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“Young Khan of Ashile Tribe defeated.
I am not unwell, but this disciple is currently unsightly.
Will take this time to do some self-reflection
Yifu, please be well and regain your strength.”
The message was direct and concise, with no ink wasted, yet ample time given for thoughtful consideration. Written precisely in the way he was taught, Du Ruhui beamed at the sight of the note. Albeit still thoughtful, as always, the old man chuckled as he felt the tenderness exuded by the deliberate words in the small note.
Just like Haodu.
He described himself as a vagrant child he had picked off the streets, but little did Haodu know that to his Yifu, he was anything but insignificant. In fact, now that Du Ruhui’s world was considerably smaller and finite due to his sickness and age, he can no longer help but think constantly of his protégé in the quiet solitude of his convalescence. He recalled memories of Haodu as a young child, reflected on how he grew up, and often contemplated what would happen to Haodu once Du Ruhui passes on. Du Ruhui never was afraid of death or how he will be judged in history for all the deeds he had done in his life. Yet it remained a mystery, if not a source of worry to him, whether he had properly reared Haodu in the best way possible so that he would live out the rest of his life well.
Minister Du Ruhui was not used to this kind of sentimental reflection. Before, his thoughts revolved only around intellectual pursuits for the prosperity and protection of Da Tang. Though he was primarily a scholar, he fought like a warrior in debates and petitions with various ministers and statesmen. Envoys, assassins, generals and rebels – he dealt with them all, minute by minute without rest. But now, his days were quieter, with only Haodu remaining constantly by his side, keeping vigil and reverently looking up to him, as though Du Ruhui were more than just an old fading minister in this new growing country. In these moments when Da Tang now seemed too large and too great for a frail old man, he could only think of what remained, or rather, the only person who he would never stop fighting for, despite everything – the same person who still thought he was worth anything in this world, even as he lay in his bed, too weak to move or do anything. These days, instead of wars and insurgents, his energy was focused on getting better, or at least appearing to be better, just to allay the worry in Haodu’s heart. For such a man of great stature, it was almost silly how he could tremble and falter at the sight of his Yifu having a coughing fit, as though the young man were afraid that the old man’s heaving breaths would be his last. It was a well-known fact in Chang’an that Haodu was a ruthless soldier who did not hesitate to kill upon Du Ruhui’s command, with cold eyes unblinking. Hence, Du Ruhui was often taken aback whenever he saw his doe-like eyes and trembling lips as he waited on him to make sure that he took his medicine on time. Even worse was the sullen expression he had whenever he sent Haodu away for a mission or an errand, to keep him occupied instead of wasting away with him on his death bed. Despite hiding his eyes with his raised hands and low bow, Du Ruhui always felt the painful twinge inside his heart whenever he saw Haodu’s drooped shoulders and heard his heavy footfalls as he nevertheless left to do his bidding.
“Yifu, you must get better,” Haodu often whispered when he thought he wasn’t listening, almost like a fervent prayer, or even like a frightened plea. Du Ruhui was told that he had a year at most to live, nevertheless, getting better was a wish he started to have as well, if only to comfort Haodu’s troubled soul.
Days and nights of seeing Haodu keeping vigil by his bedside allowed him to finally uncover the truth deep within him, that is, Du Ruhui, who had never married or become a father, had Haodu, born from his own heart, as his son.
It was only now that he understood how progeny worked. He had always been reckless with his decisions, knowing that the ends always justified the means. But now that he knew he was bound to leave someone behind – someone who would carry his legacy and someone who he felt would benefit and likewise suffer from the consequences of all his past deeds - he couldn’t help but reflect on his own life and use his remaining strength to wish for the best for his son, who he knew he’d leave behind.
Yifu, that was what Haodu called him – it was an appellation given to a man not related by blood but had earned the same level of respect as one’s father. He was the one who taught him what the term meant – and perhaps, in his youth, Haodu had no real understanding of the weight it carried. But that is not to say, however, that Haodu’s devotion was superficial. It never was anything but genuine – for such was that boy’s nature. It still moved Du Ruhui, more than he would ever admit, how from then, until now, Haodu’s pure reverence could make a cold and unbothered man like him feel like a true father.
