Nanman (6)
"Please, we beg of you!!"
"Please, you have to help her!!"
The bronze-skinned sisters wept buckets, tears and snot alike, as they pleaded with me over and over.
Was Zhurong truly that precious to them? At any rate, it was such a jarring sight that all I could do was nod along in a daze.
"Well... I'll do everything in my power, so stop crying."
"Yes, sir!"
At my words, Meng Huo and Meng You sniffled hard and did their utmost to choke down their sobs. Was this really the same Meng Huo who had shouted so defiantly even as my prisoner? She hadn't seemed afraid of death itself, but the thought of losing someone dear to her frightened her more than anything.
Rising from my seat, I said, "First, let's have a look at her condition. Where is Zhurong?"
"This way! Right this way!"
At my words, Meng Huo sprang into motion, nimbly leading the way. And so, following her through the halls of Sanjiang Castle, I soon found myself standing before a building that even one glance said was fit for a person of high standing.
"Th-this way! Over here!"
Meng Huo, guiding me along, flailed her arms impatiently in front of the wooden building as though every second were a matter of life and death. Hold on—we had been walking at exactly the same stride. When did she get all the way over there?
"Here! It's here!"
Meng You had somehow appeared at her sister's side, waving in tandem, and the two of them proved themselves true daughters of the Nanman, moving with remarkable ease across the jungle and hill country. Watching their frantic gestures, I made my way to Zhurong with a faint knot of worry forming in my chest.
"......"
Revealed amid the bitter scent of medicinal herbs, Zhurong's condition was plainly dire even at a glance. She lay unconscious, drenched in cold sweat—was she not at the point where her breath could fail her at any moment?
Meng Huo, who had led me here, spoke again in a voice thick with tears. "She was perfectly fine just yesterday..."
"......"
Perfectly fine, she says... There was a slight catch to that claim. Zhurong had been gravely wounded from the very moment I first took her captive.
Even Sun Jian, the Tiger of Jiangdong, had nearly died screaming from an arrow loosed by Liu Biao's army—so what of Zhurong, struck again and again by arrows from that Lü Bu? If anything, it was precisely because she was among the hardiest of the sturdy Nanman, a woman of exceptional martial strength, that she had clung to life this long. Had it been me, I'd have crumpled with a yelp and died the instant an arrow found me.
Though I knew nothing of medicine, even I could tell that Zhurong's state was bad. I deliberated for a moment, then gave an order to a nearby soldier. "Summon Zhang Ye—Zhang Jue, that is."
"At once!"
The soldier vanished at my command, and before long a woman with brown hair appeared.
"You called for me?"
"I did."
Ever since her victory over King Mulu, Zhang Jue had developed a personal interest in the subject and had been exploring everything unusual about the Nanman. She showed particular fascination with their history and customs—and above all, with the sorcery King Mulu had wielded. She had unraveled that sorcery in the span of a few exchanged words, but a brand-new brand of magic had apparently piqued her curiosity all the same.
"I'm sorry to pull you away when you're busy, but could you take a look at Zhurong?"
"Of course. Gladly."
Zhang Jue smiled at my request. "I've been tending the wounded whenever I have a spare moment, so this much is hardly a burden."
Even here, Zhang Jue was carrying on her work as a physician. Researching her materials, treating the sick—she truly never stopped moving.
"Might I ask everyone to step outside for a moment?"
"...Huh?"
When Meng Huo voiced her confusion, Zhang Jue explained in a calm voice. "Did Lady Zhang Liao not tell you?"
"......"
"If her wounds have indeed festered, it will be a very difficult sight to bear."
Ah... that made sense, more or less. High heat, high humidity—an environment where every manner of microorganism thrived. If a wound had gone bad in conditions like these, the odds that it was infected were all but certain. Skin darkening to a bruised purple around the wound was not a pretty thing to look at; even a bystander would take one glance and think it must hurt beyond belief.
Admittedly, the idea that hygiene mattered in treating wounds would not take root for another thousand years and more... but following that thought to its end, I couldn't help feeling a twinge of unease. Would the person to whom I had sent that letter actually arrive in time? The distance from Luoyang to the Nanman was vast and the roads treacherous; even at the fastest pace, it would take a good month. It wasn't that I doubted Zhang Jue's skill—but to treat Zhurong properly now, I needed that person.
"Too many people in the room could cause harm. Please wait calmly outside."
"R-right..."
"Okay..."
