Chapter Four: The Hu Barbarian Batuk

Returning to Jincheng, Li Wenyuan strolled leisurely down the street, making his way home. Naturally, he attracted plenty of attention along the way. It was no wonder—his clothes were caked with muddy snow and blood, his beard unkempt after more than a month in the deep mountains; he looked every bit a refugee, impossible not to notice.

He reached the gate of his residence and rapped on the door. In recent years, he had held a comfortable sinecure at the Jincheng county office and saved a modest sum. With Xue Rengao’s archery and Xue Renyue’s studies both making great strides, Xue Ju himself, delighted by their progress, had helped Li Wenyuan buy this house beside the Xue family’s commercial workshop in Jincheng. Though the house wasn’t large, it was more than enough for Li Wenyuan. He remembered when he first bought the place: coming from the future, he’d always believed owning property was an unattainable dream. Yet, in just three short years, he’d acquired a home of his own in Jincheng.

If one considered the landmass of China in his own era, it ranked among the three largest in the world, yet still suffered from the fate of too many people and too little land. But what if the land had doubled? Or tripled? What then? For the first time, upon arriving in the Sui dynasty, Li Wenyuan began to ponder his fate and future in earnest. Before he could think further, Aunt Liu opened the door.

Aunt Liu was one of the refugees who had fled here the previous year. She brought two daughters and, driven by hardship, had considered selling her eldest on the street to feed the younger. Li Wenyuan, typically indifferent to others’ affairs—especially as scams like this were rampant in his own time—nearly ignored them. But Qiuniang, his servant, couldn’t bear it. She knew too well the cruel fate awaiting a girl sold into servitude: unless her new master and mistress were kindly, she would suffer terribly, perhaps even more than Qiuniang herself had. Soft-hearted, Qiuniang tugged at Li Wenyuan’s sleeve: “Master, these two are truly pitiable. Why not buy them as servants? Now that the house is bigger, it’s too much for me alone anyway.”

No one is perfect, and Li Wenyuan was no exception. Coming from the future, he was fond of cat-eared maids, though he had to admit that such a thing would be impossible in this era. Still, for Qiuniang, who had always been of servile status, the shift from calling him “master” to “owner” was trivial; besides, Li Wenyuan had already granted her all the freedoms of a free person—save the title.

Not a heartless man, and persuaded by Qiuniang’s reasoning, Li Wenyuan halted and approached the mother and daughters. “Where are you from?” he asked.

Aunt Liu replied that she was from Wuwei County in Liangzhou. Her surname was Liu; her husband had served in the army but was killed in battle the previous year fending off a southern invasion by the Turks. She had sold their property and journeyed south to Jincheng, hoping to find relatives. After more than ten days, she had found no one. Her money was almost gone, and she could find no work; so she’d been forced to consider selling her elder daughter to raise money for the journey to the capital, where she might find her sister.

Li Wenyuan frowned. The Turks dared to invade the south? He recalled that Yang Guang was an ambitious man—how could he let the Turks come south and tarnish his reputation as a great emperor?

Qiuniang quickly explained, “Master, you may not know—though the Turks outwardly show submission to the Sui, every autumn and winter they ride south to raid for supplies. The court has no good answer; every envoy sent returns only with a letter from the khan and some hides as compensation. It’s been so since the founding of the dynasty.”

Li Wenyuan shook his head. To the Turks, the people of Sui were little more than two-legged sheep—killing hundreds was nothing. Thus, every border town had scouts on regular patrol; if Turkish movement was spotted, they would light signal “Sky Swallows” to warn the settlements behind.

These “Sky Swallows” were essentially rockets: a fuse was lit, the gunpowder propelling them skyward, where they burst. Li Wenyuan was well aware of this. While firecrackers only became common in the Song dynasty, their military use at the borders dated back to Sui and Tang, and it was only later that they became civilian festive items.

Li Wenyuan said to Aunt Liu, “In that case, there’s no need to sell your children. My household happens to need a helper. Bring your two daughters to my place. Food and lodging, plus a string of coins each month.”

Aunt Liu agreed at once and brought her daughters to Li Wenyuan’s home. They were settled in the west wing, and Qiuniang happily helped them settle in. With the arrival of Aunt Liu and her daughters, the once-empty courtyard finally felt lively. Aunt Liu was always respectful to Li Wenyuan, addressing him as “master” despite his protests; as she put it, she was simply used to it after so many years.

Unable to change her mind, Li Wenyuan let it go. But this time was different—when Aunt Liu opened the door and saw a mud-caked, bag-carrying man, she thought he was a refugee. “Wait a moment, I’ll fetch you something to eat,” she said, preparing to close the door.

Li Wenyuan quickly caught her hand. “Aunt Liu, don’t close the door, it’s me.”

Startled, Aunt Liu instinctively tried to push him away, but upon hearing his voice, she peered closer and realized it was indeed her master. She immediately let him in: “Oh my, sir, how did you get yourself into such a state? Come in, I’ll prepare some hot water for you.”

While Li Wenyuan wiped away the grime, he asked, “Aunt Liu, why haven’t I seen Qiuniang or the two girls today?”

Aunt Liu, gathering his clean clothes and tidying up his dirty ones, replied with a smile, “Ah, the mistress took the two girls out to the marketplace for a stroll.”

Li Wenyuan cleansed the wolf bite on his arm, picked ten of the best pelts, and brought them to a familiar tailor, leaving a deposit for a woman’s cloak and a general’s mantle, to be picked up the next day. Then he headed to the Xue residence to see Xue Rengao and Xue Renyue, whom he’d come to favor.

He’d barely reached the Xue mansion when Xue Renyue rushed up, breathless and bedraggled. Li Wenyuan frowned, a sense of foreboding rising in him.