Truly, it was only Haodu who can move him, ever since the very beginning. Du Ruhui recalled that fateful encounter fifteen years ago, during Li Shimin’s campaign in the conquest of Luoyang. There was yet no Emperor Taizong and he was likewise not Minister Du Ruhui, but a mere staff of a fledgling general who was not even a crown prince. In one of the skirmishes, their path was blocked by bandits who had peasant women and children as their hostages. The small children looked like hunted fawns, cowering and frail as their sole purpose was to serve as human shields. Du Ruhui found the bandits’ utter disregard for the innocent so abhorrent that he wanted to wipe them all out, but he knew that the bandits would merely harm their own hostages once they launched their attack. He gave a signal to his archers then, and the group retreated into the shadows. In the midst of the chaos, one boy stood out and caught his attention. That pale boy with small yet unblinking eyes held a sword firmly, perhaps as instructed, and stood his ground even as he was pushed around or wounded. He quickly darted for him then, hoping to pluck him out of harm’s way. Yet to his surprise, when they were face to face, he still stood firm, and looked at him with the clearest eyes he had ever seen. For a second, he wondered if the boy would stab him, as he still held the sword firmly in his grasp. It was after a closer look that he realized that his knees were shaking and the sword clearly was too heavy that all his scrawny arms could manage was to hold the sword. Du Ruhui parried the attacks that were directed both at him and towards the boy, and still, the boy’s grip on the sword remained true. When finally, the fight was over and the bandits were accosted, he and the boy met eye to eye once more and not knowing what to make of it, Du Ruhui simply asked, “Why?”
The boy, pursed his lip, and looked down as he felt his arms shake from the strain of holding the sword. Seeming to gather his courage, he looked up and met Du Ruhui’s eyes again, and said, “They said, fight.”
“Then, fight.” Du Ruhui said as he knelt down to be at eye level with the boy.
He held his gaze, even as his lower lip trembled, and what seemed to be tears started forming in his eyes. It was only then that Du Ruhui realized how young the boy was. His round face and plump cheeks, despite looking like he had been in the streets for far too long in his short life, made him look like he was an infant just a couple of seasons ago.
“I don’t know how,” the boy said softly, his voice breaking slightly, “I don’t know why.”
Du Ruhui pulled on the sword, but to his surprise, he was met with resistance due to the boy’s stubborn grip on the sword’s hilt. He touched the boy’s arm instead, and felt his firm wrist, unusually strong for a boy his age. “Do you know for whom you should fight?”
The boy’s eyes widened slightly before he looked down, a forlorn expression in his face. “My mother is dead.” That the child knew death made Du Ruhui’s hardened heart ache for a moment. That the child instinctively knew of filial piety just when he was deprived of a mother’s love at such a young age, filled Du Ruhui’s normally rational mind with violent anger. With one final tug, he pulled the sword away from the boy and threw it on the ground.
“You must fight for what is right, so you will never feel the pain of injustice again,” Du Ruhui said, as the boy listened to his words intently, his innocence preventing him from really understanding the words that he said. “What is your name, boy?”
The little one shook his head and briefly ran his arm across his face to hide a sniffle.
“Your family?” Again, the boy shook his head at Du Ruhui’s gentle query. He pinched the two corners of the young boy’s mouth slightly and saw that he still had his milk teeth. Too young, yet he had to grow up too soon.
“From now on, you must fight for Da Tang.”
Without question, and barely knowing what he just talked about, the boy took his extended hand and held it with the same stubborn grip he had on the sword. It was then that both their lives changed forever.
He didn’t know what made that little boy trust him then, just as he never really figured out what pushed a stoic man like himself to suddenly care for an orphaned peasant child. Perhaps it was the clarity in his eyes? Perhaps it was the unusual strength he displayed? Or perhaps it was his resilience and survival despite his situation. It was only later that he realized it was all that and more.
When he decided to keep the boy in the camp instead of leaving him behind with the other refugees, none of his soldiers said a word. In retrospect, being young as he was back then, it felt odd, if not wicked to keep a small child with a group of hardened soldiers in a campaign. In any event, the soldiers liked to see him as a sort of charm, as his youth and innocence kept them grounded, even as they faced violence and death every day. Perhaps the boy reminded them of the sons and brothers they left behind, and the children whose futures they fought for. So even when they found or encountered a family or a monastery, or some other safe haven for the boy, Du Ruhui held on to him, and the boy likewise steadfastly remained by his side.
