Red Snow and Green Leaf

(The Black Saber and The Flying Blade)
Synopsis: One of the most famous novels by Kou Leng or The Dragon of the East, and my most favorite Chinese novel. Red Snow is too much like Alex Krycek... (and it's slashy)

What's this story about?: Revenge and tragedy. Red Snow (Poh Ang Soh) is a bitter young man who was raised to be a perfect killer, despite his crippled left leg and epilepsy. On his way to revenge, he encounters Green Leaf (Iab Khai), a carefree, mysterious wanderer whose intention towards Red Snow is unclear (at least to me ;). They soon find themselves opposite of each other but reluctant allies .

Note: This is my Thai to English translation assignment. The text was a third generation translation, because the original is in Chinese. The Thai version belonged to N. Nopparat.

More Note: I didn't make the above summary slashy. It *is* slashy.

Thanks: Mars, for patience and beta read. It was wonderful moment to be remembered working with you.

---

Prologue

Red Snow

There was no other color in this room but the black.

Even the twilight that had cast its way into the room turned miserable gray.

Before this light cast into the room, the woman had been kneeling here on the black cushion in front of the black altar.

The black curtains hung. The god being worshipped on the altar unknown, the face of the worshipper unseen.

Around her face was a black silk veil; the long black clothes lay on the floor like black clouds. Only a pair of dry hands showed, and they were as old as a devil’s claws.

Putting both palms together between her breasts, she muttered a prayer; but not to the heavens, asking for happiness. She was cursing.

Cursing the heavens, cursing the humans, cursing all ten thousand things from the foot of the ground to the pinnacle of the sky!

A man in black clothes was kneeling firmly behind her, as if he had been here since the ancient times, and could remain kneeling until all substances would perish before he arose.

The twilight cast on his face, the handsome and striking face, yet cold, as if it had been sculpted from the freezing snows of a soaring mountain.

The twilight dimmed; the wind threatened.

Springing to her feet, the woman tore open the curtains in front of the altar, then lifted a black metal box up in her hands.

Or was this the god whom she had been worshipping? She bore the weight with all her strength, the green veins protruding on her shaking, straining hands.

On the altar lay a sword. Black scabbard, black blade.

Drawing the sword, she severed the box in two with one blow.

There was nothing in the black box but a pile of red dust. Taking a handful, she asked: “Do you know what this is?”

No one knew what it was….but her. No one ever knew.

“This is the snow. Red snow!”

Her voice turned shrill, raging, like a wail of a ghost in the dark winter’s night.

“When you were born, the snow turned red. It was bathed with the warm, red blood.”

The man in black lowered his face.

Walking toward him, she sprinkled the red snow dust onto his shoulder, saying: “Remember, from now on you are a god. The god of revenge. You do not regret. Do not let your conscience sadden you with everything you have to do from now on. Whatever measures you visit upon them, they deserve it.”

Her voice was full of a mysterious confidence, as if the red dust had been sealed with the curses of phantoms walking the earth and the heavens, and was now sealed in the body of the young man.

Lifting her hands up, she said: “For this day I have been preparing for eighteen years. The full eighteen years. Now my task is complete; why do you still remain here?”

The young man in black lowered his head, saying: “I…”

She flung the sword and staked it into the ground before the young man, roaring: “Go! Take their heads with this sword or dare not return. If you fail, not only the heaven and earth will damn you. I too will damn you to hell!”

The wind threatened.

Her eyes trailed after the young man who was slowly walking away towards the pitch-black curtain of the night. His figure looked as if it were slowly melting into the darkness.

So was the sword in his hand.

The dark had unfolded and now loomed over the land.

Part I: The frontier

Chapter 1

The man who carries no sword

He did not carry a sword.

As soon as he walked in, he saw Boangsah.

(Bo is a surname, Angsah means red snow.)

The place was crowded by all walks of life, yet a man from his class should not come in here.

Since he did not belong.

It was a peculiar place.

It was the end of Chiew Tian (autumn) but the place was as warm as summer. It was late, yet it was bright as day.

There was spirits, yet it was not a spirit house. There was gambling, yet it wasn't a gamble house. There were women who were willing to do anything for everyone, yet harlots they were not.

It had no name, yet it was the most well known place within a hundred lis.

In the main hall sat eighteen tables. Wherever one chose to seat, one would be served with the best cooking and spirit to savor. Yet if one wished to sample something else, one had to push past the door.

In the main hall there were eighteen doors. Whichever door one chose to enter, one would not regret, would not be disappointed.

In the back of the hall stood a very tall stairway. No one knew where they led to and no one had climbed those steps. Because there was no need to. One could get whatever one wanted downstairs.

A small table was situated by the foot of the stairs. A middle-aged man sat there, cloaked in luxurious clothes. His appearance was clean and neat.

It looked as if he had been sitting there always, playing cards alone. He rarely did something else, nor did he stand up.

