Chapter 69
“WU DU, WAIT UP!” Duan Ling called as he sped down the corridor. “Wu—”
Wu Du whirled and drew his sword. Duan Ling’s heart stopped, his words caught in his throat. He’d never seen such a guarded, cold expression on Wu Du’s face; his eyes were as calm as still water. Wu Du lunged forward, sword aimed straight for Duan Ling’s throat.
Terror flashed in Duan Ling’s eyes, and his stomach cramped with excruciating pain—a conditioned reflex that seemed to have been ingrained in him long, long ago.
He wants to kill me.
No. No, he wouldn’t!
He…
These three rapid thoughts flickered through Duan Ling’s mind in quick succession as Wu Du’s sword brushed past his cheek and struck metal with a clang, right next to Duan Ling’s ear. His breath hitched.
Wu Du’s blade knocked back the iron hook that had been reaching for his collar.
In one swift motion, Wu Du pulled Duan Ling into his arms with his free hand and—without looking—delivered another strike of his sword. His eyes, aloof, were firmly fixed on Duan Ling’s face, inspecting him to ensure he wasn’t injured. The spin had tilted Duan Ling off-balance; when he caught himself and locked eyes with Wu Du, it felt as though his heart stopped for a single beat.
Wu Du tightened his grip on Duan Ling’s waist, steadying him as his sword slashed down, streaking directly toward Helan Jie’s throat. Helan Jie dodged and, with a deft twist of his iron hook, caught Flashblade. The screech of metal on metal pierced the air as Wu Du’s blade arced off course, and both men pulled back.
This whole time, Helan Jie hadn’t said a word—he silently lunged forward with his hook, which Wu Du parried with another bright clang. Duan Ling belatedly realized Helan Jie had nearly snatched him away by the scruff. As Wu Du and Helan Jie exchanged several more blows, Flashblade’s length gave Wu Du a sharp advantage over Helan Jie’s short hook, forcing him back, step by step.
“Piss off!” Wu Du snarled.
Helan Jie shot him a venomous glare but swiftly retreated.
The fight had been short, but despite its brevity, Duan Ling’s back was soaked in cold sweat. He sagged against a pillar in the corridor, ashen-faced and gasping for breath. A knot twisted painfully in his stomach as he looked up at Wu Du, who—still furious—slid his sword briskly home into the sheath at his waist and stalked off down the corridor. Duan Ling squeezed his eyes shut, the knot in his stomach tightening until it was so agonizing he couldn’t speak.
“What’re you waiting for, me to carry you?!” Wu Du shouted from the far end of the hallway.
Duan Ling couldn’t muster a response. He found he had no strength to speak, though he didn’t know why he would suddenly react in such a way. The moment Wu Du had lunged at him with his sword, it was as if a fear buried deep within his memories had awoken.
“Lang Junxia, my stomach hurts…” he mumbled, dazed.
From the end of the corridor, Wu Du shot him a confused look. Abruptly realizing Duan Ling might’ve been poisoned, he rushed back to check Duan Ling’s pulse point on his wrist and peel his eyelids back.
“Huh? There’s no poison,” Wu Du muttered. He patted Duan Ling’s face. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
Duan Ling stared at him in anguish.
“Come on, stop faking!” Wu Du said.
“Wu Du, my stomach hurts…” Duan Ling tried again, weakly.
Understanding dawned on Wu Du—Duan Ling was suffering shock from his close brush with death. Some people were prone to spasms when in shock; others suffered stomach pain from adrenaline and anxiety. He hoisted Duan Ling onto his back and carried him to their room. After laying him down in bed, Wu Du rummaged around for some herbs and brewed him a thick decoction. Just being safely back in their room helped a little, and as the effects of the medicine spread through Duan Ling’s body, he finally regained himself.
“Better?” Wu Du asked.
Duan Ling nodded. He gazed at Wu Du, eyes prickling. “I thought you were going to kill me.”
“All right, all right,” Wu Du said, placating him. He didn’t know how to handle Duan Ling when he acted like this. “Helan Jie was right behind you; what would you have had me do?”
After ensuring Duan Ling had come to no harm, Wu Du busied about, tidying the cookware. Mixed emotions filled Duan Ling as he watched him.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Wu Du carried on putting away the bowls without a word. Abruptly, he peered over at Duan Ling. “Are you…?”
He stopped halfway through his question, brows slightly knit.
Am I what? Duan Ling’s heartbeat accelerated. Did Wu Du know something?
The two lapsed into silence. Wu Du studied Duan Ling, but before he could say any more, Duan Ling’s eyes drifted closed; the medicine had made him drowsy.
Wu Du didn’t attempt any more conversation. Once he finished cleaning, he lay down beside Duan Ling. They slumbered peacefully, blanketed in the warm afternoon sun filtering into the room.
“Dad!” Duan Ling’s shout shattered the room’s silence.
Wu Du gasped awake.
“Hey.” He nudged the sleeping Duan Ling.
Still dreaming, Duan Ling rolled over and hugged Wu Du around the waist with surprising strength, burying his head in his chest. Exasperated, Wu Du stilled again, glancing down at the boy plastered to him. He’d grown used to this. It had truly been a tough journey for this kid; none of the machinations here had anything to do with him. Duan Ling had only come to such a faraway place like Tong Pass to keep Wu Du company. At this thought, whatever frustration Wu Du had been holding onto all but dissipated.
Wu Du absently patted Duan Ling’s back, as if soothing a child to sleep, and Duan Ling clung to him even tighter.
“He Mo wishes to know the background of the young man he encountered in Yao Jing’s courtyard,” Shang Leguan said to Bian Lingbai, sipping his milk tea with Helian Bo at his side.
Bian Lingbai had just about had it with these Tanguts, who were turning out to be, without a doubt, the most troublesome guests Tong Pass had ever received. One minute they wanted to see the bride before the wedding, and the next, they molested the boy who’d come seeking refuge with him. He’d often heard the Tanguts were a coarse sort without any sense of shame, and that certainly seemed the case after what he’d witnessed today. They wanted to marry Marquis Yao’s daughter and take a young man from his household too? How they’d even landed on such an idea, he couldn’t begin to guess.
“The boy is my nephew,” Bian Lingbai replied after some thought. “The guard with him has a bad temper; he isn’t someone I appointed. I do apologize if he offended you gentlemen.”
Shang Leguan grunted a response.
“The boy’s had a rough life, and didn’t grow up with many luxuries,” Bian Lingbai continued. “Ah… It would be to his good fortune if Young Master He shows him favor and wants a closer friendship, but…”
“Money?” With one blunt word, Helian Bo cut to the chase.