Chapter Ten: The Pursuers

For a long moment, Princess Huairou’s cheeks remained flushed as she finally asked, “What did you just see?”
“What do you want me to have seen?” Yang Lian replied coolly, a faint, ambiguous smile on his face.
Princess Huairou’s breath caught in her throat; she was at a loss for words. She knew perfectly well that Yang Lian must have seen something, but how could a young woman possibly bring up such a matter? And then Yang Lian, with his shameless question, left her even more exasperated. She couldn’t exactly ask, “Did you see my chest?” Though she was willful, she was still a young maiden, not without a sense of propriety.
Turning away, Yang Lian focused on urging the horse forward. Those men from Wu and Yue would surely catch up soon, and he was no martial arts master. If they didn’t hurry, they might as well be waiting for death. The horse’s hooves thundered down the official road, causing travelers to scatter in alarm, terrified of being hit by the carriage.
After a pause, Princess Huairou broke the silence. “Hey, what’s your name?”
Yang Lian ignored her, continuing to drive the carriage.
Princess Huairou bit her lip and edged closer. “I’m Li Yushuang, Princess Huairou,” she announced. Seeing that Yang Lian did not reply, she tried again, “Hey, are you a block of wood? I’m talking to you! How can you ignore me?”
She muttered and grumbled for a long while, but Yang Lian didn't say a word, truly as unresponsive as a wooden figure. Furious, Princess Huairou stepped forward and punched Yang Lian with her delicate fists. Although a young lady’s blows were not painful, she happened to strike his arm, jerking the reins and slowing the horse. The carriage immediately jolted and rattled.
“Hurry up and tell me who you are!” Princess Huairou demanded, clutching the carriage for balance. She was outraged—how could this man treat her like this?
Yang Lian urged the horse to a halt, then turned to look at her. “You’re called Li Yushuang?”
“That’s right, I am Li Yushuang!” she replied.
Yang Lian fell silent for a moment, and from deep within his memory, a vision of a sweet, adorable little girl surfaced. Who could have imagined that the cute child from before would grow up to become so willful, so changed from what she once was? Setting aside their roles as ruler and subject, even in terms of seniority, this Princess Huairou was a generation below him and should call him ‘Uncle’.
Seeing his silence, Princess Huairou thought he was awed by her identity. Placing her hands on her hips, she declared, “This time, you’ve saved me; you’ll be greatly rewarded. When I tell my father, he’ll definitely appoint you to a high office!”
She expected her words to earn heartfelt gratitude, perhaps even a kneeling thanks. Instead, Yang Lian’s lips curled into a skeptical smile. “Is that so?”
“He actually doubts me!” Princess Huairou fumed inwardly, feeling highly displeased. She shot Yang Lian a contemptuous glance. “Why wouldn’t you believe me?”
“I do. Why wouldn’t I?” Yang Lian replied with a slight smile, saying nothing more, and turned back to the reins.
“You!” Princess Huairou was beside herself with anger. She marched over and grabbed his hand. “Why don’t you believe me? On what grounds?”
“I just said I did,” Yang Lian answered.
“I don’t believe you! I can tell you’re lying just by your face.” Princess Huairou covered her ears with her hands in protest.
Yang Lian was at a loss for words. No matter how times change, women always seem to share certain traits.
“Don’t go! I want to make myself clear!” Princess Huairou tugged at his hand, trying to pull him into the carriage.

