DBTC 01

Chapter : 01

The Proposal

In the summer of the third year of the Zheng tong reign, a great drought struck.

The fields of Qinjia Village were cracked so wide you could stick your fingers into the fissures. The leaves of the old locust tree at the village entrance were scorched yellow and curled tight; when the wind blew, even their rustling sounded dry and brittle.

Gloom weighed on every face, bending shoulders a little lower. Only the small courtyard of the Zhao family at the western edge of the village was strangely quiet—so quiet it felt like the last breath before drowning.

Zhao Wan’s needle paused. Spread across her lap was half a bolt of fine cloth, on which she had embroidered a clump of ink bamboo—a cluster of lonely, angular stalks, their joints sharp and upright. But her needle tip hovered over a bamboo joint, refusing to fall—

From the well came the sound of drawing water, duller than usual. The wooden bucket knocked against the stone wall like it was striking a dry well.

Zhao Mingyuan sat in the main hall, staring blankly at an open book.

Cicadas screamed outside the window, layer upon layer, their noise grating on the nerves.

“Wan’er.”

Zhao Mingyuan’s voice came from the main hall, lower than usual.

Zhao Wan’s heart gave an inexplicable jolt.

“Yes, Father.”

She rose and walked over. When she reached the doorway of the main hall, she saw Qin Hu.

His tall frame blocked most of the light. Two pheasants dangled from his hand. Sweat ran down his bronzed face, tracing the straining cords of his neck, soaking into the collar of his coarse hemp tunic and leaving a dark, damp patch.

Zhao Wan stopped at the door, not stepping further in.

Qin Hu saw her. His gaze lingered on her face for a moment—

She was fair-skinned, with a delicate peach-blossom pink that bloomed through the whiteness, spreading from her cheeks past her ears and disappearing into the collar of her half-worn lotus-root purple dress.

He didn’t dare look lower.

But he couldn’t help it.

Her brows were naturally dark, her lashes thick and long, casting a tiny shadow on her eyelids when she lowered them. Then she lifted her eyes and looked at him—those peach-blossom eyes, with their slight upward tilt at the outer corners, carried an unconscious hint of allure. Yet her pupils were purely black, lustrous as inkstone jade steeped in spring water, gazing at him with a hazy, unspoken tenderness.

Qin Hu’s mind went blank for a moment.

She stood there now, a few steps away in the main hall, looking at him. His Adam’s apple bobbed violently.

“Brother Qin.”

Her voice was soft, sweet, and gentle.

Qin Hu snapped back to himself, almost hastily nodding at her. He fixed his gaze firmly on the mottled ground at his feet.

Qin Hu put the pheasants in the kitchen, then returned and stood in the middle of the main hall. Zhao Mingyuan asked him to sit, but he shook his head.

“I’ll say what I came to say standing up.”

He pulled a cloth bundle from his bosom and placed it on the table. The cloth was faded white, its edges frayed and fuzzy. He unwrapped it to reveal two ingots of silver and a silver hairpin.

“Mr. Zhao, the household has three hundred and fifty-seven taels in total.” He spoke slowly, as if every word had to be forcibly pressed out. “Enough to buy a year’s worth of grain for four people, plus over two hundred catties of cured meat—salt, oil, wine, cloth, and medicines are all stocked.”

Zhao Mingyuan was stunned. He knew Qin Hu was capable, one of the best hunters in the village. But he had never imagined that this taciturn young man, who had lost his parents early and raised his younger brother alone, had quietly amassed such a substantial fortune.

“Qin Hu has come today to ask you for one thing,” Qin Hu said. “To give Wan’er to me as my wife.”

Zhao Wan’s mind went blank. Her face burned.

The main hall fell into dead silence.

Zhao Mingyuan shot up from his chair. His lips twitched several times before he finally managed a hoarse voice: “Hu’zi, you… do you know what you’re saying?”

“Mr. Zhao, I do.”

Qin Hu’s voice dropped heavily.

“Have you been to the county town these past few days?” Zhao Mingyuan started, then shook his head instinctively.

