Chapter 391 Gone

Chapter 391: Gone

Grey Cloud had already opened its eyes, its gaze fixed toward the tent entrance.

Dahuang also pricked up his ears alertly, letting out a low growl from his throat.

Cheng Ge ran a hand through his hair and threw off the fur bedding, and the cold air immediately sent a shiver through him.

He quickly pulled on his robes, cinched his belt, and tucked his dagger into his sleeve.

Grey Cloud flapped his wings and landed on his shoulder, while Dahuang followed closely at his heels.

Cheng Ge lifted the heavy tent flap, and a gust of wind heavy with snow rushed in, making him squint.

Outside, the sky was a murky gray; the blizzard had eased a bit since midnight but still raged on. The camp, however, was in utter chaos.

Many people had been roused from sleep, wrapped in fur robes and gathered in a clearing not far away, clearly agitated.

In the center stood a squad of about twenty or thirty soldiers, clad in uniform leather armor—clearly regular troops under the Great Khan Hutul.

They held weapons, facing off against a group of angry, agitated herders. Several people lay on the ground, their condition—dead or alive—unclear.

Scattered haphazardly across the clearing were lassos and whips used for herding cattle and sheep, along with overturned feed buckets.

Cheng Ge paused mid-step, puzzled, and moved toward the edge of the crowd.

Shouts continued to ring out—Northern Di speech, rapid and urgent—but Cheng Ge couldn't make out a single word.

He reached out and tapped the woman who usually brought him his meals. She was standing on tiptoe, craning her neck toward the crowd.

Startled by the sudden tap, she flinched. Seeing it was Cheng Ge, she clutched her chest and sighed in relief.

"You... why come out? Outside is very chaotic..." The woman instinctively shifted her body, trying to use her stout frame to partially block the scene before him, her face etched with worry and lingering fear.

Cheng Ge pointed at the center of the commotion, then at his own ears, and shook his head with a slight frown, a questioning look on his face.

The woman understood immediately. She lowered her voice, speaking quickly due to nervousness, mixing broken Chinese with gestures:

"It's... it's the Great Khan's soldiers! They've come to take livestock! They're levying... levying way more! Other tribes pay three-tenths, our tribe... five-tenths!"

Her eyes welled up as she spoke, pointing at the agitated members of the Uliangha Tribe.

"This year's snow is heavy—many cattle and sheep have frozen to death. What's left... is for us to survive and breed."

"They... drove the livestock away, we couldn't stop them..." The woman twisted the hem of her robe with tense fingers, her gaze involuntarily drifting toward the snowy expanse of the grassland, where everything was a blur.

"Tana... Tana and Temur... they went after them... and still... haven't come back."

"Asked them... to help look for them... they refused." She pointed at the cold-faced soldiers.

Cheng Ge's heart lurched at these words.

Last night's blizzard—even from inside his tent, he could tell how ferocious it was, the world swallowed in chaos, howling like ghosts and wailing like spirits.

With visibility near zero and no way to tell direction, getting lost was all too easy, not to mention the bitter cold and exhaustion.

For Tana and Temur to have gone after them all night with no word... His heart sank.

At this moment, most of the tribe's able-bodied young men had gone to the front lines with the army.

Those left in camp were mostly the elderly, the weak, women, and children like the woman before him, or half-grown youths.

With something like this happening, there were few who could be sent out to search.

Cheng Ge opened his mouth, a knot of complex emotions in his throat, and for a moment he didn't know what to say.

Him go out there? That was hardly realistic—he'd probably get lost himself before finding his way back.

In the end, he simply pressed his lips together, his gaze fixed on the snowy expanse, his brow furrowing even deeper.

He thought maybe he could have Dahuang track them—perhaps there was still a glimmer of hope.

Just as the suffocating despair and anger were about to congeal, a commotion suddenly erupted at the edge of the crowd.

Several figures could be seen stumbling toward them from the snow-covered pastures, their steps unsteady.

They were covered in thick snow and mud, their fur robes soaked through, faces blue with cold, lips cracked—a picture of utter exhaustion.

What made everyone's heart sink was that they weren't returning empty-handed—two of them carried a crude stretcher hastily lashed together from branches and leather straps, bearing something covered with a wet, filthy felt blanket.

The leader was a Northern Di man who walked with a noticeable limp in one leg—likely an old battlefield injury that had forced him off the front.