He stopped the boy. “My little strategist, what happened? Why do you look so battered?”

Xue Renyue, legs giving out, collapsed into Li Wenyuan’s arms. Struggling to get up, he recognized his benefactor and said, “Sir, my brother got into a quarrel at the market with a group of unruly Turks. Sensing trouble, I rushed back to fetch help.”

Li Wenyuan’s frown deepened. Wasn’t this the typical melodrama of a time traveler? The only thing he had in common with other transmigrators was this sort of coincidence. He quickly summoned the servants to help Xue Renyue inside and told him to notify his father, Xue Ju. Then he hurried home, retrieved his bow and spear, and set off for the market.

At the market, he found a crowd three or four layers deep outside a shop—this must be the place. Squeezing through, he saw Xue Rengao brandishing a staff, facing off against three Turks.

“Young man, don’t bring trouble upon yourself. What I, Hulü, want will be mine,” declared one Turk, a saber at his waist.

“Nonsense! Even in taking a woman by force, there’s still an order to things. Didn’t you hear her say she doesn’t want to go with you?” Xue Rengao retorted, unyielding.

“Young man, she’s just a commoner in Sui, but if she comes to Turkic lands with me, Ashina Hulü, she’ll become a noble lady.” Hulü was growing impatient. His status prevented him from bullying a youth in public, so he tried to invoke his family name in hopes of intimidating the boy.

The Ashina clan was the ruling family of the ancient Turks, their name meaning “Noble Wolf.” They were later defeated by the Uyghurs, migrated south, and were resettled by the Tang after the Sui, eventually assimilating and taking on Han surnames—most famously An and Shi, both derived from Ashina. In the late Tang, the Turks repaid the dynasty’s hospitality with betrayal, helping to bring down the mightiest empire of ancient China.

For now, though, no one thought so far ahead. All that mattered was that the Ashina clan ruled the steppe, and were the Sui’s most dangerous neighbors. The Sui still pursued peace with the Turks, and the people, cowed, had lost the martial spirit of Han Wudi’s age.

Xue Rengao hesitated. His father had often warned him not to provoke the Turks lightly. He’d been rash, but now there was no turning back; he could only hope his brother would bring help quickly.

Li Wenyuan, meanwhile, had already formed a plan. People believed the Turks were mere barbarians who only knew violence, and so lost confidence before a fight even began. In truth, the Turks revered strength—show them you’re mightier, and they’ll submit, loyal until you show weakness.

Li Wenyuan stepped forward, shielding Xue Rengao behind him with a smile. “I’ve heard the Ashina clan is Tengri’s chosen—eagles soaring high above the grasslands. But I thought young eagles hunt for themselves, not rely on their parents’ names to steal prey.”

His words made Ashina Hulü flush with anger. “Are you saying I’m like you Han people, relying on family connections? It’s just that mixing with you Han for so long, I’ve… been tainted by your ways!”

“I’ve heard that steppe warriors never attack from behind—they settle scores face to face, isn’t that so?” Li Wenyuan folded his arms.

Hulü, reminded of his people’s code, retorted, “Yes! Steppe warriors settle matters with duels. Do you Han dare?”

“How does His Highness Ashina propose we duel?” Li Wenyuan pointedly used Hulü’s title, making the disparity in their statuses clear—if Hulü fought him personally, it would be beneath him.

Sure enough, Hulü realized as the khan’s son, he shouldn’t be fighting a Han commoner in the street. He pointed to his bodyguard. “This is my guard, Batuk. Duel him. If he loses, I’ll admit defeat and compensate this family with a gold ingot. If you lose, the girl comes to Turkic lands with me—whoever stands in my way dies.”

Li Wenyuan saw his plan had succeeded, and didn’t waste words. He hefted his spear and strode into the street.

He would never have dared such bravado before, but after fighting wolves in the mountains, he’d realized his strength had doubled in the past three years. At first, he’d thought it was just daily exercise, but he’d never reached a limit; he just kept getting stronger. Now, he was certain he could outmatch any Turk in brute strength.

Turkic warriors relied on raw power, lacking the techniques and finesse of the Central Plains. In both strength and skill—having learned the Xue family’s spear techniques—Li Wenyuan had nothing to fear.

Batuk stepped into the street, wielding a long spear. In halting Han, he said, “This spear… belonged to a man killed by my arrow. It suits me well.”

“Then it’s your trophy. You’ve earned it,” Li Wenyuan replied, taking up a plain, unpretentious stance—the hallmark of the Xue family’s spear art, forged in blood and battle, free of ornament.

Seeing Li Wenyuan ready, Batuk attacked. Li Wenyuan did not underestimate him; he parried the spearhead aside and thrust in return. Batuk, though his attack was broken, remained calm, crossing his hands on the shaft to block. But as soon as Batuk raised his spear to block, Li Wenyuan shifted from a thrust to a downward press, bearing down with all his might.

Batuk, thinking the threat over, relaxed—only to find his spear forced downward by tremendous strength. He hastily summoned all his power, but the shaft began to bend.

Li Wenyuan saw the veins bulge on Batuk’s forehead, knowing the Turk was using all his strength. With a shout, he added even more force, bending the shaft further.

Watching from the side, Hulü was shocked. Batuk was his trusted aide, famous for wrestling bulls barehanded since the age of ten—a man of prodigious strength. Yet here he was, bested by a Han in such an ignominious fashion. Worse, Li Wenyuan showed no sign of exertion—he clearly had strength in reserve. Batuk was doomed, and Hulü could not call off a challenge he had issued.

Suddenly, Li Wenyuan let out a mighty shout. With a crack, Batuk’s spear snapped, and he collapsed to the ground, spent. Li Wenyuan’s spear hovered just an inch from Batuk’s throat.