Chapter 597: Mirror-of-the-Sky Blood (1)

The Jade-Teardrop Sword, Bungsain, had a tongue as lively as his tear ducts were generous.

“Chaka Lake is also called the Sky-Mirror Vista. It means a mirror that reflects the heavens; that vast salt lake takes the whole sky into itself. In those moments, no famous scene in the Central Plains can compare—an absolute vista. The open sky unfurls across the earth—can you imagine the feeling of standing upon endless heavens?”

Behind you the snow mountains spread, so on the water’s surface the world appears flipped.

The peak of the spectacle is sunrise and sunset. Because the sky seems opened in the earth, the sun feels nearer; and because there are two—above and below—the brilliance doubles at daybreak and day’s end.

Dawn cracks apart, and between the sundered night-sky a last cry spills scarlet blood.

At sunset, the red sun sets the heavens ablaze; the crimson firmament reflected in the salt lake spreads sky above and sky below, until the whole world fills with burning red.

To my interest in a salt lake, he laid out the scene in fine detail; and Bungsain, surprisingly deft at reciting wind and moon, praised it so well that listening alone made me want to bolt out the door now to see it.

And to dot the dragon’s eye—

“When I beheld that solemn glow, that end-of-the-world, apocalyptic grandeur—truly, the feeling...”

Tears streaming down Bungsain’s cheeks!

Just how moving was it?

He sheds tears merely recalling it?

Besides, salt lakes are a vista I’d always wanted to visit once in my life.

Of course, the one I always wanted lies on the other side of the world, not here.

I don’t know this, but back home, objectively (setting aside Central Plains taste), people say Chaka Lake is the budget version of a salt lake.

Even if I knew, it’s not like I could go see the other one anyway.

Thus, with a face floating white and lovely—cosmetics grandmaster, no, great master, except I’d carelessly forgotten to powder my neck—I went to the Sect Leader.

“Sect Elder, since we’ve come all the way to Qinghai, I want to stop by Chaka Lake. It was introduced as such a magnificent vista.”

“Hm? Chaka Lake? In winter?”

Cheon Bija’s expression goes odd.

A look like: What are you even saying?

I carefully ask back.

“Is there a problem?”

“How was the water volume this year? Winter Chaka Lake is so dried up you’ll hardly see water. In this season, it’s usually a salt plain with a few puddles. If you’re lucky, there might be a few basins big enough to feel like ponds.”

KRA-KOOM!

My expectations collapse in a heap.

No! My salt lake!

I don’t know since when it became “mine,” but—Ximen Qing, crushed.

But frustration makes a warrior!

If I didn’t know, fine; but having come all the way out to this remote countryside, how can a warrior—Ximen Qing—give up meekly?

He did say if I’m lucky there’ll still be a “proper” pond or two—there’s hope.

“If there’s at least some water left...”

“You’d need luck. Still, for someone from the interior, it’s worth seeing. If you must, better to go to Qarhan Lake—no, in winter that’s much too far.”

“Qarhan Lake?”

“A lake where jade-green mist seems to bloom—beautiful. Plenty of water even in winter, never freezes, an absolute vista—but far. Let’s see... roughly twelve hundred li from here?”

“Mm. That’s really far.”

“Far.”

Even for me, twelve hundred li is too much.

Round trip: twenty-four hundred li. Was a li about four hundred of... whatever—mm. Far.

“In seven days it’s the Spring Festival, and you won’t be staying to celebrate?”

Spring Festival. One big reason I decided to convalesce at the Kunlun Sect until I healed.

Even if I returned to Divine Lady’s Gate, it’d take at least a month, maybe two; New Year’s was a lost cause.

Better to celebrate Spring Festival here and go after.

And if it’s the biggest holiday around here, greeting it in the street would be sad.

I don’t care, but my friends do.

Better to celebrate with the Kunlun Daoists—pray, receive blessings—then depart.

“I’ll be back before then. Two days there, two days to look and return. Five days should be plenty, no?”

“Well now, that’s a schedule designed to ruin your health—but that’s youth. Fine. It’s cold; take care. Ask that rascal Bungsain to guide you.”

“Oh—I don’t want to impose.”

“Impose, nothing. He climbs to the top of Sun and Moon Peak all the time to gaze at Qinghai Lake. Ask him to go see scenery and he’ll follow even if he claims he won’t.”

Thus, this time it’s the Swordsman of Tears, Bungsain.

“Hey, Bungsain, how could you do this to me? You didn’t say there’s no water at Chaka Lake in winter! You filled me with expectations, then this? You never said the Sky-Mirror Vista is seasonal!”

Truth is, the one on the far side of the world is seasonal too—but I was born a humanities girl; spare me.

“Ah—my. I must have failed to tell you, little lady. It was so beautiful I got excited and rambled. Then simply come when it’s at its height—around the seventh month. The salt lake isn’t going anywhere; time it right and you can see it anytime.”

Not much remorse in Bungsain’s face.

For him, it’s near home; he can slip out in spring, summer, autumn, winter and see it whenever he likes.

“Even running hard to Xining takes a month. When am I supposed to time another excursion...”

“Mm? Only a month?”

This is the difference between central folk and country folk.

For Bungsain, going to the Martial Alliance takes a comfortable two months each way. A month? Barely—just a leisurely jaunt to enjoy wind and water.

Back home it’s the same.

To the capital’s people, anything over an hour away is impossibly far.

To country people, an hour is a reasonable trip—Why not go?

It’s simply that the viscosity of “leisure” is different.

