Chapter 8:
The Bodhi Saber
IN THE END, Xiahou Lian had to continue carrying Xie Jinglan on his back. He returned to Qiuwu Courtyard crawling on all fours.
Aunt Lan and Lianxiang stood anxiously at the gate, watching from afar as a figure crawled across the ground, carrying a second figure. They muttered to themselves, wondering what kind of scoundrels would behave so out in full view. Upon closer inspection, however, they realized the person on top was none other than their young master!
The two women rushed forward, frantically helping Xie Jinglan onto Aunt Lan’s back. Lianxiang touched his forehead. “He’s burning up!” she exclaimed.
Aunt Lan carried Xie Jinglan into the courtyard, shouting to Lianxiang, “Go fetch the doctor!”
Xiahou Lian, lying limp on the ground like a dead fish, called out weakly, “Don’t forget about me! I have a fever t...” Before he could finish, his vision went dark, and he passed out.
When he woke up again, he found himself lying in the firewood shed.
What am I doing here?
He lay in a daze for a moment, realizing that his memories ended with their return to Qiuwu Courtyard. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t recall what had happened after.
His throat was parched. It seemed as if there were metal in his mouth, bringing with it the salty pungency of rust. Although he wanted to cough, he couldn’t. He crawled to the door and pushed it hard, only to hear a lock clink.
The door was locked. What the hell is going on?!
The shed was drafty, and Xiahou Lian’s teeth chattered from the cold. He’d wrapped Xie Jinglan in his own padded coat, leaving himself only two thin layers of clothing. Curling up like a cat, he shivered uncontrollably.
“Xiao-Lian! Xiao-Lian!”
Xiahou Lian’s eyes snapped open as Lianxiang’s round face peeked through a small window in the wall. Seeing Xiahou Lian awake, she squeezed three steamed buns through the bars.
Xiahou Lian crawled over and picked up the buns, holding them to his chest as he shouted up to Lianxiang, “Jie, I need water!”
Lianxiang attempted to push a waterskin through the bars, but the gap was too small; it wouldn’t fit. “I’ll pour water in from here. Open your mouth and catch it.”
Xiahou Lian did as she said. Water trickled down; he barely managed to catch a few sips.
“Did you get any?” Lianxiang asked, her hands gripping the bars, face grave with concern.
“I got some. I’m fine,” Xiahou Lian said, chomping into a bun. “What’s going on? How come I’m here?”
“Just after you and the young master returned to the courtyard, the mistress’s people came to take you away. They accused you of being disrespectful and inciting the young master to misbehave. Then they had you locked up! Guixiang from the study told us you were here, so I came in secret,” Lianxiang said, holding back tears. “You stupid brat. I warned you not to cause trouble. Now look what’s happened! Hey, has your fever gone down? Do you feel any better?”
I don’t think so. Xiahou Lian didn’t need to touch his face to know that he was flushed red. He felt like he could’ve fried an egg on his cheek. “That old witch probably wants me dead,” he told Lianxiang. “She can’t touch the young master for now, so she’s taking it out on me. Jie, can you find Dai-xiansheng and ask him to rescue me?”
Dai-xiansheng wasn’t in the manor, however, and it was the middle of the night. How was Lianxiang supposed to find him? She opened her mouth but couldn’t bring herself to tell Xiahou Lian the truth. Instead she said, “Alright, wait here. They say a scourge can live for a thousand years, and you’re a major scourge, so you’d better hold on.”
“Don’t worry, I’m as tough as a cockroach. I won’t die that easily.”
After Lianxiang left, Xiahou Lian got moving as well. He devoured the buns and felt some of his strength return. Then, hauling his sore limbs around, he cleared out a space, gathered some dry firewood, and began rubbing tinder together. His hands were raw by the time a spark finally caught, but he pushed on until the wood burst into flames.
Warmed by the fire, he felt himself returning to life. He curled up once more beside the flames.
The fire was small, and Xiahou Lian’s back was still cold. He was a little worried—was he really going to die here? An assassin of Qiye Garden dying at the hands of a feeble old woman would be such a disgrace.
Xiahou Lian stared into the flames. His eyelids drooped uncontrollably, as if weighted by stones. As he lay in a stupor, the door appeared to open, and a hunched old man walked in. Xiahou Lian’s lips were pried apart, and a bitter liquid was forced down his throat. His eyes snapped open; struggling fiercely, he grabbed at the man’s hand, which seemed as strong as iron.
The old man let go, looking at him with annoyance. “That was medicine for your cold. Why are you struggling? Do you want to live or not?”
The old man had a head of white hair and a long, beaked nose. One eye was cloudy, as if covered by a film. Although he usually kept his head down, he now looked directly at Xiahou Lian, undisguised hostility burning in his gaze.
Anyone who saw those eyes could tell that this was no ordinary old man. After all, killers were said to look different from ordinary people. And Xiahou Lian knew where that difference was: It lay in someone’s eyes.
Those with blood on their hands carried bloodlust in their very gaze. They had witnessed the fragility of the dying. To them, humans were no different from chickens, ducks, or dogs—if you sliced their throats, their bodies fell limp in just the same manner.
Xiahou Lian understood in an instant. “So you’re the mole from Qiye Garden! Forgive my rudeness, sir.”
The old man set down a box of food and scanned Xiahou Lian from toe to head. With every inch his gaze rose, he sighed, until finally his eyes reached Xiahou Lian’s face. He looked at Xiahou Lian as though the boy was mud that couldn’t be molded, despairing over the Garden’s tenuous future.
Xiahou Lian felt as if he’d been stripped bare, then prodded and inspected all over. Discomfited, he turned around and drank the medicine quickly.
Once he finished, the old man sighed again. “I’ve heard of you, Xiahou Lian. Just as I expected, you’re very much like the Garuda.”
“Of course.” Xiahou Lian grinned.