"They're back! Hari Nohai and the others are back!" Someone with keen eyes shouted, but there was little joy in the voice—only deeper unease.

The Uliangha tribespeople surged forward, surrounding the group.

A flurry of questions had barely begun when they abruptly died on their lips at the sight of the heavy stretcher and the ashen expressions on Hari Nohai and the others' faces.

Hari Nohai stopped, not looking at the tribespeople pressing in around him. He gasped for breath, his breath fogging the air in ragged puffs.

He raised a hand red and cracked from the cold, knuckles white from clutching a weapon, and slowly, with immense difficulty, pointed at the stretcher behind him.

The two men carrying it stiffly set the stretcher down on the snow. One corner of the felt fell away, revealing a few braids of hair adorned with golden beads flecked with snow.

The air seemed to freeze. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.

Hari Nohai squeezed his eyes shut, his jaw clenched so tight it looked ready to crack.

His Adam's apple bobbed violently several times, and every word came out edged with frost and blood:

"In... the ice hollow behind Black Rock Shoal... we found them."

He paused, his injured leg trembling slightly. "They... got back some of the livestock, tied them over there..."

He gestured vaguely at a few frightened cattle and sheep bearing wounds standing not far behind him, the animals stamping their hooves uneasily.

"...But the people... they're gone," he finally said the cruelest part, his eyes bloodshot as they swept over the pale-faced tribespeople, finally fixing on the stretcher.

He couldn't continue. He suddenly raised his hand and roughly wiped his face—the back of his hand was wet, whether from melted snow or tears, no one could tell.

Cheng Ge's head buzzed, as if a heavy whip had cracked against the back of his skull.

The sounds of wind, sobbing, and soldiers' shouts suddenly grew distant and muffled.

He thought he must have misheard, or maybe he was hallucinating.

Just hours ago, the golden beads bouncing at the end of Tana's braid as she galloped on horseback were still flashing before his eyes—her bright eyes and slightly flushed cheeks when she handed him Snowstep's reins, the silent understanding he'd shared with Temur when riding side by side...

Those vivid images, warm and full of wind and laughter, had been right there only a few hours ago.

How... how had it so quickly become the light yet heavy-as-a-thousand-pounds "gone" that Hari Nohai had spoken of?

He moved stiffly, his boots crunching against the snow with a faint creak, cutting through the dead silence.

His gaze fell only on that crude stretcher. As if compelled, he reached out, his fingertips gently lifting a corner of the leather felt.

The felt was lifted aside, revealing Tana's face, turned toward him, deathly pale.

Her bright eyes, once full of life, were now shut tight, fine ice crystals clinging to her long lashes, as if she were merely asleep, yet she would never wake again.

Her cheeks bore a few thin, dried scratches left by wind or branches, already dried.

She was nestled tightly in Temur's arms. Temur's face was buried against Tana's neck, with only his disheveled black hair and frostbitten, bluish ears visible.

A chill breath, tinged with the faintest trace of blood and the smell of death, wafted toward him.

Cheng Ge's fingers trembled violently, as if scorched by that icy breath of death.

He stared fixedly, his mind a blank. His chest felt as if struck by something heavy—dull with pain, yet hollow with emptiness.

A cold chill shot from the soles of his feet straight to the top of his head, making him shudder involuntarily, more biting than the wind and snow he had felt when leaving the tent.

Suddenly, one person in the crowd pointed fiercely at the soldiers, shouting hoarsely through tears.

"It's all your fault! You forced them! If... if you had gone after them sooner! Stopped them! How could they... how could they...!"

He was agitated, stepping forward, reaching for the leading officer's collar.

The soldiers, already irritable, saw these people about to make a move again. A flash of malice crossed their eyes. They dodged aside and, without hesitation, slammed an elbow into the man's chest!

"Ugh!" The man cried out in pain, his frail body tumbling backward into the snow like a discarded sack. He clutched his chest, struggling to rise for a moment, unable to get up.

"Father!" Several others rushed over to help him up, hatred in their eyes as they glared at the soldiers.

But the soldier wasn't done. He stepped forward, raising his foot as if to kick, and barked harshly:

"The Great Khan's orders—you hand it over when told! You brought this on yourselves! Who's to blame?! Any more trouble, and we'll charge you all with rebellion!"

Just as that boot was about to land on the man, a figure suddenly stepped in.

"Bang!" A dull thud. The soldier staggered back several steps, his face instantly turning pale.

