This shocking, despairing last request instantly condensed into a cold mist in the freezing air.
Fu Ying sucked in a breath of cold air, her heart clenching as if stabbed by a knife.
She straightened her back in disbelief, not taking the dagger from his hand, her voice trembling uncontrollably: “A person in distress’s first instinct is to call for help. Why does the young master… want me to kill you?”
Wen Zhuo’s eyes were hollow as he murmured despondently, “I’ve been struck by a hidden weapon and poisoned… I cannot move. Either way, I will die.”
The snow scraped against his skin like a cold blade, and the fierce, howling wind carried despair with it, nearly swallowing him whole.
“There is no telling how many people in this world want my life… dying by your hand, at least, I would not… suffer humiliation and torment.”
Fu Ying froze, swallowing the words that had risen to her lips, and could not help but lower her head to look closely at the man lying in the snow.
He looked to be a little past twenty, his lips frozen blue-purple from the cold, his face pale.
Studying his features closely, she saw a high, straight nose bridge and deep-set brows and eyes, his facial lines as though carved by knife and axe. Even under this fierce assault of frost and snow, he remained handsome, with the bearing of a noble scion.
Two sleeve arrows were driven deep into his broad left shoulder, blood seeping out steadily, staining a large patch of the golden embroidery on his robe an ochre-like crimson.
The man’s clothing was luxurious and extravagant, extremely rare in the Northern Di, it looked instead like the style of the Central Plains.
Fu Ying glanced at the large saber not far off that had pierced through the assassin’s corpse.
On the hilt, a golden phoenix-shaped emblem gleamed brightly, proclaiming, in this desolate and empty snowfield, the brilliant glory of some noble house.
She lowered her head to look at the man whose breathing had grown faint, holding back her restlessly pounding heart.
“Go ahead…”
Wen Zhuo’s eyes gradually dimmed, his gaze beginning to scatter, and in his hazy consciousness, he uttered his final words.
Fu Ying did not quite catch it, and hurriedly crouched down, reaching out to gently shake his arm.
“Young master?”
“Young master…”
Amid her somewhat anxious calls, he said nothing more, gradually closing his eyes, his consciousness scattering into this vast wilderness.
Wen Zhuo was woken by a burst of intense pain.
A stabbing pain like tendons being pulled and bones being broken came from his chest, truly unbearable.
Then, those sharp foreign objects were twisted out, and the stiff, obstructed tendons and bones were miraculously cleared all at once, letting him feel a comfort he had not known in a long while.
Wen Zhuo suddenly opened his eyes, his gaze fierce to the point of splitting, carrying an innate, intense alertness.
He was lying on a bed hung with low, sheer gauze curtains, his upper body stripped bare, six or seven tiny points of blood strikingly visible on his chest.
The woman he had chanced upon in the forest was sitting gracefully at his side, holding the silver needles she had just withdrawn over the candle flame to heat them.
She wore a plain, ivory-colored long dress patterned with lotus flowers, a white silk flower pinned in her hair bun, like the cold first snow on a branch.
Yet such a slender, graceful young woman wore an old, fierce Nuo ritual mask, hiding all her softness beneath its blue face and bared fangs.
This extreme contrast caught Wen Zhuo entirely off guard, and his heart slammed violently against his chest, his breath catching.
“Young master is awake.”
Seeing him suddenly come to, Fu Ying’s voice from behind the Nuo mask carried a hint of relief.
Wen Zhuo, coming to his senses, paid no attention to her greeting and tried to sit up on his side, but accidentally pulled at the wound on his shoulder.
“Ugh…”
He let out a muffled groan of pain, large beads of sweat seeping out and rolling down along the line of his brow bone.
Fu Ying said, “Young master was poisoned quite deeply. This lowly woman has already cut away the necrotic flesh on your shoulder. For now, it is best that you lie still.”
Only then did Wen Zhuo feel that the wound on his shoulder hurt like a knife twisting in it, so it was already this serious.
The dizziness from excessive blood loss swept over him again, and the bloody slaughter of the previous night surfaced in his mind, making his head feel as though it would split.
With the Northern Di’s ruler changing, Bingzhou, on the border between the north and the Central Plains, was stirring with undercurrents. The emperor had sent him north to Yunzhou to secretly deploy troops, guarding against the Northern Di tearing up their years-long treaty and launching a sudden rebellion.
Who could have known that halfway there he would be ambushed, failing to complete this critical deployment concerning Great Yong’s border situation, and nearly losing his life. His subordinates, who had lived and died alongside him for over a decade, had all died to the last man protecting him.
The mission had failed, his trusted men were all dead, the imperial family’s honor utterly ruined, what face did he have left to go on living in this world?
A choking sensation seized Wen Zhuo’s chest, as though a great boulder were pressing down on him, leaving him unable to breathe.