“But winter’s Chaka Lake is still worth seeing. An endless white land of salt—that’s a scene you won’t find anywhere in the Central Plains. Indeed.”

“Then—can we see the lake reflecting the sky?”

“That I can’t promise. With luck, one or two big pools might remain... mm. How much water was there this year?”

The Sect Leader said it; now Bungsain sings the same song about “water volume.”

I don’t quite get it.

Why do they have to think back to how much it rained—or how dry it was?

But to Qinghai folk, “water volume” includes not only rain but meltwater from mountaintop ice.

So their habit of saying how was the water volume is actually a polite way to say I don’t really know, not truly an act of remembering.

“Ah, you’re going to see Chaka Lake? Then I’ll guide you. Only—the Spring Festival is in seven days, and you won’t be staying. If you want to return before then, it’s too tight, no?”

“We’ll dash there and back.”

“Hmm. But the charm of travel isn’t like that. It’s five hundred li—stop at villages, share friendship with the plateau folk, take a month to go and return at an easy pace...”

“We shared plenty of friendship on the way here.”

“Hah! That’s true. Coming up from the south, weren’t those southern plateau folk kind? When I go toward the Central Plains, I descend through Sichuan for just that reason—to show my face.”

Even going “to the Central Plains” means heading to the Martial Alliance; tagging Sichuan adds a big detour.

“A leisurely trip is good, but sometimes running at speed is good too. As it happens, I’ve wanted to see Chaka Lake in winter myself. So then—shall we go together?”

Mm. A good-natured fellow, that much is clear.

No wonder “the mountain” has been unusually friendly.

I have acquired a guide.

Thus the Chaka Lake excursion—depart.

****

Down along the western skirts of Sun and Moon Mountain.

Because it’s winter, beyond the bare trees, a lake as vast as the sea spreads out.

Qinghai Lake.

The largest lake in the Central Plains; if converted to my homeland’s native units, its area is about half of Gyeonggi Province.

It’s famous only for being the largest.

In literature and verse, Central Plains folk don’t favor it much, and the reason is simple:

too far.

The breadth a human eye can grasp is limited; any broad lake looks broad.

But Dongting Lake and Tai Lake are both broad and close, with splendid, ornate scenery around them.

Qinghai Lake, being saline, has few trees. The distant Jiryeon Mountain range lays a white-roofed backdrop—beautiful, but that’s about it.

There is, however, one recommended way for outsiders to tour Qinghai Lake: ride horses along the shore at a gallop.

We descend Sun and Moon Mountain and reach Hainan County below, where we buy horses.

Later they repurchase the animals, deducting a bit based on condition—a primeval rental system.

Because of many petty tricks, it’s infamous: without a proper local guide you’ll be fleeced.

But Bungsain is a Kunlun disciple; near Sun and Moon Mountain, no merchant with a surviving sense of self tries tricks on a Kunlun disciple.

Thus, mounted—

“I want to ride with Miss Ximen. Let’s ride together. Please? Yes?”

“Oh? Calling yourself a ‘hound’ again? A hound? Are you saying that sober?”

Of course not.

The tips of Seol Iri’s ears, peeking from her fur cap, are bright red.

But it works on me, so she keeps using it. The embarrassment is brief; if we mount, she clings for half a day—and can help me in a pinch.

“Iri? Don’t you know how to ride? You can even drive a carriage. You’re not lying just to ride with me, are you?”

“At the Ice Palace, if I rode a horse—”

“Ah. Right. That’s enough.”

No lord puts a servant on a horse.

Naturally...

For Seol Iri’s reputation, I cut her off.

It’s better she be known as a princess of the Ice Palace than drag out a past as an untouchable slave.

I also don’t notice that her answer is not her usual oddball reply.

She didn’t answer whether she knew how to ride.

But she didn’t lie either; if she mounted, someone would beat her for an “uppity mongrel” on a horse—so technically, no lie.

Thus five people, four horses, with Qinghai Lake at our flank, we race the shoreline.

Qinghai Lake is a salt lake—a basin of brine.

So in winter, the brine half-freezes, and like the far northern or far southern seas of another world, countless small ice floes drift.

Bundled in thick furs, only our eyes showing, the view from the racing saddles has that clean punch that clears your chest.

Except... ow. My butt. Ow—oww.

I’m almost healed—no pain unless I press hard. Just the lingering small muscle aches.

But horses bounce more than you think—up and down—thumping my backside. Ugh. It’s like I wrecked my muscles, then, with no rest day, wrecked them again.

“Hah-hah! Splendid!”

Bungsain, buoyed by heroic vigor, shouts his joy.

“Truly—riding with friends! How could—how could...”

Is the end of that shout... damp?

I glance over; on a man, those absurdly long lashes... are those little round icicles?

As expected of the Jade-Teardrop Sword.

The horses, delighted to carry guests, clatter along, lively and light.

It’s winter; they’ve barely run and their bodies itch for it, and this is the path of their horse-lives—nothing to fear.

Truth be told, the horses go on their own; we’re just the cargo on top.

So the first day: ride hard, stop at relay stables to eat meals and buy snacks, pay extra to swap for fresh mounts in that primeval rental—

until we arrive at the last stable, a small village named Sect Village. By then, the sun is almost down.

Qinghai Province is a place where sunset comes very late for the Central Plains.

Even in deep December, when days are shortest, the sun sets a little after 6 p.m.

Thus, today’s journey ends here.

Distance covered today: three hundred li.

Distance remaining to Chaka Lake: just under one hundred eighty li.

Notable item: severe pain in Qing’s backside.