Perhaps it was Haodu’s own disposition that made it easy for Du Ruhui to decide to keep him in the camp. The boy held the seriousness of someone beyond his years as he often remained calm, never fidgeting or being excessively playful. Most outstanding of all was his obedience. He listened to commands like an able soldier and carried out whatever he was told to the best of his abilities. After knowing this, the strategist Du Ruhui confirmed his instinctive observation that Haodu had the potential to be molded as a perfect weapon - one who can be wielded to serve and protect Da Tang.
The boy started to earn his keep in Du Ruhui’s camp as the little errand boy who remembered every single item and location and can deliver them to him and his trusted aides with ease. Du Ruhui became fascinated with his young mind then, and wondered how much more the boy can learn. They started with writing, and apart from fetching things, he started instructing him on how to pass messages, both written and verbal. As a child, it was easy for him to surreptitiously move around, unnoticed. Yet the unassuming boy’s hidden brilliance caught Li Shimin’s attention when Du Ruhui asked him to deliver a message once, while a skirmish was ongoing, and Haodu managed to do so with such clarity and courage. Things that would normally faze other young boys his age did not bother him. It was a sad reminder of his tragic origins, but it was likewise a hint of his promising future. Li Shimin, Prince of Qin, made sure to tell Du Ruhui about it, in response to the secret message which Haodu delivered. “This boy you have trained is resilient and bright,” he said, “He would be an indispensable asset of the Minister of War in the future, no doubt.” As it turns out, Du Ruhui’s advise at that time turned the tide in Li Shimin’s favor and he had remembered Haodu ever since.
Du Ruhui took pride in the boy’s small victories. The other soldiers wanted to test his potential as well, just to check how tough the boy can be. There were many nights when, after lengthy meetings and discussions, Du Ruhui would see him outside the camp, training with a wooden sword as the resting soldiers watched, applauded and heckled. To his soldiers, the boy’s training was no different from a shadow puppet show they watched in the festivals back home, where their cheers gave the boy his color, and their verbal instructions served as the wooden rods that made him move like a swordsman in a play—perhaps Du Ruhui was no different from them, as he too moved and bent the boy to his will. He thus felt his chest swell, with pride or with guilt, he was unsure then, every time the boy showed his unwavering loyalty. Whenever Haodu saw him, he would drop his sword, bow to his teachers and immediately kneel before him to wait for any orders. The boy never forgot who his savior was and he always knew and respected his benefactor. He wondered if his loyalty was borne merely from the protection and nourishment that he gave. After all, the special treatment he received in the camp was attributable to their knowledge that the boy, indeed was a shadow puppet, but ultimately for Du Ruhui to control and wield. As he gave the boy more tasks which he successfully accomplished, both of them knew that the boy was starting to have a sense of being that was much more than an errand boy, even more than a puppet who Du Ruhui could control in the shadows.
Bright Capital. That was the name he chose for Haodu when it became inconvenient to call him just “boy”. He had hoped that the future Da Tang would flourish enough that he would never again see such a bright-eyed young boy holding a sword as he looked at death in the eye. It was likewise his prayer that Haodu would grow up and take up a sword, not to die, but to live, using his strength to keep the capital bright and prosperous. It was a wish Du Ruhui knew he could fulfil, with boy’s innate strength and the minister’s grace.
When the campaign ended and it was time to go back to the Capital, he brought Haodu to the Du Manor and declared that it was now the boy’s home. None of his retainers asked what he was and how Du Ruhui saw him as. It was at the Du Manor that Haodu started calling him Yifu, a title which greatly pleased him. Haodu’s own actions defined his place in his new home. He heeded all of Du Ruhui’s instructions to the letter and diligently carried out his bidding. Indeed, he became the old man’s most trusted and efficient aide. He remained his shadow but at the same time showed his own brilliance as he was able to respond to the old scholar’s rhetorical musings and remained standing after the old warrior’s drills, a feat none of his servants could ever accomplish. Du Ruhui’s retainers thus gave Haodu the reverence fit for a young master, despite him not being formally adopted as a son of the house of Du. Eventually, his relatives likewise found out about the boy he took under his wing. He never had to introduce him. They all just knew him to be Haodu, and he was his Yifu. His relatives knew that Keming’s stride had always been heavy with responsibility and urgent with a mission and they never bothered to keep up or send an heir who can learn how– it was only his Haodu who dared to remain, a few paces from his wake.