Seeing the pain on his face, Fu Ying pulled a cool, damp cloth from the copper basin, wrung out the water, and reached toward his forehead, meaning to wipe away the fine layer of cold sweat.
Anger surged in Wen Zhuo’s heart, and he suddenly grabbed Fu Ying’s slender wrist, pulling her forward hard.
Even having only just barely regained consciousness from his stupor, the force of his grip was astonishingly swift.
Fu Ying, caught completely off guard, was unable to react in time and pitched forward, her right hand flailing to press against his burning, sturdy chest just in time to keep herself from falling squarely on top of him.
His sword-like brows shot up, his chest heaving violently from agitation and pain. “Didn’t I… ask you to kill me? Why did you save me?”
The man’s voice was low and pleasant, carrying the weakness of one who had survived a brush with death, yet still holding a startling sharpness.
“……”
Fu Ying was momentarily at a loss for words, not yet having reacted before being startled by his sudden demand.
She tried to pull free, but the confinement of his broad palm did not budge in the slightest, and she had no choice but to give up.
Fu Ying was not intimidated by his commanding presence. She raised her head to meet his blade-sharp gaze, a cold light suddenly flashing in her clear eyes.
“The young master must think this poisoned wound difficult to cure, and so sought death. But this lowly woman has some knowledge of medicine. After you fell unconscious, I checked your pulse and was confident I could save you, so I brought you back to my residence.”
“In this half a day, I have only managed to cure the young master’s poisoning, it is not yet enough to fully heal your body. If the young master is still determined to seek death, this lowly woman will not stop you in the least. Outside, the heavy snow has not stopped, and the weather is bitterly cold. If you go out like this, bare-skinned, you will not live even half an hour.”
Fu Ying’s tone was so indifferent that no trace of emotion could be heard in it, as though she were merely recounting some trivial matter.
“This lowly woman only feels that, at the young master’s age, when one should be establishing oneself and making a name to pursue one’s ambitions, it would truly be a pity to die an unnatural death out here in the wild countryside.”
Wen Zhuo’s brow trembled faintly, dejection and unwillingness churning in the depths of his eyes.
He had never imagined that this woman, who seemed so delicate and frail, would speak with words as sharp as hooks, piercing deep into the softest place in his heart.
If life had gone smoothly for someone, who would insist on seeking death?
“In this world, there is no end to the people who want my life. Every few days there is another attempt on it by an assassin.”
“My mission is unfinished, and those subordinates of mine, all loyal and righteous men, died an unnatural death because of me. I don’t know how I could report back, how I could face their families…”
Fu Ying, however, slowly shook her head.
“The young master’s being alive is their greatest hope. They died in battle to buy you a chance to survive, if you were to cast aside your own life like a worn-out shoe, would that not be granting exactly what those who sought your life wanted?”
“So what if things are hard for a while? However far the road, I can still ride the wind to reach it [1]However far the road, I can still ride the wind to reach it (bei hai sui she, fu yao ke jie, 北海雖賒，扶搖可接) Idiom, however remote the goal, one can still strive on and reach it jQuery('#footnote_plugin_tooltip_3270264_1_1').tooltip({ tip: '#footnote_plugin_tooltip_text_3270264_1_1', tipClass: 'footnote_tooltip', effect: 'fade', predelay: 0, fadeInSpeed: 200, delay: 400, fadeOutSpeed: 200, position: 'top center', relative: true, offset: [-7, 0], });. I, for one, insist on clinging to life in this world, and will not let those who harmed me have their satisfaction!”
Her words struck deep, stirring up great waves in Wen Zhuo’s heart.
Wen Zhuo’s eyes widened slightly, and for a long while he said nothing.
He looked at her plain, elegant clothing and the white flower in her hair bun, and caught the scent of the ritual incense burning in the room, and could not help but feel a heaviness settle in his heart.
This young woman, in the midst of grieving the loss of a family member, had gone out of her way to comfort him, a total stranger, as though holding aloft a blazing torch, continually driving back the thick darkness enveloping him.
“Thank you, miss.”
Wen Zhuo raised his eyes to look at her, a touch of tenderness added to his handsome brow and eyes, his tone carrying an emotion he could not quite suppress.
“I did not mean to blame you, miss… I only spoke carelessly out of inner distress. Please forgive me…”
Ordinarily cold and unrestrained, arrogant by habit, he now found himself acting with such humility.
Had any of his subordinates been present to hear him yield so to a young woman, they would surely have gouged out their own eyes in disbelief, their jaws dropping.
Hearing Wen Zhuo’s somewhat clumsy but sincere words, Fu Ying nodded gently, and behind the Nuo mask there seemed to appear the faint trace of a smile.
In the silence so complete one could hear a needle drop, there was only the crackling of the silver charcoal burning in the brazier, and the two of their breaths, mingled and somewhat hurried.