Ox-stubborn as the Meng sisters were, even they could not defy a physician's word, it seemed. Watching Meng Huo and Meng You file out of the room, I turned to Zhang Jue. "I'm counting on you."
"Yes."
Hearing that calm reply, I too left the room, following Meng Huo out.
"Uuuugh... I'm scared..."
"She'll be fine, big sis! Don't be scared!"
"Says the one trembling like a leaf herself."
Blonde, tanned delinquents... The slang term for the type suited these two sisters to a T; they kept circling the same patch of ground, their anxiety on full display.
Then Meng Huo closed the distance on me and asked, "General-in-Chief! Ah—no, King! Zhurong really will be all right, won't she?!"
"......"
King? Of all titles, do not use that one. Was she trying to brand me a traitor?
I hurriedly spoke up. "'My lord' or 'General-in-Chief' will do just fine. Do not call me king."
"Ehh? But 'king' is the coolest one, isn't it?"
"......"
Ignorant of the court etiquette of the central plains, Meng Huo appeared to have simply picked whichever title looked the most impressive to her. Then again, this was a woman who had once styled herself King of the Nanman—perhaps calling me king was her own way of declaring that she had submitted to me completely. The sentiment wasn't bad, but the matter of forms still had to be set straight.
It was certainly true that the more ignorant one was of central etiquette, the more often one raised a rebellion and crowned oneself king. Wasn't that exactly what the Eastern Wu King of Virtue, stirring up chaos over in Jiangdong, was doing? As for the Honey Water Emperor, he was a genuinely exceptional case, so I would let him be.
The Oath of the White Horse.
The oath Emperor Gaozu of Han, Liu Bang, was said to have sworn before his assembled ministers, sealing it with the blood of a white horse. Its contents were as follows.
"Should any who are not of the Liu clan be made king, may all under heaven strike him down!"
The record of the coalition against Dong Zhuo even shows them sealing their pact with white horse's blood—honestly, I began to wonder whether the people of China simply bore a grudge against white horses. At any rate, it was an oath whose intent was unmistakable to anyone who read it. For anyone to break it and proclaim himself king meant that man was, by definition, a rebel who had raised his banner against the Han.
This ironclad rule was strictly upheld for the four hundred years the Han endured thereafter. There was a reason Xun Yu, who had stayed silent even while her own lord persecuted the Emperor in broad daylight, opposed Cao Cao's enthronement as King of Wei. For Cao Cao to take a royal crown was, in effect, a declaration that she had turned her back on the Han entirely. Sure enough, Xun Yu, who opposed it, was sent the Empty Food Box—and just as that silent message foretold, Cao Pi, who succeeded Cao Cao, ascended the imperial throne, and the Han passed into final ruin.
"Well, it's... there are complicated circumstances, so you mustn't call me king. Understood?"
"Yes... if that is what you wish..."
With little confidence in my ability to untangle that whole convoluted history into a tidy explanation, I simply declared "no means no" and settled the question of what Meng Huo would call me.
"...So! Our Zhurong is going to be okay, right?!"
Gah, that startled me. I flinched slightly as Meng Huo thrust her face abruptly toward mine. To that desperate question, there was only one answer I could give.
"I'm no physician, so I can't promise you anything."
"That can't be... Zhurong said for certain there was a way..."
"Hm? She said that?"
Catching Meng Huo's half-muttered words, I asked. She answered slowly. "Yes. She was so happy, saying her lord had given her a medicine that agreed with her body wonderfully."
Ah—so that was what she meant. Remembering the bundle I had tossed to Zhurong so offhandedly that day, I nodded. I had never once used it myself, so I hadn't known—but given who had passed that bundle along, its effectiveness was clearly beyond doubt. Not that I was ever likely to need it. Even if I misstepped right here and now, there were two people who would catch me before I so much as touched the ground.
Hearing Meng Huo out, I allowed myself a thread of hope. "Then we may reasonably be optimistic."
"Really?! ...Urk—?!"
Eyes sparkling, Meng Huo tried to lean her face in even closer—but the attempt was stopped dead by Lü Bu's outstretched hand. What a bizarre noise she makes. Pretty as her face truly was, she certainly had a talent for producing jarring moments.
"That's far enough."
Lü Bu, arm extended to bar Meng Huo's approach, growled low. "Come any closer and there will be consequences."
"Y-yes, ma'am..."
She really did have no sense of personal space whatsoever. How to put it—the woman's friendliness was simply off the charts. Watching Meng Huo at close range, I felt I finally understood why this woman had been able to unite the Nanman.