Every day, since returning from the campaign, Du Ruhui refined Haodu’s swordsmanship skills, and he was pleasantly surprised when he learned that Haodu had talent for calculation as well. Du Ruhui took full responsibility of Haodu’s education then, initially, out of his continuing interest as to how much a young boy with an unknown origin can achieve. When Haodu continued to excel, it became his joy to finally have someone to share and appreciate his well curated scrolls. He told Haodu that scrolls were only either read or kept, and had no care whether its reader were the son of a scholar or that of a pauper. Du Ruhui was thus pleased when Haodu became a voracious reader, as the same scrolls that showed him the world in his youth now had a new life. When the demands of his office took its toll, he decided to send Haodu to school in order to allow him to keep learning. But when he was told that Haodu’s lack of clear lineage made him ineligible to enroll in any school in the capital, Du Ruhui, in defiance, procured even more scrolls for his young charge, and sent him to the soldiers’ training grounds to start Haodu’s rigid training. He did not know why he felt a quiet rage back then, but he knew a bright young man as his Haodu deserved more than the lot given to him. Hence, he made sure Haodu was equipped with the same knowledge, skill, and acumen as any other man in the capital.
It was easy to give such grace to Haodu for there was never a time when he failed in his mission or let him down. Even now, after his latest directive regarding the fate of the Princess Yongan, Haodu, despite all the odds stacked against him, won the joust, and now he was eligible, nay, he has won the right to marry the daughter of Emperor Taizong, fair and square. Du Ruhui smiled as he remembered the words in Haodu’s note. All his training and hard work had come to this, Du Ruhui mused, I raised him to be no less than any man worthy of the Princess in the Capital and his nobility lies in his own heart.
Haodu had the built of a swordsman, and the grit of a warrior. Yet in a battle where the prize includes marriage to a princess, Haodu would likewise need nobility of character, and most of all, a heart with the capacity for love. While Du Ruhui was able to train Haodu to become a soldier and an upright citizen, he was in no place to teach him about romantic love and affection. It was an area he perhaps encountered in his youth, but was ultimately pushed aside when he thrust himself onto civil service. Du Ruhui raised Haodu in an environment where knowledge was aplenty but warmth was sparse. Still, he was confident that Haodu knew warmth and affection, without needing to be taught. Perhaps the boy held more warmth than Du Ruhui could ever muster. Du Ruhui felt it in the gentle care his young charge gave in meticulously arranging his personal effects, and from his quiet exhilaration whenever he welcomed his Yifu home after a long day at work. He likewise saw it in the patient and amiable way he waited in the kitchen amid his old maid’s idle chatter and his subtle yet genuine smile of gratitude whenever he tasted a small treat that was especially prepared for him.
Du Ruhui confirmed that his boy, with his clear and bright eyes, had the capacity for love when he showed keen interest in the delicate and fragile flower that bloomed in Hongyi Palace.
It was during one of Du Ruhui’s visits to Li Shimin, Prince of Qin, that the fateful encounter occurred. The prince had asked about how his young charge was doing, hence he brought him to the palace for an audience. Li Shimin mentioned how Haodu’s bright eyes, when he saw him last, reminded him of his daughter’s, who was just an infant when he left for the campaign at Luoyang. Just then, Du Ruhui heard the boisterous laughter from outside the room and he and Li Shimin couldn’t help but exchange a smile. Haodu sat quietly with his head bowed slightly, but the sound left him undeniably curious. His boy had no opportunity to play with other children; hence, he realized that the sound of children’s laughter may have been new to him. Du Ruhui thus gave him a quick nod and allowed him to venture out of the hall to explore on his own.
