Yun Zhensong felt as though he were dying.
For the first few days, various parts of his body took turns suffering: first his lungs, then his stomach, his head, his heart, and finally his bones. Unable to sleep from the misery in the middle of the night and half-delirious, he suddenly remembered the system and immediately called out to the invisible entity.
[Hello, Host.]
What is happening to me? Is there something wrong with this body?
[1224 will check the script backend for the Host, please wait a moment.]
You guys even have a backend?
Yun Zhensong instinctively rubbed his leg bones, trying to ease the aching pain. The moment he moved, Qi Jianfang, who had been dozing lightly, instantly woke up. Pulling him into his arms, he coaxed him with lingering sleepiness, “Zhensong… I’ll massage them for you. Close your eyes and rest, or at least take a breather even if you can’t sleep.”
Yun Zhensong sniffled, his voice thick with a heavy nasal twang that sounded pitifully aggrieved: “It hurts, Heke, it hurts…”
Qi Jianfang slipped his body out from beneath him, sat upright, and gripped Yun Zhensong under the armpits, effortlessly lifting him up. Yun Zhensong’s upper body slumped straight against Qi Jianfang; he exerted not an ounce of strength of his own, relying entirely on Qi Jianfang’s arm strength.
Sitting and holding him in an embrace, Qi Jianfang rubbed his upper back and kneaded the back of his neck, stroke by stroke. “Does that feel better?”
Yun Zhensong looked listless and lacked the energy to reply, giving a slight, weak motion of his head.
[Hello, Host. The cause has now been identified.]
[Due to improper operation by the 1386 system, the difficulty of this script was increased. It has now been changed back, but since this script belongs to category A (irreversible), time cannot be rolled back. The Host can only persevere through the illness and arrive in Hancheng.]
Yun Zhensong was mentally cursing a storm, wishing he could let loose a torrent of abuse.
Am I going to die?
[Not necessarily, oh.]
Oh your grandfather! What kind of cutesy act are you pulling with me right now!
(Soft crying sound)
Presumably knowing he was in the wrong toward Yun Zhensong, the system dropped its usual icy persona, and its tone even turned eager and accommodating.
[Host, would you like me to issue the fourth task for you? That way your suffering won’t be in vain, and you can get generous rewards.]
Yes.
Yun Zhensong was utterly speechless, but he had also grasped some of the system’s fixed mechanics: rewards could only be earned by completing tasks, and the higher the difficulty coefficient, the more generous the rewards. In other words, when he genuinely needed supplies, he could request to take on a task. Moreover, this task seemed to be controlled by 1224—what task was issued, when it was issued, and what the reward was were entirely up to it.
[Fourth task: Arrive safely in Hancheng. Unlimited time.]
[Difficulty coefficient: Four stars]
?！！！
Let me ask you seriously: is there any possibility that I might die? And what happens if I die?
[It is possible. The script ends, and you return to the real world.]
Then the life-extension time I earned goes to waste?
[…Would you like to convert it into gold coins right now and go on a spending spree?]
Your grandfather!
What kind of trash system is this?! This is far too amateurish!
Feeling guilty, the system went completely invisible.
Misty and hazy, dawn arrived. Deng Hua and Yisheng had searched all night until they finally found a small village containing both a pharmacy and an inn. Carefully shielding the unconscious Yun Zhensong, the group reached the settlement.
However, Qi Jianfang stopped his hurried footsteps right at the entrance of the inn.
He looked up at the entire building, and intuition told him something was wrong. Sure enough, peeking through the crack of the door at them, the innkeeper saw that these people hadn’t come in after a long while, so he put on a welcoming act, pushed the door open, and beamed with hospitality.
Icicles could have formed on Qi Jianfang’s face: “Two rooms.”
“Huh?” Yisheng was puzzled. Previously, he and the master shared a room for convenience of serving at night, while Deng Hua and Qi Jianfang shared another. Their relationship was already well-matured, so there was no need to avoid suspicion, and sleeping on a pallet on the floor sufficed.
However, ever since Yun Zhensong fell completely bedridden, Qi Jianfang had been the one tending to him, and the two of them shared a single room, while Yisheng and Deng Hua each had their own.