Two and a half of the grain shops in the county were shut down; the remaining one had raised the price of coarse rice tenfold. At the yamen gate, people who couldn’t buy grain were beaten bloody by constables. On the northern official road, folks had already started moving south, their eyes gleaming at the sight of grass roots and tree bark.”

He paused.

“Those are refugees. In a few days, they’ll swarm over here. Will the little that Qinjia Village has be enough to stop them from looting?”

Zhao Mingyuan’s face turned pale.

“After a great disaster comes great chaos.” Qin Hu looked at him. “Poetry won’t save lives, books won’t stop blades. Those scholars themselves will be fleeing the fighting—how can they protect her?”

He turned to Zhao Wan.

“Wan’er, I know I’m not worthy of you. I’ve had little schooling, I don’t understand your rules and refinements. My hands have been stained with blood, dirt caked under my nails that won’t wash out. The things you love, I can’t give you a single one.”

His Adam’s apple moved again.

“But the world is about to change. With looks like yours, in peaceful times they’d be a blessing, but in times of chaos… I don’t dare imagine. I can’t let you end up in that situation.”

Zhao Wan trembled all over. She kept her head down, her expression hidden, revealing only the pale nape of her neck and her burning red ears.

Qin Hu turned back to Zhao Mingyuan, his back taut as a drawn bow: “But I can protect her. I have strength, I have stored grain, I have prepared. I can take you all away from here, head south, to a place where we can survive.”

He knelt again, this time facing Zhao Wan’s direction.

“I, Qin Hu, swear this oath: for the rest of my life, I will shield Wan’er with my very life. As long as I have a bite to eat, she will never go hungry. As long as I stand before her, no one will lay a finger on her. If I break this oath, may heaven strike me down, may I die without a burial place.”

The main hall was so quiet only the cicadas’ shrieking remained.

Zhao Mingyuan trembled violently and staggered back half a step. Before his eyes flashed the pale, gaunt face of his late wife on her deathbed.

Her bony hand had gripped him tightly, her breath faint, every word piercing his heart. “Mingyuan… with Wan’er’s looks… you must find her someone who can truly… protect her for life…”*

Someone who could protect her for life.

“Hu’zi… get up.”

His voice was hoarse beyond recognition. He squeezed his eyes shut hard. When he opened them again, they were bloodshot.

“Wan’er… I entrust her to you.” Each word seemed wrung from the depths of his being. Dry. Heavy. “Remember your oath.”

He couldn’t speak further.

The hall was eerily silent.

Outside the window, the cicadas’ cries suddenly exploded, screaming more wildly than before.

Qin Hu rose and looked at Zhao Wan.

Zhao Wan was already drenched in tears. Her long lashes were wet and clumped together. Her eye sockets and the tip of her nose were flushed red.

She raised her head. Through the shimmering haze of tears, she met Qin Hu’s blazing, unwavering gaze.

Shyness, panic, bewilderment, fear.

In the end, all of it transformed into a quiet—yet utterly certain—look of dependence, like grasping the only lifeline.

She nodded, ever so slightly, but with absolute finality.

Qin Hu closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he turned to Zhao Mingyuan:

“Mr. Zhao, there’s no time to lose. The wedding in three days—keep everything simple. At dawn on the fourth day, we move. Hide your gold and silver on your person, pack thick clothes, bring your usual medicines.” He paused. “As for books… leave what you can. Survival comes first.”

Finally, his gaze settled back on Zhao Wan. His tone softened. “Wan’er, don’t be afraid. From now on, I’ll pave your path. Follow me—I’ll take you to a safe place.”

With that, Qin Hu said no more. He clasped his fists in a salute to Zhao Mingyuan, then gave Zhao Wan one last deep look.

He turned resolutely and stepped out into the thick, impenetrable dusk beyond the door.

Zhao Wan hurried to the window and watched the direction he had vanished into. The last sliver of daylight had fully faded; an endless night had settled in.

She raised her hand and touched her cold, damp cheek, where tears still lingered.

The night was now thick as ink.

In the distance, she could make out a faint sound—whether wind or weeping, she couldn’t tell.

Zhao Wan shivered involuntarily.

She closed the window softly.

In three days, she would become Qin Hu’s wife.