Indeed, Li Shimin’s daughter was an infant no more. Instead, she had become a beautiful young girl who had the sun in her smile and the moon in her eyes. She had been focused on creating a crown of flowers with the blooms she and her cousin had harvested from the palace gardens, that she did not seem to care about the other princess’s gleeful screams as she ran around in the other side of the pond, engaged in a game of tag with the young son of Wei Zheng. Haodu stood frozen as he observed the young Princess Yongan and Du Ruhui was unsure of how long he had stood there, hiding behind a pillar, watching silently. Hours had passed since he dismissed him and the children’s laughter had been Du Ruhui and Li Shimin’s constant music throughout their discussion. He had wanted to hear Haodu’s laugh with theirs, but Du Ruhui now realized that he just remained behind, watching, observing with a quiet smile.
“Haodu,” Du Ruhui started, and held the boy’s shoulder to keep him steady as the older man’s voice clearly startled him. “Why did you stay here? Why didn’t you play with them?”
Haodu looked up at him and had a confused look in his eyes. “Yifu,” he said, “They are the royal children of Da Tang, aren’t they? This loyal servant must protect them.”
Du Ruhui nodded, pleased with Haodu’s fealty, but he nonetheless felt an ache in his heart for the sense of isolation he never knew the boy had, the isolation he himself instilled on his young mind.
“Haodu, while I taught you rules on etiquette and propriety, as a child you must…” How was he to explain to Haodu that he had a right to be a child, even when he insisted on keeping him in the camp at a young age, even when he strictly monitored his education and training, and even if it was he who instilled in him the rigid rules of society and protocol? “Haodu, flowers are not merely observed, you may approach, touch and smell them.”
The boy was confused for a while as he thought of his Yifu’s words. He bent his head and looked at his hands then replied, “But I have seen the flowers in the Du Manor, Yifu, my hands are too rough and strong to touch them. It’s best to see them bloom from afar.”
Since that moment, Du Ruhui knew Haodu had the compassion of a champion and the gentleness of a guardian. Li Shimin saw it too, that he eagerly welcomed Haodu as an apprentice of the royal guards serving at Hongyi Palace. When Du Ruhui worked in the plenary, Haodu likewise learned the ropes from the royal guards. He was assigned to observe the young Princess Yongan for, at first, he was young and seemingly unassuming – just like that time he served as a messenger in the Luoyang campaign. Soon, much sooner than anyone expected however, Haodu grew up to be a tall young man with sharp eyes and an imposing build. His notoriety as a soldier who slashed down enemies in cold blood preceded him, hence, he could no longer be the conspicuous shadow who can tail behind the fragile young princess. Just the same, having a formidable soldier at the Princess’s disposal, without her even knowing it, was the biggest protection she had in a while.
When he came of age, he easily passed the military exam on his own merit. Thereafter, his exceptional ease in wielding a sword and his quick wit made him the commander of the imperial guards. Since Haodu was now an adult, Minister Du was likewise able to deploy him to do more sensitive and important missions for the good of Da Tang. Yet just like how Haodu, as a child, always returned, kneeling before Du Ruhui to wait for orders, as Hao Tongling, he always gave special attention to the comings and goings in Princess Yongan’s palace to ensure she was always safe and sound. He was first to respond whenever there was any trouble. He was likewise sure to linger and put everything on hold when the Princess’s safety was on the line.
It was a flaw which Du Ruhui perceived, but a favor, which Li Shimin, always remembered. Minister Du always reminded Haodu never to be conceited, and never to let his emotions get in the line of his duty. Always focus on the task ahead, Du Ruhui reminded him, keep sentimentality off your work. You must have a formidable mind and a steel heart.
Despite all these reminders, Haodu’s strict discipline, which took years of grueling training to build, still cracked. Du Ruhui saw it in those longing glances, those forlorn smiles, and the heavy distance that his young charge always maintained between him and the delicate princess. He always looked at her while always avoiding her eyes. He made sure to know where she went and where she was about to go without even so much as being her companion. Even in the curt reports about the Princess which he wrote with carefully chosen words, it was quite clear that the man Du Ruhui raised all these years was a living, breathing creature, not a heartless shell. The flaw therefore, was not in Haodu’s failure to obey after all, but in Du Ruhui’s cold and unreasonable order that no other man, not even he, himself, could adhere to. How could a young man stop his heart from beating? How could a young man stop his heart from yearning? It was a matter not even he was able to resolve in his youth.
