Duan Ling thought it best not to respond.
After finishing his own ginger tea, Wu Du put the bowl aside. He watched in puzzlement as Duan Ling began moving his bedding from the corner to the floor at the foot of Wu Du’s bed.
“What are you trying to do here?” he asked.
Duan Ling nearly blurted out the truth right then and there, but he was afraid he wouldn’t be believed. Besides, even if he told Wu Du the real story, he didn’t know if Wu Du would sell him out—though he really didn’t think he would.
Of course, in the past he’d thought the same of Lang Junxia.
“I’m scared he’ll come through the window to kill me,” Duan Ling said, pointing to the window in the corner.
Wu Du didn’t know what to say. “Listen: Neither Wuluohou Mu, nor Zheng Yan, nor Changliu-jun would dare enter my room without my permission. If anyone managed to set foot inside and so much as touch you, I’d give them my own head too as a prize.”
Still stubborn, Duan Ling looked Wu Du square in the eye. “But you’re about to go to sleep.”
“I’m going to sleep, not dying!”
Duan Ling answered him with an anxious silence.
Wu Du found Duan Ling’s behavior confounding. He’d been acting queer since they left Qunfang Pavilion—normal one minute then paranoid the next, terrified someone would murder him.
“Can you sense movement around you when you’re asleep?” Duan Ling asked.
Wu Du stared at him again. “Have you lost your mind? Let me make you a sedative.”
Duan Ling hurriedly waved his hands and lay down in his bedding. Wu Du snapped his fingers, extinguishing the lamps with a breeze. Though he’d been disdainful of Duan Ling’s fear, he didn’t make him move his bedding back to the corner; he rolled over and went to sleep.
Duan Ling dozed for a while before waking again. He lay in the dark and listened to Wu Du’s steady breathing. He was sleeping deeply.
The murmur of the wind and rain outside gradually subsided.
Could Wu Du really sense movement in his sleep? Duan Ling crept out from under his covers, but Wu Du didn’t so much as twitch. He raised a hand and struck at Wu Du’s neck—this time, Wu Du reacted lightning fast, blocking Duan Ling’s attack with his left hand while his right flashed out and grabbed him by the throat.
Duan Ling stilled in silence.
“Are you insane?!” Wu Du exploded.
“Okay, okay,” Duan Ling conceded. “I’ll go back to sleep.”
Wu Du rolled over and got up, hauling Duan Ling up to sit on the bed. “What’s the matter with you today?” he asked in bewilderment.
“I feel like I heard too many things I shouldn’t have today. I’m afraid I’ll be killed by uh…Wu-something.”
Exasperated, Wu Du repeated: “It’s impossible. Impossible.”
Duan Ling nodded hastily. Seeing his earnest expression, Wu Du realized Duan Ling was truly afraid; his reassurances hadn’t dispelled his worries. After some thought, he changed tactics. Instead of insisting Wuluohou Mu had no good reason to kill him, he asked, “What, you don’t trust my skills?”
“I do.”
Wu Du mulled that over, then continued, “Before, weren’t you unafraid of death? When did you start cherishing your life?”
Now that he said it, Duan Ling found it strange too. That was right—hadn’t he been unafraid of death? Why had he become so fearful now?
He considered the question. “I wasn’t afraid of death before,” he said seriously, “because I thought I was alone in the world. Now I’m afraid of death because…I think my life still has purpose.”
“What purpose?”
As Duan Ling stared at Wu Du, the situation suddenly seemed awfully amusing. He slipped off the bed and lay back down in the blankets he’d arranged at the foot of Wu Du’s bed to try and fall asleep again.
Wu Du leaned over the edge of the bed to peer at Duan Ling, who’d curled up silently on the ground. “Hey.”
“Hmm?”
Wu Du fell silent again. The quiet persisted as he took a deep breath and readjusted himself in bed. A few moments later, just as Duan Ling had stopped paying attention, he reached down and snapped his fingers crisply in front of Duan Ling’s face.
“Remember this,” he said. “I saved your life twice, so nobody can take that life except for me.”
A trace of a smile crossed Duan Ling’s face.
Oddly enough, he fell asleep easily after that.
A furious storm raged that night. Lang Junxia walked down the corridor outside the Eastern Palace, drenched like he’d just been fished from a lake. After changing out of his soaked robes, he removed the prayer beads from around his wrist and stared at the blood staining the wood.
“Lord Wuluohou, His Highness is asking for you,” a servant whispered.
“He hasn’t gone to sleep yet?” Lang Junxia replied.
The maidservant lit his way through the palace corridors, thunder rumbling overhead.
Cai Yan was sitting up in bed, leaning against the headboard still wearing his outer robes. He turned toward Lang Junxia when he entered the room.
“What took you so long?” Cai Yan asked.
There was a pause. “I was reminiscing about the past, so I stopped to watch the rain.”
“What happened?”
“I dealt with it, just as you ordered.” Lang Junxia held the prayer beads in his hand, seemingly distracted.
Cai Yan frowned, finding his behavior odd. “And?”
Lang Junxia was confused by the continuing questions; he raised a brow and stared at Cai Yan.
“Did you see Mu Kuangda?” Cai Yan tried again.
“No,” Lang Junxia replied. “Only Wu Du.”
Cai Yan nodded. The proposal to move the capital lay open on his desk, marked with red ink for approval.
“You’re planning on leaving once this plan is approved,” Cai Yan said. It wasn’t a question.
Lang Junxia rolled the beads between his fingers, worrying one with his thumb. “I recalled that I have some unfinished business here,” he replied. “I won’t leave just yet.”
That answer was a significant surprise to Cai Yan, whose furrowed brow finally relaxed. His face regained some color as he nodded. “Very good… That’s very good.”
“It’s late. You should sleep, Your Highness.”
He turned and left without bidding him farewell.
“He’s not leaving,” Cai Yan murmured to himself. “Very good.”