Wen Zhuo studied the fierce Nuo mask so close before him, the faint, elegant fragrance of orchid on her body filling his nose, and he even forgot to release his grip on her wrist.
Some string in his mind could not help but snap, and for a moment he found himself lost in a daze.
Fu Ying was half leaning over Wen Zhuo, her right hand pressed against his strong chest and abdomen.
Beneath that fine, delicate skin, the muscles were taut, his heart beating powerfully, carrying an unusually scorching warmth.
“Young master, you…”
Fu Ying’s voice, carrying a trace of hesitation, broke the tender atmosphere beneath this warmth.
“Let go of me first…”
The heat of the man’s broad palm, passing through the thin skin of her wrist, went straight toward her cheeks.
“My apologies.”
Wen Zhuo’s gaze tightened, only now realizing his own loss of composure, and he abruptly released his tight grip on her hand.
Fu Ying scrambled up as though granted a pardon, drawing back the hand that had been pressed against his chest.
Her gaze inadvertently swept across the lines of his lean waist and abdomen.
The man appeared to have spent years on the battlefield, his figure tall and straight, his waist narrow and shoulders broad, his light bronze skin wild and striking, his muscles as sharply defined as if carved with great care, though the crisscrossing scars on his body were somewhat shocking to see.
Recalling the scorching warmth of that close contact just now, she felt a rush of blood surge straight to her head, and as though scalded, she quickly lowered her lashes, not quite daring to look directly at him.
She had practiced medicine for a long time and had seen many people’s bare bodies, but never before had her thoughts been thrown into such disorder as today.
“Why does miss wear this Nuo ritual mask?”
Wen Zhuo’s question called her drifting, wandering thoughts back.
His tone carried a hint of caution and gentleness, though his voice was much hoarser than before.
Fu Ying hurriedly composed the shyness filling her heart and, forcing herself to remain calm, explained, “This lowly woman suffers from a skin ailment on her face. My appearance frightens people, so I wear the Nuo mask every day.”
In fact, this was only a lie she had made up on the spot to avoid revealing her true identity and face.
Wen Zhuo, however, believed it completely, and a trace of regret flickered through the eyes that looked at her.
Even with her appearance concealed, he felt that she must be a woman of surpassing beauty, unable to connect her with someone of a frightful appearance.
“Young master, this is this lowly woman’s private residence outside Yunzhou city. Your saber, dagger, and valuables have already been carefully put away. It’s only that the shoulder of your robe was damaged, so I have already had someone go into the city to buy a new one.”
Fu Ying’s words were gentle, dispelling the many doubts still lingering in his heart.
Never having imagined that there would come a day when he needed another’s help, Wen Zhuo felt somewhat guilty.
“Then I must trouble miss for the effort. I had thought that yesterday would surely be my death, yet I never expected miss’s medical skill to be so excellent, it is truly astonishing.”
Realizing that it was Fu Ying herself who had treated his wounds, and that a few acupuncture needles had snatched a life back from the very gates of death, Wen Zhuo was greatly astonished, and praised her without reservation.
“Although this humble one is unworthy, the debt of gratitude I owe miss for saving my life today, I will surely repay generously in the future.”
Fu Ying, unable to bear such praise, shook her head repeatedly.
“Young master flatters me too much. I only did what I was capable of, I am no selfless, benevolent healer devoted to saving the world. As it stands, I myself am standing beneath a crumbling wall, and may not live to see tomorrow.”
Wen Zhuo pondered for a moment, then nodded sincerely and said, “If miss should need help, I will surely do my utmost.”
At that moment, the maid Fu Sang pushed open the door carrying medicinal soup, came around the screen to the bedside, and bowed to the two of them in turn.
“Young lady, the medicine is ready.”
Fu Ying nodded, about to take the medicinal soup.
“Bang bang bang—”
A burst of urgent, rough knocking sounded at the door, especially jarring in this quiet residence.
Fu Ying’s brows furrowed slightly. Hearing the visitor pound on the gate so violently, a sense of urgent danger rose in her heart.
She told Fu Sang to keep watch over Wen Zhuo, stood up, went around the screen, and opened the door to look outside.
Bi Luo was already standing guard at the front gate, carefully peering through the gap in the door. “Who is it?”
Outside the gate, dozens of guards stood holding sharp weapons, leading their horses with hands clasped behind their backs.
“I am Chen Shi, Commander of the Khan’s Right Guard.”
The sturdy soldier at the head, his face dark and weathered, stated his purpose with a menacing air: “Last night, soldiers reported that a brutal slaughter had taken place not far outside the city, near the Princess’s private residence, and that a survivor had fled the scene, suspected to be from the forces of Great Yong. So, on the Khan’s order, we have come to inquire!”
These forceful, resounding words carried clearly through the gate into Fu Ying’s ears.
Her expression darkened, and her fingertips could not help but dig into the skin of her palm, using the sharp pain to drive back the alarm rising in her heart.
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