He confronted him once about it, back in Luoyang, after he saw them returning from a stroll in the city. He stated flatly that he gave the Princess too much consideration. “Of course, Yifu, she’s a princess after all,” Haodu replied, with a solemn look in his eyes that left no further doubts.
Minister Du saw clearly, how the delicate blossom in Hongyi Palace had grown into a beautiful woman who showed her care for the people of Da Tang with her bare hands, while she showed the wisdom she gained from experience with her refined words. Indeed, she was a princess, both in name and in bearing, and it was no surprise that a man, such as his Haodu, would want nothing else other than to protect her. Princess Yongan was a worthy muse, even after Li Shimin spread rumors that his daughter was ill and weak, men all over Chang’an still lined up to serve at her feet. Nevertheless, only one champion was brave enough to claim her, as proven by the events of this afternoon.
Ever since the morning he first saw her, up until this afternoon when he won her hand, Du Ruhui knew that Haodu wanted nothing more than to always be with Princess Yongan. How can he consider himself as Haodu’s father if he did not know his son’s heart? It was a love so pure that he need not have any title, as long as he can be by her side. He can be her servant, her guard, or even her champion in the deadly spectacle meant to determine her future. It was the same selfless love Haodu held for him, as his Yifu, wasn’t it? Haodu remained at his side as his loyal servant, and his able weapon. Haodu was his devoted son, who cried inside when he learned that his Yifu’s days were numbered, and who stayed and wiped the blood off his face with his bare hands and held his trembling body as it strung together the last few threads of his life.
Yet for all his ardent love and pure devotion, one title continued to mar his son’s perfect image. It was that one title that prevented him from ever being a complete version of himself.
It was puppet. Du Ruhui’s puppet.
What he wouldn't give to break Haodu’s wooden rods and to lift his son far from the shadow and onto the light!
It pained him, whenever he thought about it, how Haodu can achieve greatness and accomplish so many feats, but still be called “Puppet,” casting a shadow over his luster. It was a burden that Du Ruhui would perhaps carry to his grave, for he had a hand in binding Haodu and thrusting him behind the curtain of light. Haodu was his Bright Capital , he was his pride and his hope. Yet his own lack of feelings as an obstinate man, his own blind ambition as the Minister of War of Da Tang, and his utter lack of foresight as a childless patriarch of the House of Du that prevented him from nurturing and grooming Haodu as a proper father should.
The most malicious slander that ever crushed his son’s pride was not from the idle gossips in court nor from the pointed accusations of his displaced relatives who coveted Haodu’s implicit position as heir – Nay, it was from the very object of his affection, Princess Yongan, who slapped him in front of his own subordinates, and called him Du Ruhui’s heartless puppet. It was punishment for an action he himself had instructed Haodu to perform against his will – and even that notwithstanding, it was him, his revered Yifu who dealt the deadly blow - when he asked Haodu whether the Princess’s slap caused him to forget his mission, and thereafter caused him to step aside and face the wall, to reflect on his identity, discarded like a useless, broken toy.
He thought he can live his life and die without any regrets, but it was that one single moment he regretted every day, one that nagged him every time he received Haodu’s unselfish care and gentle warmth. Now that he knew Li Changge was noble and upright, despite all the injustice she suffered, and amidst all his manipulative schemes to capture and kill her. His oversight led him to do actions that were far from noble and instead, so sinister that it could undermine all the other good things he supposedly built for Da Tang. Even Haodu knew that Li Changge's was not a threat to Da Tang, as he saw with his own unclouded eyes that her compassion for the people eclipsed her quest for revenge. Instead of listening to his charge, he instead shot him down and forced his narrowminded perspective. His current sickness was likely his final reckoning for the sins he committed against Li Changge, Emperor Taizong, the Princess Yongan and even his own Haodu, hence he took it gladly, humbly. It pained him how his selfish arrogance served as a wedge between Haodu and his love, and how his absolute orders almost destroyed his own son. Did he not raise Haodu to have the ability to know what was right and what was wrong? Did he not raise his Haodu to know to live upright and do only what was moral and just? Did his Bright Capital not have his own inherent light and boundless warmth that made him human, truly humane, far from the puppet epithet that is often hurled at him as an insult? Yet now, the damage is done, and no matter what encouragement he gave him, all his Haodu could do was to kneel and remember his painful origin. “I am but a vagrant child that was picked off the streets,” he bitterly judged himself; he believed himself to be a soulless shell who had no inherent value if he could not even carry out his master’s bidding. Du Ruhui was at a loss as he did not know how to untangle the knot in his son’s heart that he himself had made!