He slowly looked up and met a pair of eyes. Cheng Ge was already standing before him, just lowering his foot.

He looked down at the man, his expression darkly grim.

"You...!" The soldier was both shocked and furious. The sharp pain in his chest and the humiliation of being kicked in public nearly drove him mad. "You're asking for death! Seize him!"

The nearby soldiers, seeing this, immediately raised their blades, ready to pounce.

The grey falcon on Cheng Ge's shoulder suddenly spread its wings, letting out a threatening shriek, while Dahuang bared its teeth, crouching low with a growl.

At this tense, explosive moment, an old Northern Di veteran suddenly stepped forward, grabbed the man's arm, and yanked him back half a step.

At the same time, he quickly whispered something in his ear, his gaze darting briefly toward Cheng Ge.

The man froze. He looked up at Cheng Ge, his eyes flickering.

His facial muscles twitched a few times, his chest still aching dully, but his arrogance deflated like a punctured raft.

He shot Cheng Ge a vicious glare, then swept his eyes over the Uliangha Tribe members and the stretcher on the ground.

Finally, gritting his teeth, he muttered something harsh at the restless soldiers in the Northern Di language, roughly meaning "Let's go."

Though puzzled, the soldiers obeyed without question, immediately dropping their offensive stance but still clustering together warily.

He glanced at Cheng Ge once more, a hint of wariness in that look.

Then, with a sharp wave of his hand, he led the soldiers, driving away the cattle and sheep that Tana and the others had risked their lives to reclaim.

And so, under the stunned, hateful gaze of the crowd, they quickly departed.

The wind and snow continued, the clearing deathly silent, broken only by muffled sobs, the stretcher lying still in the snow.

………

The wind and snow seemed to relent for a moment, the leaden gray clouds hanging low, as if mourning the young departed.

A heavy, suffocating grief permeated the Uliangha Tribe's camp area.

The bodies of Tana and Temur were carefully carried back to the front of their tent, where many clansmen who had heard the news had already gathered.

Several elderly women, red-eyed, used warm water from melted snow to wipe the faces and hands of Tana and Temur, cleansing away the blood and mud.

Tana was changed into a brand-new dark red dress, her hair re-braided into a beautiful braid.

The blood-stained gold beads were carefully wiped clean and still adorned the end of her braid, though their luster had dimmed.

Temur was dressed in his dark leather robe with simple patterns, one he usually saved for special occasions.

Their faces were painted with faint, intricate patterns of rest, using the grassland's traditional ochre pigment.

Cheng Ge stood at a slight distance, silently watching it all.

He couldn't understand the mournful, ancient dirge the women chanted in low voices, nor the meaning of those patterns.

But he could clearly feel the solemnity, the reluctance to let go, and the bone-deep sorrow.

Hari Nohai and several men cleared a patch of ground not far from the tent, building a waist-high pyre from dry dung, branches, and fragrant grasses.

This was not a simple cremation, but a ritual of reverence for the brave departed of the grassland.

It meant their souls would rise with the smoke and flame, returning to the Eternal Heaven, while their courage and spirit would continue to protect the tribe.

The bodies were placed on the pyre, Tana and Temur still holding each other in that same embrace, though their faces had been composed, appearing much more peaceful.

Beneath them lay a small pouch of salt, sharpened arrowheads, Tana's riding whip, and Temur's usual flint.

An elder of the tribe, with trembling steps, walked slowly to the pyre.

With shaking hands, he poured a bowl of cloudy fermented mare's milk slowly around the base of the pyre.

Then, in a hoarse voice, he recited prayers and blessings in the Northern Di language.

He beseeched the Eternal Heaven to accept these brave children and protect their souls from further suffering.

He also prayed that their spirits would continue to watch over this grassland and their people they had protected with their lives.

Many clansmen joined in quiet prayer, and the suppressed sobs rose once more.

Grey Cloud perched on Cheng Ge's shoulder stood quietly, its amber eyes fixed on the two figures atop the pyre, occasionally letting out a soft, sigh-like call.

Dahuang seemed to understand this was a farewell; it didn't bark, just pressed close against Cheng Ge's leg, ears drooping.

Hari Nohai stepped forward, his injured leg appearing stiffer from the cold and exhaustion.

He raised a burning pine torch, the flames flickering in the wind.

He took a deep breath, glanced at the young faces on the woodpile, and then, with solemn ceremony, tossed the torch into the pyre.