Seventy-two Letters

The day before, when Luan Yi had lifted the great cauldron, he strained the muscles in his right arm; the injury had not yet fully healed. Today, after a series of fierce battles and then wielding the hammer to smash through the wall, the old wound flared up again. On top of that, the wound on his abdomen tore open once more, causing him immense pain.

Because of the pain, his movements slowed just enough that a stray arrow, grazing the handle of his iron hammer, flew past and embedded itself in his right shoulder. Warm blood spurted out, splattering all over Cai Yan’s face. She cried out loudly, “Ziqi...!”

Li Zhuang, who was fighting his way back, heard her call and only then realized that Luan Yi had been struck by an arrow. His face turned pale. “Brothers, protect the Master!”

Their so-called “brothers” amounted to just three men. The three, together with Li Zhuang, formed a desperate knot, fighting their way back. By the time they made their frantic return to the factory’s main gate, every one of them was covered in wounds.

On the high wall, the guards poured down a hail of arrows, forcing the government troops to fall back. The gate opened, and under the cover of the guards, several people rushed out to rescue Luan Yi and Li Zhuang, pulling them back inside.

Three physicians hurried over with their medicine chests as soon as the gates closed, examining this one and that, shaking their heads. Of the seven who made it back, only Cai Yan and her maid Cai Yun were unscathed; the rest were all wounded. Luan Yi and Li Zhuang’s injuries were relatively light and could be treated, but the three remaining guards were in critical condition, their bodies riddled with wounds and blood pouring from them without end. The physicians were amazed that such grievously wounded men had managed not only to survive, but to fight their way back to the factory.

The only possible explanation was that the Holy Mother had manifested her grace, granting them extraordinary strength, inspiring them to fulfill their mission and escort their leader to safety.

This proved that the Master’s life was not yet meant to end, and that they had triumphantly completed their duty. Now, having lost so much blood, they could lay down their burdens and return peacefully to heaven. “Ah... Heaven’s Gate!”

Upon hearing of Luan Yi’s return, Luan Miao, Lady Diao Luan, and Diao Chan were summoned in turn to see him. When they saw him covered in blood, with an arrow still lodged in his shoulder, Diao Chan, tears streaming down her cheeks, stepped forward and, wanting to embrace him but afraid of aggravating his wounds, dared not move. “Luan Lang! You’re wounded again!”

Diao Chan waved her handkerchief, trying to staunch the blood flowing from his wounds, but there were simply too many. Besides the arrow in his shoulder, there were four or five slashes on his chest and back, from which blood continued to seep, causing both pain and fear to those who saw it. “Physician Wang, quickly, come help the Master! Hurry...!”

“Don’t worry about me! See to Yan’er first!” Luan Yi lowered Cai Yan to the ground and, enduring the pain, found a large stone to sit on.

“I am unharmed,” Cai Yan said. “Please treat Ziqi first.”

Physician Wang, seeing that Cai Yan was indeed unhurt, knelt beside Luan Yi with his medicine chest. “Master, bear with me, please.”

“Go ahead,” Luan Yi gritted his teeth. “Do it.”

While Physician Wang tended to Luan Yi’s wounds, Diao Chan, tears still on her face, glared furiously at Cai Yan, making her feel deeply uneasy. Diao Chan rebuked her harshly, “Everyone made it back to the factory, so why did you, Sister Cai, have to be special and stay behind in the chapel courtyard?”

Cai Yan began to weep silently, not daring to answer.

Diao Chan pressed her advantage. “Speak up! Do you know, to save you, more than ten lives were lost, and even Luan Lang was gravely wounded on your account. If anything had happened to him...” Her words broke off as she began to sob, “How could you ever answer for it?” Seeing that Cai Yan remained silent, she pressed her to the wall with a mix of shoving and scolding. “Say something! Speak!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Cai Yan wailed. “It’s all my fault. On the way out, I suddenly remembered the letters Ziqi had sent me over the years, which I had left behind. I couldn’t bear to lose them, so I turned back to fetch them. But just as I found them, the soldiers burst in... I couldn’t escape!” The more she spoke, the more guilt and sorrow overwhelmed her, until at last she broke down and sobbed uncontrollably.

So that was the reason?

Luan Yi, as he was being treated, heard every word. To be honest, when he first learned that Cai Yan had not retreated to the factory but had stayed behind in the main courtyard, he had bitterly thought she would ruin everything. Now, knowing the true reason, all resentment vanished.

A woman who would risk her life to preserve his letters must truly love him deeply.

This thought sent a gentle warmth flooding through his heart.

Physician Wang interrupted his reverie. “Master, I am about to remove the arrow from your shoulder. It will hurt, so please hold on.”

“Do it,” Luan Yi said, and no sooner had he spoken than he felt agony like splintered bone as the arrow was pulled free. He gasped in pain, cold sweat pouring down his face.