“Haodu,” he said the night before, gathering all the strength he had left in order to correct the grave fault he had committed. “I, as your father, devoted my entire life to the country, sacrificing my family. I have never once considered anything for myself.” The old man learned, perhaps too late, that his intense focus and his lack of grounding made him insensitive and unable to provide Haodu with a family, and failed to be Haodu’s family. “You absolutely do not need to follow my old path. You should simply follow your heart’s desire.” The way I should have followed mine, Du Ruhui thought, wondering if he had enough days to live to finally be the father his Haodu deserved.
“Follow your heart’s desires without transgressing the rules. This is also a way to live in the world.” Du Ruhui gave his son his final admonition, as he himself lived with his one regret.
The rods are gone, Haodu. There is nothing more that binds us, other than perhaps this heart of a father that yearns to support you, one final time.
Du Ruhui’s silent reflection in the stillness of his room made him remember the words that the sage Confucius once said. “At fifteen, I set my heart upon learning. At thirty I stood firm. At forty, I had no doubts. At fifty, I understood the Decree of Heaven. At sixty, I understood what I heard. At seventy, I could follow my heart’s desire without overstepping the rules.” Du Ruhui thought he could achieve the same enlightenment as the sage Confucius – but now he knew how empty and conceited his thoughts had been. He learned, and lived, and carried on with his life without any doubts. He lived, he fought, he even helped build a new order. He lived – did he truly live, as a human should, under the decree of heaven? Heaven pitied him by sending a son, with bright eyes and resilient arms. Perhaps he never truly lived as a man until he learned love from this young boy who called him Yifu and made him feel what it was like to be a father.
“Yifu, please be well and regain your strength.” He traced Haodu’s words in his short note with his trembling hands, as he willed himself to do as his boy had wished.
Haodu. My son. My Bright Capital. Do not make the same mistake as I did.
With a sudden burst of restored vigor, fueled by his determination and love for his son, Du Ruhui got up and stumbled towards his desk. As he ground the ink in the slab and prepared his brush, he continued to pray for his son’s future and thought of the remaining things he needed to prepare to pave his way to accept his new fate, for Haodu to live this new way of life he had earned and heaven granted to him.
A note. He should write him a note, one that would encourage him, but not one that would bind him. He needed to convey words of encouragement to move Haodu towards the path that his heart had chosen. The princess had to know as well, that Haodu was never his puppet, but a man who had the capacity for love, but whose heart only she can rightfully free and claim from the shackles that he had built from years of steadfast duty and bitter neglect.
With a firm resolve, the strategist, Du Ruhui, wrote the words with the same firmness he had in writing a command for the troops, but this time, his words were a blessing for his son, bearing his whole heart.
Haodu,
Your victory is not unexpected. The purity of your devotion to Princess Yongan is your biggest strength. You were raised no less than the other warriors who could have fought for the Princess’s hand. Your nobility lies with your steadfastness. Your fortitude underscores your worth. Let the Princess heal your wounds so she can redeem her debt of honor. Once you can look at each other as equals, you can both decide, with open hearts, on whether to accept the prize of the young Khan’s defeat. I give you both my full support and my remaining life, regardless of the outcome. I only ask that you follow your heart’s desire and nothing more. This undeserving father shall welcome you upright, in good health and high spirits, upon your return.
Your Father,
Du Ruhui
The message was set. The note was sealed. All he could do now was to plan ahead, to secure his son’s future and to pave the way for him to achieve his happiness.
Be well, my son. Live a full life, just as you made this father, in the twilight of his life, feel complete. Be the man you deserve to be.
Du Ruhui retired and went back to rest, intent on keeping his promise to extend his life and get better, to have the strength to welcome his son back home.