Deng Hua also sensed the oddity of this establishment. She tugged at Yisheng’s clothes and gave him a look to signal that he shouldn’t ask questions.
The village was remote, housing fewer than ten households in total, yet they had built an inn this tall—a full six stories high! Furthermore, there were numerous sword and blade scars on the doorway’s fence. Due to their age, coupled with the fence never being wiped down over the years, they looked at first glance like ordinary wear and tear from time, but they couldn’t possibly escape the eyes of Qi Jianfang and Deng Hua.
Entering the room made things even more terrifying.
The bed was draped in red silk netting, and a careful inspection of the furnishings revealed more or less uncleaned dark red bloodstains.
Qi Jianfang pulled back the layers of window gauze and looked down from the second floor to the backyard scenery: baskets leaving some blades partially uncovered, haystacks bulging with unmistakable weapon silhouettes, and a woman acting furtively as she emerged from the back kitchen.
Qi Jianfang walked a full circle around the room, genuinely wanting to ask those two people in the neighboring rooms exactly how they had managed to find such a bizarre place to stay.
Desperate times called for desperate measures; right now, they had no other options, and Yun Zhensong’s illness took precedence. By this point, Deng Hua had already accompanied Yisheng to buy medicine. Qi Jianfang should have prepared some warm porridge for Yun Zhensong, but he couldn’t bear to let the other leave his line of sight, nor did he dare entrust the task to anyone else, so he simply sat back down silently beside Yun Zhensong.
Peaceful until evening, the medicine Qi Jianfang had fed Yun Zhensong in the afternoon was completely thrown back up by him, until by the end, only sour water came up.
His forehead burned with heat, cold sweat flowed ceaselessly while his hands and feet remained icy, and he kept whispering “it hurts” in his mouth. The once enchanting face was stamped all over with the word “agony” by his tormenting illness.
Qi Jianfang had never felt this heartbroken over anyone, truly wishing he could take the illness upon himself.
“Zhensong, moisten your throat, your voice is hoarse.” Qi Jianfang urged gently while wiping down his body.
Yun Zhensong felt as though he had spoken, but no sound came out.
Holding a bowl of water, Yisheng stood off to the side with a face full of anxiety, stamping his feet in a panic.
In contrast, Deng Hua wore a bland expression, her arched eyebrows furrowed solely because of Qi Jianfang’s earlier actions and words.
If he hadn’t still worn that hair-raising, chilling expression when speaking to her, Deng Hua would have suspected someone had possessed the general! Just what kind of magic did Yun Zhensong possess to utterly bewitch the General of Northern Pacification like this?
“Drink a mouthful, and I’ll forge your sword a bit prettier.”
“Swallow it down, and when you get better I’ll take you out for a real horse ride.”
“Don’t throw it up, don’t throw it up, how about I give you a hug?”
Yun Zhensong opened his eyes dazedly, his breathing heavy and his chest heaving violently. After a long moment, the corners of his lips lifted upward, adding a ray of sunshine to his sickly, lifeless, pale face.
“…Hold me.”
Through a mix of coaxing and deception, Qi Jianfang got him to drink the tongue-numbing medicinal decoction. Yisheng massaged his body throughout the night, which considerably eased the aching soreness in his bone joints caused by the fever.
As dawn broke faintly, Yun Zhensong finally broke his fever and fell into a deep sleep.
When Qi Jianfang moved slightly, his stiff joints gave off a series of creaking, cracking pops. Feeling as though a stone had finally dropped from his heart, he lowered his voice and instructed the other two, “You two, guard him. I’m going to check out what’s going on with this place.”
As he spoke, his gaze lingered on Deng Hua for a few extra seconds.
Knowing full well she had botched her assignment by picking such a shady inn, Deng Hua dropped her playful demeanor and said with a solemn expression, “I won’t let the magistrate lose a single hair, or I’ll face military justice myself.”
The backyard was desolate. Qi Jianfang used the tip of his sword to lift the tattered cloth blocking the back kitchen, pressing his back against the wall as he scanned the interior.
Vegetables rotting in the corner had attracted numerous rats and flies, and dust covered the pots and pans. Qi Jianfang stooped down to touch the firewood piled by the door it was completely soaked through, making it utterly impossible to light a fire and cook.
