her, there would be death, or worse than death. But if she entered the great desert, even as a ghost she would find no peace. She wanted to pull the reins and run no more. She looked back. The Kazakh tents and the green grassland had long since vanished. Two of the bandits had fallen behind, but still five came on, shouting, pressing close. She heard their rough cries, thick with joy and excitement: “It’s the white horse, no mistake! Catch her, catch her!”

The hatred she had buried in her heart for so many years blazed up in a single moment. “Papa and Mama were killed by them. I’ll lead them into the great desert and we’ll perish together. One life of mine for five bandits. Anyway… anyway… living in this world holds no joy for me.” Tears filled her eyes. Her heart wavered no more, and she drove the white horse racing westward.

***

These were the men from Huo Yuanlong and Chen Dahai’s armed escort. They had tracked White Horse Li San and his wife all the way to the Western Regions. They killed the Li couple, but the little girl vanished without a trace. They knew for certain that Li San had obtained the map to the Gaochang Labyrinth.¹ The map was nowhere on the couple’s bodies, so it must be with the girl. The Gaochang Labyrinth held treasures beyond counting, and not one man in the Jinwei Armed Escort was willing to give up. They loitered about the region, searching everywhere for the girl. That loitering stretched into ten years. They did no honest work. Relying on their martial skill, they had the herdsmen of the grassland tend their cattle, sheep, camels, and horses. They drew their dao when they wanted something: kill, burn, rob, rape…

Ten years of searching, and they never stopped. But the grassland stretched a thousand li, where could they possibly look? Perhaps the little girl had long since died, her bones turned to ash. Still, being bandits on the grassland was free and easy work, and far more carefree than running an escort in the Central Plains. Why go back?

Sometimes, when they spoke of the Gaochang Labyrinth’s treasures, they spoke of White Horse Li San’s daughter too. Even if the girl hadn’t died, she’d have grown up by now, unrecognisable. Only the white horse would stay the same. A horse so tall, so pure white, you could spot it from a great distance. But suppose the white horse was dead too? A horse’s life was far shorter than a man’s. Day by day the time slipped past. Long ago, everyone had given up hope.

Who could have imagined that suddenly, there it was. The white horse! No mistake at all.

Footnotes

1. 高昌 – Gāochāng. Ancient kingdom on the northern edge of the Taklamakan Desert, near modern Turpan. Its ruins include the Gaochang Labyrinth, legendary underground passages said to hold treasures from the Tang dynasty. ↩