Chapter 43#

Zixing Keeps Watch Through the Night#

Feng Bingyuan had already risen to leave—when he stood up, the little wild rabbit latched onto his sleeve entirely, baring its teeth and biting down tight. He couldn’t throw it off or pick it up, and could only obediently crouch back down.

The rabbit also nuzzled up to Pei Dan’s head, its nose twitching ceaselessly in Pei Dan’s hair. Feng Bing called out softly, “Prime Minister Pei?”

No response.

“Pei Dan? Pei Yunwang?!” Feng Bing’s voice rose.

Pei Dan’s expression shifted slightly, but his eyes remained tightly shut, as though sunk deep in some mire, struggling in vain. Feng Bing checked his breath, guessing he had fallen somewhere and that caused the unconsciousness. He reached under his armpits and carefully lifted his upper body, propping him against a nearby tree.

He rummaged through the horse’s belongings for quite a while, finding only a waterskin.

He bit off the cork stopper, gently lifted Pei Dan’s head, and tried to pour a little water in, lightly pressing the waterskin’s opening to his lips—but Pei Dan’s mouth remained firmly shut. Without ceremony, Feng Bing took several large gulps himself first, then said to Pei Dan, “You really don’t want any?”

Pei Dan gave him no answer.

How exactly had he fallen? To fall so severely? If it were merely bumps and scrapes, he’d probably wake after a while—Feng Bing wasn’t overly worried. He scanned around Pei Dan; there were no sharp rocks or gravel, but suddenly he spotted a patch of blood in the snow.

In the dark mountain forest, beneath the faintest moonlight, that patch of blood had already turned a lurid purple.

Feng Bing’s heart seized, missing a beat.

He turned back to look at Pei Dan.

The young man’s eyes were shut tight, his face deathly pale. His military garb, though in disarray, wasn’t overly dirty—its iron-black hue concealing every possible wound beneath. Feng Bing knelt down, first reaching to his waist, watching his face, and slowly undid the ties of the armor.

The armor was quite heavy, and removing it took Feng Bing considerable effort. Beneath it was a dark blue-green lined robe. Feng Bing placed his hand on the embroidered crossed collar, then reaching back, fumbled his way to Pei Dan’s neck.

He drew in a sharp breath—

Pei Dan’s nape was covered in dried, matted blood.

Feng Bing felt as though his own five fingers would be glued down. He had no choice but to pull Pei Dan against himself, holding him tight, then following the trail of blood, running his hand up through Pei Dan’s loosened hair—

On the back of Pei Dan’s head, there was a shockingly conspicuous scar. He didn’t know when the scar had split open—considerable blood had flowed, but it had stopped by now.

Feng Bing’s heart kept sinking, as though into a windless abyss. For a time he could hear nothing at all, yet his senses sharpened to an extraordinary degree—every fiber of his being concentrated on the blood his fingertips touched.

At that very moment, Pei Dan let out a heavy breath in his arms, murmured two words, and his breath grew faint again.

He seemed to be calling Fourth Brother.

“Fourth”—the fragility clenched between his teeth. “Brother”—the sudden, strangled choke.

Feng Bing said not a word; even his breathing seemed to vanish. He carefully laid Pei Dan back down, tore off the hem of his inner garment, lifted Pei Dan’s long hair aside, and bit by bit began to clean the filth from the wound.

It was hard to see in the darkness, relying only on moonlight reflected off the snow. He strained his eyes wide, and with every touch, worried he might hurt Pei Dan. Pei Dan did occasionally furrow his brows, but at the same time clenched his jaw, cold sweat trickling down his forehead.

Feng Bing’s hands were steady, but finally his voice trembled as he spoke: “Hold on.”

When the cleaning was done, he still didn’t dare breathe hard, wrapping the cloth around Pei Dan’s head twice, not daring to bind it too tightly. The spot where Pei Dan had collapsed wasn’t very clean and offered no protection from the wind. Feng Bing looked around and found a recessed cave among the rocks, and decided to drag Pei Dan over there first.

He turned around, draped both of Pei Dan’s arms over his shoulders, exerted himself, and stood up. Though he swayed slightly, he managed to hoist Pei Dan onto his back.

In the silence, his footsteps crushed through the snow, the layered dead branches and withered leaves beneath emitting soft, brittle cracks. Pei Dan’s breath flowed along the back of his neck. But feeling this breath, he slowly relaxed, tilting his head slightly so that his lips were close to Pei Dan’s cheek. He could see Pei Dan’s long eyelashes, but before he could look more carefully, he immediately averted his gaze.

It was only a few steps. He set Pei Dan down; this recess was indeed much warmer and quieter than elsewhere, seemingly spacious enough for a person to lie flat. That lame little wild rabbit had been following his footsteps all along, and now it leaped into Pei Dan’s arms again, startling Feng Bing.

Relaxing a little, feeling the chill of the night air, he coughed a few times, then pulled from inside his jacket the lung-moistening pills Chun Shi had prepared for him, crushed them in his mouth, swallowed, and looked again at Pei Dan.

Pei Dan seemed to still be in great pain, but he had no further recourse.

Reaching through the dark void, Feng Bing raised his hand and, with his blood-stained fingers, gently traced his outline. His brow ridge was deep, his temples neatly combed—a man of deep scheming; but his lips curved slightly upward—like a child waiting to be fed. Feng Bing couldn’t help but smile at his own associations.

He thought that if he could find some dry grass to spread into bedding, he might let Pei Dan stretch out and sleep through the night. But just as he was about to go out again, he heard a sudden, urgent horse whinny.

He froze, then immediately rushed out of the cave—

Pei Dan’s horse had broken free from the rope tethered to the tree and was galloping off wildly! In just an instant, the clop-clop of hooves had already faded into the distance, blending with the deep mountain forests, wild springs, and withered snow, becoming an intangible backdrop.

Feng Bing’s legs gave out and he collapsed to the ground, his body instinctively positioning itself to block the cave entrance.

He saw, in the grasses some several zhang to his left, slowly emerging—the cold, majestic silhouette of a great tiger with a white forehead.