Yang Lian’s smile faded. Did she not realize how dangerous things still were? Although he had managed to wound the third of their pursuers, the first and second would soon be upon them. They’d only traveled about ten miles—not nearly far enough to be safe. The enemy could catch up any moment, and then things would be dire indeed.
Without another word, Yang Lian stood up and, without warning, hoisted Princess Huairou over his shoulder. She cried out in fright, thinking he meant to commit some vile act like the third pursuer had tried, and pounded his shoulder with her fists. “Put me down at once! Or I’ll tell my father and have you exiled to the borderlands!”
Still unsatisfied, she added, “No—have your entire family executed! Wipe them out to the last!”
In that moment, a flood of memories swept through Yang Lian’s mind—the uncle Yang Wo, murdered by Xu Wen; the puppet second uncle Yang Longyan, who died despondent; the third uncle Yang Meng, executed by Zhou Hongzuo; his father Yang Pu, poisoned by Li Bian. His father had been only thirty-eight, in the prime of his life as emperor.
And then there was himself, likewise poisoned by Li Bian. If not for the fisherman who rescued him, and the loyal servant who risked his life to escort him, Yang Lian would have been long dead.
Yang Lian reached out and landed three sharp smacks on Princess Huairou’s backside—smack, smack, smack! The blows left her shocked and furious. She was of noble birth, cherished by both her father and the emperor, made a princess at such a young age—an honor not granted to most royal daughters.
In the palace, she was a favored jewel. Not only the servants, but even the consorts would try to curry favor with her, hoping she’d speak well of them to the emperor. Who didn’t try to ingratiate themselves with her?
Yet this man not only ignored her, he dared to strike her—and in such a shameful place. She was, after all, a maiden. Her cheeks flushed red as if they might drip. She struggled and cursed, “Hit me again and I’ll have you drawn and quartered! No, thrown into boiling oil and fed to the dogs!”
Yang Lian did not respond, continuing to smack her. He had to admit, though she was young, she was quite plump—there was a pleasing sense of satisfaction in the act, and he found it hard to stop.
At first, Princess Huairou screamed and scolded, but eventually pain overcame her anger. She sobbed and fell silent. Yang Lian set her down. “Behave yourself, and I won’t have to hit you again.”
Princess Huairou lowered her head, saying nothing, seemingly subdued.
Satisfied, Yang Lian resumed driving the carriage toward Henglin Town. After another mile or two, he suddenly felt a chill at his back. Just as he was about to turn, Princess Huairou’s cold voice sounded: “Don’t turn around. If you do, I’ll kill you.”
Yang Lian flicked the reins, stopping the carriage. Without looking back, he asked, “My dear little aunt, what do you want now?” He felt a pounding headache. Rescuing her was feeling more and more like a mistake—a real burden.
Princess Huairou smiled triumphantly. “Now you see how formidable I am. Be honest—what’s your name?”
“My name is Yang Lian,” he replied coolly. There was no point using a false name; now that he’d saved her, his identity would come out sooner or later.
“What?!” Princess Huairou shrieked, but before she could react, Yang Lian’s hand shot out, seized her delicate wrist, and snatched the dagger from her grasp.
“You tricked me!” she shouted furiously.
Yang Lian examined the dagger, noting the tiny characters engraved on its surface—clearly a personal belonging of the girl. “I’m confiscating this,” he said, tucking it into his robe.
“How dare you take my things!” Princess Huairou protested, reaching to grab it back.
Yang Lian raised his hand, a mischievous grin on his lips. “Is your backside itching for another beating?” He feigned a motion to strike, making Princess Huairou shrink back, hands over her rear, the pain still vivid. She glared at him, torn between anger and fear—angry that he was so unyielding, afraid he might hit her again.
“Behave yourself. I don’t want to get rough. We’re still many miles from Changzhou, and those bandits could catch up at any moment. If you’d rather be sold to a brothel, you’re welcome to stay,” Yang Lian said with a wicked grin.

At his words, Princess Huairou remembered how close she’d come to disaster. If not for Yang Lian, she would have lost everything. Her gratitude toward him grew, and she fell silent, bowing her head and quietly taking her seat in the carriage.
Seeing her finally docile, Yang Lian climbed back up and drove on, not noticing the girl behind him staring dazedly at his back. After another two or three miles, urgent shouts rang out behind them: “Little thief, stop right there!”
Yang Lian did not look back—there was no need. Princess Huairou lifted the curtain to peer out, then shrieked in terror, “Quick, hurry, they’re coming!” She had no desire to be caught and sold to a brothel.
But without her urging, Yang Lian was already lashing the horses fiercely. The carriage rattled wildly down the road, scattering travelers in its wake.
Princess Huairou became like a little herald, constantly reporting their pursuers’ positions. Yang Lian didn’t need to turn around; her updates told him everything he needed to know. The chase continued for another couple of miles, when suddenly the horse let out a mournful cry—its front hooves had plunged into a hole. There was a sickening crack, both forelegs broken.
Driven by momentum, the carriage lurched forward a few more steps, then shattered with a crash. The wheels spun off and rolled away.
At the instant the horse collapsed, Yang Lian leapt clear, rolling to absorb the force and escaping unharmed. Princess Huairou, however, was not so fortunate. Her delicate hands were scraped and bleeding, a ghastly sight.
But she didn’t cry. She was too stunned, lying motionless on the ground, bewildered. She looked nothing like a princess now—her hair disheveled, clothes in disarray, her skirt torn to reveal a slender, white leg, strangely alluring.
Yang Lian cast a glance behind him, then acted without hesitation. Grabbing Princess Huairou, he barked, “Come on!” and pulled her forward at a stumbling run.
Ahead was a low rise, thick with forest—a good place to hide. Yang Lian dragged her along for a few steps before she cried out and fell. She was small, her stride limited, and now her knee was scraped and bleeding, pain welling tears in her eyes.
“Can you walk?” Yang Lian asked.
“It hurts!” Princess Huairou gasped.
Without delay, Yang Lian crouched down. “Climb on, I’ll carry you.”
“What?” Princess Huairou was startled.
“No time for questions—they’re almost here. If you don’t want to die, get on!” he barked.
Princess Huairou tried to stand, but her knee gave way beneath her. She fell twice, realizing the injury was more than a surface wound—she couldn’t walk at all.
Without another word, Yang Lian seized her hand and lifted her into his arms, sprinting for the woods.
The wind howled in Princess Huairou’s ears. She buried her face in Yang Lian’s chest and, for some reason, despite his sternness and the intimidating scar across his face, she felt an unexpected sense of safety in his arms. Unconsciously, she clung tighter to his clothes.

PS: A quick note—some readers have said they dislike the fusion of martial arts and history in this story. Here’s a brief explanation: because the setting is the Five Dynasties, an unusually chaotic era, the protagonist must have the martial strength to contend for power. But rest assured, things won’t be exaggerated; if you see techniques like the “Sun Finger” or “Dragon-Subduing Palm,” let me know and I’ll fix it! Please keep reading with an open mind—I promise this book will satisfy you. Lastly, let me recommend my earlier novel, “Shaking the Tang,” available first on Creation and also readable at Qidian Book House. Thank you all for your support!