Wang Yang had been living quite comfortably these past few days.
His food and lodging were both of the highest standard the Wenyang Tribe could offer, and he could move freely within certain limits-provided, of course, that a Barbarian Guard accompanied him.
This was not simply to keep an eye on Wang Yang. To a large extent, it was also for his safety, protecting him not only from assassins, but from unwanted advances.
Wang Yang was different from Liu Cheng. After Liu Cheng was captured, he had followed the barbarians over mountains and ridges, enduring endless hardship and torment along the way. By the time he reached the Barbarian Tribes, his hair was disheveled, his face filthy, his body wasted, and his clothes in tatters. He was as wretched as a stray dog-what charm could he possibly have had? On top of that, the barbarians mocked and bullied him, stripping him of all dignity. No one thought anything of him. Had he not later reflected painfully on his suffering, pulled himself together, and racked his brains to "cultivate his appearance" and "rebuild his bearing," how could he ever have won the favor of barbarian women?
But Wang Yang was different: an envoy of the Han, an honored guest among the barbarians. He stayed in a splendid tent, dined on fat beef, and received courteous treatment wherever he went. The barbarians already held him in high regard. His clothing and manner, moreover, were utterly unlike theirs:
His brocade robe was cut from the colors of rosy clouds, a delicate jade belt at his waist.
His eyes seemed steeped in an emerald spring; stern, they gleamed like cold stars, while one smile startled like a swan taking wing.
At dawn, the wind of his punches stirred roosting birds; late at night, he