His chair was big and comfortable. By the chair leaned two red wood walking sticks.

He never minded other clients. Once in a while he looked up to glance around the hall. Whatever business was underway, he seemed not to care.

This man was, in fact, the owner of the place. A peculiar place is always owned by a peculiar man.

Boangsah clutched at his sword.

It was an unusual sword, with a black scabbard and a black blade.

He was eating, taking one mouthful of rice, then one of condiment. He was eating very slowly.

Because he was eating with one hand.

His left hand clutched at his sword. Whatever he did, wherever he was, he never let go of it.

Dark sword, dark clothes, dark eyes. So dark they sparkled.

Thus, even if his seat was far from the main entrance, as soon as Aiab Kai entered, the first sight he caught was that of Boangsah, and then the sword in his hand.

Aiab Kai had never carried any swords.

Chiew Tian was ending. The night was dark.

In the midst of the long road stood a lonely gate with a lantern.

The gate was narrow; the lantern’s dim light touched the dried soil in front of it. The autumn’s wind whirled the yellow sands up and above, dusting the sky.

A withering Chrysanthemum was spiraling in the wind among the sands. The beginning of its journey was unknown, as was its destination.

Humans were not different from this withering flower, since they could not design their own fates. Yet, should they quail and resign to their destiny?

If the Chrysanthemum were capable of perceiving, it would neither blame nor reproof fate, since it had once had its glory, been bestowed with praises and affection from others.

And that was enough.

At the end of the long road stretched a deserted field; on the other a boundless, empty land.

The lantern seemed to be the only jewel in the empty field.

The horizon touched the yellow sands; the sands met the horizon.

There appeared a man.

Aiab Kai seemed to emerge from it. Walking along the long road, he slowly surfaced from the darkness, reaching where the lantern hung.

He dropped down to sit in the middle of the road and lifted his foot up.

His shoes were made of suede, which were found mostly among live stockers living in the desert. This kind of suede shoes was not different from that of the live stockers themselves; they were strong, durable to heat and cold, and sturdy.

Now the soles were worn into two big holes; his heels were chafed and bleeding.

Looking at his own feet, Aiab Kai shook his head as if disgruntled. Yet not with his shoes, but with his own feet.

“How come my feet have wounded like ordinary people’s feet?”

He grabbed a handful of sand and poured it into the holes.
“If you are this invalid, I will put you to face a greater torture.”

He stood up, letting the sand bite the wounds on his heels. And smiled.

His smile was like a beam of sunlight that flashed across the dusted sky.

The lantern shook in the wind.

The wind blew and spiraled the withering Chrysanthemum to Aiab Kai. He thrust out his arm and scooped the flower into his palm.

Almost all of the petals were gone; only a few stubborn ones remained, wistfully holding onto the shriveling stem.

Aiab Kai patted his worn-out clothes, which deserved to be thrown into the garbage at once, then gently put the Chrysanthemum into a hole on his collar. Judging from the expression he was wearing, one might take him for a wealthy dandy who had a delicate taste in his choice of clothes, who was now gracefully putting the most beautiful flower into one of his most costly and elegant gowns, worth one thousand units of gold.

Aiab Kai was now very pleased with himself. He smiled again.

The narrow door was closed.

Aiab Kai lifted his chin, puffing up his chest and taking a long step ahead, pushing the door open.

Then he saw Boangsah.

The man and his sword.

The sword was in his hand.

Pale, white hand. Dark scabbard.

Aiab Kai saw the white hand on the dark scabbard, then moved his eyes up to the face.

Pale, white face. Dark eyes.

A smile flashed in Aiab Kai’s eyes as if he was pleased with the things he was seeing.

Aiab Kai took long steps toward Boangsah, arriving opposite to the man’s seat, then sitting down.

Boangsah’s chopsticks never stopped moving. One mouthful of condiment then one mouthful of rice. He was eating slowly, yet he never stopped to take a glance at Aiab Kai.

Aiab Kai stared at Boangsah, smiling and saying: “Do you drink?”

Boangsah did not look up, nor stopped eating.

He took the last two mouthfuls of rice very slowly. Finishing, he set his chopsticks down and looked up at Aiab Kai.

Aiab Kai’s smile was as warm as the sunlight.

There was not a single trace of a smile on Boangsah’s pale face. A long moment later, he spoke up slowly: “I do not drink.”

Smiling, Aiab Kai said: “You don’t drink, but how about you buying me a few cups of liquor?”

Boangsah said: “You're asking me to buy you drinks? Why?”

His words came out very slowly, as if each of them were being weighed carefully, because he would take full responsibility for every word that fell from his mouth.

Thus, he would never let out a wrong word.

Aiab Kai repeated Boangsah’s question: “Why? Because you're pleasing to my eyes.”

Sighing, he continued: “Here in this place there is no one else as interesting as you.”

(end of assignment, duh.)