The rain eased, and Xiao Chiye withdrew toward Duanzhou’s city gate. The garrison troops did not stop for a moment, beginning to clear the battlefield. The water in the moat had overflowed, soaking the road before the gate into a slurry—horse hooves sank into nothing but mud, and everyone was filthy through and through.
Shen Zechuan stood before the gate, watching Langtao Xuejin gallop closer. Xiao Chiye leaned down from the saddle. Shen Zechuan raised his right arm and lightly bumped against him. Xiao Chiye looked at Shen Zechuan and did not withdraw his arm. He turned his hand and lifted Shen Zechuan’s chin, lowering his gaze in the rain, pressing his forehead against Shen Zechuan’s.
The two of them were immersed in the rain.
Shen Zechuan lowered his eyes, raindrops trailing from his lashes onto Xiao Chiye’s nose bridge. He slowly smiled, then gradually laughed aloud.
Qiao Tianya rode over, but halfway there he reined in and stopped. Leaning to the side, he glanced at Ji Gang and said, “Master, where are you going?”
Ji Gang stood at the passage entrance for a long while, then tossed the cloak in his hand to Qiao Tianya, looking out into the rain curtain.
Qiao Tianya draped the cloak over himself and said, “Master, after this battle, the Ji family boxing will once again be renowned. If Old Man Ji knows in the afterlife, he can rest in peace.”
Ji Gang tilted his head back to look at the sky. Rain splashed into his eyes. After a long while, he said, “Duanzhou will have a bountiful harvest this year.”
Qiao Tianya smiled.
Ji Gang clasped his hands behind his back, turned, and let out a long sigh. No longer looking at Shen Zechuan, he said, “Hurry and call the doctor!”
The rain did not stop until the next day at the mao hour. In the courtyard, bamboo tubes tapped against mossy stones with a “ding-dong.” Ding Tao, wrapped in a padded jacket, stayed under the corridor with Li Xiong, watching doctors come and go.
Li Xiong said, “I’m thirsty.”
Ding Tao clutched a notebook and whispered, “Then go pour yourself some water. I have to stay here.”
Li Xiong looked troubled. Blocking the corridor, he shook his head hard, unwilling to go alone.
Inside, Kong Ling lifted the curtain and escorted the doctor out, his expression grave. Fei Sheng had just woken and come to take his shift. Seeing the doctor, he immediately stepped forward, had his subordinates lead the doctor to the side hall, and asked Kong Ling, “Sir, how is the master?”
Kong Ling shook his head and walked back inside with him, saying in a low voice, “When you go in, don’t disturb the Prefect. Second Master has been on edge—he’s stayed inside all night without sleep.”
Fei Sheng did not dare speak further. Following Kong Ling inside, he saw the inner room veiled by bamboo curtains. Xiao Chiye, armor removed, was reading a prescription. The doctor who had not yet left stood stiffly before him, bowing and speaking softly, “…in the future, it will not be convenient to hold a blade again… those two fingers…”
Hearing just these few lines, Fei Sheng felt something was wrong. He steadied himself. Xiao Chiye’s expression was cold and severe, pressing everyone in the room into silence.
“The waist… the calf…”
And the right arm that had nearly been torn off by Hassen.
When Shen Zechuan returned yesterday, he still looked fine. Only after washing his face clean did it become clear how pale he was. The two fingers on his right hand had already been swollen; during the fight with Hassen they had fallen into the moat, torn open and soaked in filthy water. In the end, he carried Yangshan Snow with his left hand—his right hand could not move at all. He did not mount a horse on the way back, pretending calm and unbothered, but in truth the wound at his waist had torn open when he straightened. Mounting was too difficult for him; he could only force himself to appear unharmed and had Huo Lingyun lead the horse.
Once Shen Zechuan’s taut nerves relaxed, the rain he had endured took its toll. He thought he had fallen asleep, but he was actually half-unconscious. The fever last night came on fiercely and had not subsided even now. Whatever he ate, he vomited. His stomach had been filled with hard steamed buns—after vomiting those out, he retched bile.
The hanging curtain blocked the light. After the doctor left, Xiao Chiye lifted a slit to look at Lanzhou.
Lanzhou’s hair spread across the bedding. He could not curl up, lying half on his uninjured side. Part of his face was visible; even the upturned corners of his eyes lacked their usual allure, as if he were simply sleeping. Xiao Chiye touched the corner of his eye—he did not move. As long as Xiao Chiye was beside him, he dared to be so unguarded. He looked very small, completely enveloped by Xiao Chiye’s shadow.