For such a large inn, the kitchen was unusable. Through Qi Jianfang’s observation, there were no other guests, and all the way here, aside from a mute old woman doing cleaning, he hadn’t laid eyes on a second living soul.
Suddenly! A gust of wind swept past behind him.
Qi Jianfang’s pupils shrank to pinpricks. Pressing his palm against the ground, he executed an immaculate dodge and spun around abruptly, only to discover that the attacker was the very same woman he had seen yesterday.
The woman wore extremely heavy makeup, her lips stained a bloody red. With a vicious look in her eyes, she flicked her wrists, unleashing several silver needles carrying insidious force and tricky angles. Using his sword as a shield, Qi Jianfang moved his blade so fast it blurred into afterimages in midair. Within a flash, every single silver needle was intercepted and knocked down, standing vertically embedded in the dirt.
Shifting his stance, Qi Jianfang left the woman zero chance to react in the blink of an eye, pinning his sharp sword directly against her tender throat with narrowed, concentrated eyes: “Who are you?”
The woman’s red lips quivered, unwilling to speak. The sword bit into her skin, instantly producing beads of blood that frightened her into kowtowing and pleading for mercy: “Young master! Young master! This humble woman was wrong…”
“I asked who you are!” Irritated beyond measure, Qi Jianfang wore a dark, gloomy expression as the woman attempted to use a sob story and a beauty trap, causing his temples to twitch.
Showing not an ounce of chivalry for a fair maiden, he ruthlessly grabbed the woman’s slender arm and wrenched it backward. With a crisp crack, the woman’s arm was broken clean in two.
The woman let out a piercing, hysterical scream.
“If it isn’t set back within half an hour, this arm of yours is as good as crippled,” Qi Jianfang said expressionlessly. “Say whatever you know, I don’t have time to waste with you.”
The woman was originally supposed to stall him as long as possible, but she hadn’t expected him to strike with such speed and brutality. Sweat washed away her rouge, revealing two yellow streaks as drool uncontrollably spilled from her mouth. “First, the first floor… ah! The third room, there’s a correspondence of letters between them!”
Dragging the woman along, Qi Jianfang strode over and, following her directions, discovered a thick stack of letters hidden in a floor compartment beneath a straw cushion. Qi Jianfang weighed them in his hand; there had to be at least a thousand letters.
Just as he carelessly tore one open and read all of two words, the woman lunged at him with clawing hands, holding a burning candle in her grip. As hot wax dripped onto her hand, she seemed entirely indifferent to the pain.
Stepping aside, Qi Jianfang kicked the woman squarely in the chest. Her ribcage caved inward abruptly, a mouthful of dark blood spurted out, and she collapsed to the ground, on the verge of death.
Before Qi Jianfang could resume reading, a tremendous crash of splintering tables and chairs echoed from Yun Zhensong’s room upstairs. Unable to carry away the entire stack of slow-burning letters, Qi Jianfang grabbed a random handful from the top, shoved them into his bosom, and bolted out the door. Leaping up to the second floor, he rushed to Yun Zhensong’s side at top speed.
By the time Qi Jianfang kicked the door completely off its hinges, Deng Hua’s throwing dagger had flown straight into the heart of a masked assassin in black, sending blood spraying across the faces of Yisheng and Deng Hua. Simultaneously, another man’s sword had pierced straight through Deng Hua’s shoulder.
Yisheng threw his body in front of Yun Zhensong with a desperate, “Come at me first if you want anything” sort of resolution.
Qi Jianfang flew into a towering rage, but before he could strike, the entire room of assassins leaped out the windows and fled in succession, refusing to tangle in prolonged combat.
In an instant, utter chaos was left behind in the room.
Qi Jianfang roared, “Deng Hua! Go to the third room on the first floor and get the letters!”
As though the blood-gushing wound on her shoulder didn’t belong to her at all, Deng Hua maintained an indifferent expression and muttered, “Yes!”
Right at that moment, Yun Zhensong finally snapped out of his bizarre, inescapable nightmare, staring slack-jawed at the scene before him with his jaw dropped in utter shock.