Chapter Fifty-Nine: A Twist in the Road

“Friends?” Zhang Juntao sat back in his seat, somewhat puzzled.

“Yes, friends,” Li Wenyuan replied with a smile.

The two of them sat at the round table in the private room, drinking tea and enjoying fruits and pastries as they chatted idly. After a short while, there was a knock at the door. The attendant glanced outside, then turned to look at Li Wenyuan, who nodded in assent, signaling for the person at the door to be let in.

With Li Wenyuan’s permission, the attendant brought the man inside, and they sat down at the other end of the table. Zhang Juntao focused his gaze and recognized the newcomer—it was none other than Old Jia, the one who had bid against Li Wenyuan downstairs. He found this somewhat surprising; wasn’t this the very man who had competed with Li Wenyuan for the slave girl? Why had he come here now?

Old Jia gave an awkward smile and said, “My friend, I got carried away bidding against you just now. I don’t actually have that much cash on hand. How about this: I’ll let you take it for your price of a thousand taels of gold, and I’ll cover the difference. Let’s be friends, shall we?”

Li Wenyuan snorted coldly. “Hmph, I thought you were a seasoned businessman—how could you do something so foolish? Or do I look like a naive fool to you?”

Old Jia tried to keep up his smile, but after being put down so harshly by Li Wenyuan, he couldn’t quite keep his composure. He scowled and said, “You can buy or not as you please, but there’s no need to be so cutting with your words.”

Li Wenyuan sneered, “Cutting? Aren’t you in league with Old Liu, who’s eavesdropping outside right now? You two thought you were clever, driving up the price to show off before the guests, and when you saw me join in, you assumed I was a fat sheep to be slaughtered. Now, unwilling to give up your commission, you come begging to transfer the deal to me. Did I say anything wrong? The final bidder before your collusion offered eight thousand taels—I’ll pay that, not a coin more.”

Old Jia’s expression flickered. After a long silence, he finally said bitterly, “Fine. Since you’ve seen through us, I have nothing more to say. Today’s favor, we brothers will remember.”

The attendant immediately called in the auction house staff to handle the paperwork. The transaction was quickly settled; both money and goods changed hands, and Old Jia and Old Liu took their payment and left. Li Wenyuan signaled to Zhang Juntao and the scout, then followed the auction house staff to the back to see the slave girl, Aili, whom he’d just won. Zhang Juntao and the scout understood the gesture clearly—Li Wenyuan wanted those two merchants eliminated. Zhang Juntao knew Li Wenyuan’s character well: he never left loose ends, believing, as he often said, that only by strangling threats in the cradle could one survive long. The two exchanged glances, thinking that those fools had brought this on themselves, and quietly gathered their things to follow the two men out of the city.

Meanwhile, Li Wenyuan arrived at the rear and found Aili. She was sitting on a wooden bench, her feet chained to a pillar nearby. Her clothing was thin, and the brazier in the room was barely lit. Unable to withstand the desert chill at night, she sat there shivering, a pitiful sight.

Li Wenyuan took off his white wolf-fur cloak and draped it over Aili’s shoulders, then sat down and pulled the trunk closer. He pointed at the trunk, then at her, silently asking, “Is this yours?”

Aili nodded. Li Wenyuan opened the trunk and casually took out a book, flipping through it. The text was all in Latin characters. He frowned; in ancient times, the empire known as Great Qin referred to Rome, but now was the era of Great Sui, the Eastern Roman Empire, where Latin and Greek were prevalent. He remembered a little from university lectures, but not much.

After racking his brains for a while, Li Wenyuan asked awkwardly in halting Greek, “Are you alright?”

Aili didn’t respond. He shook his head, considered the grammar and phrasing, and then tried in Latin, “Are you alright?”

This time, Aili seemed to understand and nodded.

Delighted, Li Wenyuan struggled to say, “Do you speak Han?” Suspecting she might not understand the term “Han,” he tried a few everyday phrases.

Aili shook her head.

“Can you teach me your language? I want to communicate with you,” Li Wenyuan said with difficulty.

Aili nodded.

“Come with me. You—free,” Li Wenyuan explained, stumbling over his words, as he unlocked the chain on her foot and helped her up to sit on the chair.

“Gladius,” Aili said, pointing to the sword at Li Wenyuan’s waist.

Li Wenyuan drew the sword and handed it to her. “Gladius—is this it?”

Aili nodded, taking the sword in one hand. “Heavy infantry,” she said.

Li Wenyuan understood this historical term and shook his head. “Not heavy infantry—everyone has one.”

Aili tilted her head, half-understanding, staring at him. Just then, footsteps sounded outside—the return of Zhang Juntao and the scout. Zhang Juntao placed a large bundle on the table and said, “Those two’s horses were fast; they almost made it back to Wuwei County.”

Li Wenyuan laughed. “But you still caught up. And the men?”

Zhang Juntao gestured toward the two cloth sacks in the scout’s hands. Blood, dark and thick, dripped steadily from them. The scout, seeing Li Wenyuan watching him, stepped forward, placed the sacks on the table, and opened them. Inside were the heads of Old Jia and Old Liu, their eyes wide open as if refusing to die in peace.

At that moment, Aili suddenly raised Li Wenyuan’s sword and hacked at the two heads on the table, smashing them into a bloody pulp. Only when she was done did she drop the sword, crouching and hugging her knees as she wept.

Li Wenyuan pulled Zhang Juntao aside and whispered, “Now’s your chance, go quickly.”

Zhang Juntao, usually so decisive, hesitated at this critical moment. Li Wenyuan continued in a low voice, “Women of the Empire are forthright—more so even than the steppe women. If you want her heart, this is your only chance. If you don’t go, I will.”

Only then did Zhang Juntao walk over, crouch beside Aili, and gently stroke her hair. Aili flung herself into his arms, sobbing even harder.

Li Wenyuan, meanwhile, picked up the sword, pushed the gore to one side, and carefully examined the blade marks on the table. He silently praised her skill—a true swordswoman. Though her blows had seemed wild with grief and rage, she had barely scratched the surface, leaving only a few faint lines.