Even as Luan Yi endured the pain, Diao Chan continued to berate Cai Yan. “Letters can be rewritten if lost; lives, once lost, are gone forever. If Luan Lang had died in battle...”

“Enough!” Luan Yi, weak from blood loss, spoke in a faint, exhausted voice. He stopped Diao Chan from pressing the matter. “I’m still alive, and well enough. Chan’er, let the past go.”

“But...” Diao Chan looked at him with wounded eyes.

“There’s no ‘but’ about it!” Luan Yi’s tone grew stern. “At a time like this, what’s the use in bickering? If you have time to dwell on it, better help the craftsmen bottle the Divine Wine. Besides, I’m tired and need some peace. Yan’er is shaken—Mother, Xiao Cui, please find her a quiet room to rest in and a clean set of clothes.”

Xiao Cui obediently replied, “Yes,” and, together with Lady Diao Luan, helped Cai Yan to the rear courtyard.

Diao Chan, still unwilling to let the matter drop, pouted and asked, “Luan Lang... Sister Cai has made such a grave error. If she isn’t punished, how will others be convinced?”

“Enough! I’m tired, and want some quiet.”

Seeing him close his eyes and refuse to speak further, Diao Chan could only leave in frustration, going to the distillery to help bottle the wine as he had instructed.

Luan Yi, gravely wounded, was forced to withdraw from the fighting. Yet the battle that followed was unexpectedly tense.

On the government side, Zhu Ying took personal command, abandoning the encirclement strategy and launching a fierce assault on the factory’s southern gate for two straight days, while also attacking from the north, attempting a pincer movement.

Though the government troops fought fiercely, reports from the guards indicated their numbers had diminished significantly—no more than eight hundred men remained outside both gates.

Luan Yi quickly calculated: if there had originally been three thousand besieging them, and the guards had slain around five hundred, there should still be about twenty-five hundred left. So where had the remaining seventeen hundred gone?

It was clear: Zhu Ying must have had trouble in the rear and diverted troops to deal with it. As for the cause—needless to say, Dian Wei and his men must have stirred up trouble, meaning reinforcements might soon arrive to their rescue.

With that thought, the faint hope of survival flared anew.

By noon, the defenders’ arrows had run out. Each guard had only three arrows left—far too few for the battle ahead. Facing this dire situation, Luan Yi made a desperate decision: he ordered all the glass bottles and stores of Divine Wine in the factory to be brought out, making a total of 1,353 firebombs, averaging more than five per person. With these, they unleashed a sea of flames to hold back another government assault.

The area outside both gates became an inferno. The north gate, being close to the main church, saw the flames spread—though fortunately, the chapel itself stood at the far north of the compound and was spared, as were the library, reading room, and dining hall. The soldiers, respecting the icons enshrined in the chapel, dared not destroy the building, so it remained intact even after the fighting ceased.

After a half-hour rout, the government forces regrouped and attacked again. This time, the defenders had neither arrows nor firebombs to spare, and the battle quickly became desperate. The attackers soon breached the defenses, set up scaling ladders, and swarmed the walls in overwhelming numbers.

In this crisis, Luan Yi, his wounds still bleeding, was forced to climb the wall and fight, his father Luan Miao wielding his sword beside him.

In this life-and-death struggle, the defenders of the church poured out every last ounce of strength. The guards, fighting for two days and nights without rest, slaughtered the enemy with reckless valor. Often, grievously wounded men would seize enemy soldiers scaling the walls and hurl themselves down together. There were even those with broken arms or legs who, in their final moments, would leap up and bite the enemy’s neck, trading their own deaths for the survival of their comrades.

Each was a hero in his own right, possessed by the most powerful force in the world—a force called faith.

As a cry of exultation rang out—“The Holy Mother protects us!”—the government troops fell back. To be precise, they were terrified by the defenders, convinced that those on the wall were madmen, not fighting but seeking death—willing to kill two or three men while mortally wounded and then die together with another enemy. This was their favored tactic.

Gradually, the soldiers understood: the defenders did not fear death. They even welcomed it. The reason was clear—long ago, Luan Yi had preached to all believers that “those who die fighting for the church will delight the Holy Mother, and be received into her blessed heaven.”

When the fighting ended, the defenders had suffered terrible losses; only about forty remained, each wounded and utterly exhausted, slumped against the walls. Luan Yi himself, with new wounds reopening old ones, covered in blood, nearly tumbled from the wall into the courtyard.

Physician Wang rushed to him again, tears in his eyes, and dressed his wounds, pleading, “Master, you must not go back into battle. If you do...”

Luan Yi waved him off. “Don’t worry. My mission is not yet done—the Holy Mother will not summon me home just yet.”

Physician Wang wept silently, praying for the Holy Mother’s grace to save them all from peril.

Lady Diao Luan, Cai Yan, Diao Chan, and Xiao Cui stayed by his side, fetching water, washing cloths, weeping without end.