Xiao Chiye found it hard to breathe; his chest ached everywhere. He leaned down, kissing Lanzhou’s temple, his touch as gentle as stroking a young beast still covered in soft fur.
Doctors moved in and out of the courtyard. A bowl of medicine was fed to the Prefect, but at the si hour Shen Zechuan vomited again. Ji Gang, seeing it was not good, dragged the doctors to continue examining him. The side hall was crowded. The joy of surviving the disaster had not yet faded, but the residence was already shrouded in gloom.
At the shen hour, battle reports arrived from the front, piling together with reports from the frontier, all urging Xiao Chiye to read them. Xiao Chiye did not dare leave Shen Zechuan, so he had everything sent to the side hall, taking the chance to stand there while drinking some water—listening to the doctors argue over prescriptions while reading the reports.
Ding Tao did not dare make trouble at this time. Tugging at Li Xiong’s sleeve, he said, “There’s a kettle under the corridor. I’ll pour you a cup.”
Li Xiong did not move. Rubbing his nose, he nodded irritably.
Ding Tao could not pull him and asked, puzzled, “Why aren’t you moving?”
Li Xiong did not answer. He saw someone coming through the moon gate—Fei Sheng was leading a newly arrived doctor inside. In a blink they passed the corridor, lifted the curtain, and entered. Kong Ling and the others were still guarding the outer room.
The new doctor had an upright appearance and spoke with a Fanzhou accent. “The Prefect’s condition—he cannot be exposed to rain. Vomiting like this, the medicine won’t go in,” he said, rolling up his sleeves and having his apprentice open the medicine box. Taking out a needle kit, he showed it to Gao Zhongxiong standing nearby. “I’ll apply a few needles.”
Kong Ling stood up. “Not yet. Wait for Second Master to decide.”
The doctor spread his hands. “Saving a life is like putting out a fire—there’s no time to delay. How about this: send someone to fetch Second Master quickly. I’ll prepare everything.”
Gao Zhongxiong agreed repeatedly and went out—only to find Li Xiong blocking the doorway.
The doctor turned his back, lifting part of the curtain as he walked into the inner room, still instructing, “Bring the box in—”
At the moment the apprentice gathered the needle kit, Fei Sheng sensed something. He grabbed the hilt of his blade and shouted, “Stop!”
But the apprentice immediately flung his hand—cold light burst from the needle kit. Fei Sheng could dodge, but the scholars could not. He had no choice but to draw his blade and block, the clash of hidden weapons ringing out as he shoved Kong Ling aside.
Tables and chairs overturned in the outer room. Kong Ling lost his footing and fell onto the carpet, still reaching out and shouting urgently, “Guards—quick, guards!”
The doctor had already darted into the inner room. The bamboo curtain dropped with a swish, blocking everyone’s view. Cold sweat broke out on Fei Sheng. Just as he stepped forward, the apprentice swung a chair to block him.
Damn it!
Fei Sheng shouted hoarsely, “Protect the Prefect!”
The guards under the corridor could not break in through the window in time. Gao Zhongxiong was suddenly knocked to the ground. Li Xiong rushed forward like a gust, shouting as he charged into the inner room and tackled the doctor to the ground. The two crashed into the bed’s footrest, shaking the curtains. The steel needle between the doctor’s fingers shot straight for Li Xiong’s eyes—Li Xiong grabbed it, slamming the doctor’s head back onto the ground.
Dazed, the doctor grabbed Li Xiong’s neck and twisted, flipping him over and choking him. They rolled, knocking over the low table. A teapot fell, scalding tea splashing across Li Xiong’s face. Gasping, Li Xiong swung a punch at the man’s face—but missed.
The doctor pinned him down. Li Xiong’s cheek scraped across shattered porcelain, cutting it full of bloody marks. He shouted, “Snake! Snake!”
The doctor raised the steel needle—but suddenly his back sank. He was smashed to the ground, rolling away. Clutching half his face, he shouted something in Biansha tongue, scrambling for the fallen needle. Xiao Chiye seized the “four-legged snake” by the collar and slammed him into the ground.
From outside came a few dull thuds—then silence.
The guards subdued the apprentice. Fei Sheng had not even caught his breath when the bamboo curtain was flung aside. The doctor, head covered in blood, rolled out onto the carpet—already dead.
Xiao Chiye’s face was icy. Suppressing his fury, he said coldly, “From the courtyard to the main gate, block every ten steps. Who screened them? Get out yourself!”
Inside and outside the courtyard, people dropped to their knees at once.
With the entire residence full of guards, the enemy had still walked brazenly into the inner chamber. Cold sweat never stopped on Fei Sheng’s back. He slammed his head to the ground, not daring to utter a single word.