Song Shuo didn’t return to the front hall. His mind was in a complete mess at that moment, so he bypassed everyone and went straight back to his own quarters.

Meanwhile, Mijing quietly remained there for a while longer. What had happened tonight was also a tremendous shock for him. He wasn’t a saint and couldn’t calm down so quickly. Only when he once again felt the cool night breeze seeping through his monk robes did he take a deep breath and then, likewise, turned around.

Then he froze in place. He thought he was alone, but unexpectedly, others were still there.

It was almost laughable, because the five people standing behind him uneasily and nervously were all the old, weak, sick, or disabled who had been left behind.

They weren’t waiting here for the Buddha’s child. They just didn’t know where else to go.

Tonight wasn’t anything special—just an ordinary autumn night. It was neither too hot nor too cold, but Danran felt extremely cold. She had always lived under the protection of her family and had never witnessed such a terrifying scene. She wanted to cry, but found it hard to let the tears out.

When children experience something like this, their first instinct is to seek help from their parents. So, she subconsciously tugged at Sang Yan’s sleeve and called out to her in a choked voice, “A-niang…”

“A-niang…”

“A-niang—!”

Each cry was louder and more aggrieved than the last, although she didn’t even know what exactly she was feeling so wronged about. After the third cry, she suddenly burst into loud sobs. She tilted her head back and opened her mouth, crying in a way that tore at the hearts of everyone present. At this moment, crying her heart out was her way of relieving her fear. Sang Yan stared at her blankly, then instinctively crouched down and clumsily patted Danran’s back with her dry, withered hands.

In a hoarse voice, she said, “Don’t be afraid, Danran… don’t be afraid.”

Xiao Yi’s eyes were red and his lips pressed tightly together. It wasn’t until Xiao Rong left that he remembered to check on Madam Chen, but Madam Chen remained quiet the whole time. Xiao Yi couldn’t even recall how she reacted when the incident first happened. By the time Xiao Rong had slightly calmed down, Madam Chen had already become this way—silent, not making a fuss, simply watching Xiao Rong leave. Now, she quietly watched Danran cry.

Once Sang Yan had comforted Danran, the girl sniffled as she held her hand and left. Madam Chen lowered her head and also took a step forward.

Xiao Yi was stunned for a moment, then quickly caught up.

In the blink of an eye, only Mijing and Madam Zhang were left. They looked at each other, both feeling heavy-hearted and a little awkward.

After all, they were practically strangers. Madam Zhang had never interacted with the Buddha’s child before.

After a brief silence, Mijing spoke first. “I’ll go find someone to tidy up the front hall—”

Madam Zhang was taken aback and quickly said, “No, no, how could we trouble the Buddha’s child with such things? I’ll handle it. After tonight, the Buddha’s child and Mr. Song will surely be busy. With Mr. Xiao and Mr. Gao gone, who knows what kind of rumors will arise tomorrow. I can’t help much with serious matters, so please let me take care of the cleaning.”

Seeing how insistent she was—and feeling uncomfortable standing alone with her—Mijing nodded and turned to leave.

Standing in the wind, Madam Zhang shifted awkwardly but didn’t move right away. After a brief pause, she briskly returned to the front hall.

Half an hour earlier, the hall had been filled with laughter. Now, the lanterns and leftover food remained, but the people had vanished without a trace, as if they had never been there.

Chairs and tables were left in disarray—evidence of the chaos. The rest of the room was packed, except for a large empty area near the doorway. Madam Zhang slowly stepped forward, her eyes fixed on a dark red pool of blood on the ground. She stood there for a while as if mentally preparing herself, then pursed her lips, pulled out a handkerchief from her sleeve, and carefully knelt at the edge of the bloodstain, gently wiping the floor.

Yet even gentle movements were difficult for her at that moment, because her hands were trembling. The more they shook, the worse she wiped, and the worse she wiped, the less she could control herself.

Suddenly, she flung the handkerchief into the pool of blood and tightly covered her face, not wanting her sobs to escape.

Muffled, sorrowful whimpers leaked through her fingers. Kneeling on the ground, her thin back rose and fell as she trembled, and her fragmented sobs grew more intense.

She didn’t understand.

Wasn’t everything getting better? Hasn’t it already changed? Why, why was it still like this?

She thought Chenliu had become her home. She thought they would reunite once the Xianbei were driven out. She thought soon, she would no longer need to worry.

Everyone had fought with all their might, but everyone’s lives were worthless. How much longer would they have to endure such painful, exhausting days?

 

…

 

She didn’t voice the question aloud, and no one could answer her anyway. The only witnesses to her breakdown and despair were the silent, flickering candle flames in the room.

 

＊

 

In just one night, Xiao Rong and the others arrived at Shangdang.

Thanks to the temporary relay stations Qu Yunmie had previously set up at Xiao Rong’s request, they were able to change horses quickly. At each new station, Xiao Rong neither ate nor drank—he simply took a new horse and left. The others dared not protest and had no choice but to keep up.

Zhang Biezhi never took his eyes off Xiao Rong. Xiao Rong looked utterly terrible, swaying in the saddle. By dawn, his face was as pale as paper. Zhang Biezhi had long wanted to speak up but didn’t dare provoke him, so he buried his worries deep inside.

By the next day at dusk, Xiao Rong even struggled to mount his horse. He failed the first time and almost fell. Agusheja furrowed her brows and pulled aside Gao Xunzhi. She solemnly said to Xiao Rong, “You should rest.”

Xiao Rong replied, “No need.”

He tried again, but his legs were weak, and he couldn’t get on.

Agusheja said, “Then at least eat something. If you keep this up, you’ll die.”

Xiao Rong took a deep breath, leaned on the saddle to ease his discomfort, and after a moment, looked at her. “I won’t die.”

Agusheja looked at him in disbelief. She couldn’t understand how someone could say something so arrogant. She glanced at Gao Xunzhi, hoping he would say something, but he remained silent. He knew Xiao Rong wouldn’t listen to him.

Still, watching Xiao Rong like this, he couldn’t bear it. He tried to persuade him. Zhang Biezhi joined in too. Their noise irritated Xiao Rong immensely. He opened his mouth to tell them to shut up, but his throat burned, and he suddenly bent over.

Moments later, he pulled his hand away and saw a fresh smear of blood in his palm.

This wasn’t the first time since they had left. It was the fifth time.

Never as severe as the first night, but repeated vomiting of blood and internal burning nearly tortured him to death.

Aside from briefly losing control when he first awoke that night, he had remained calm since. He endured it, stayed rational, and tightly shut the gate within himself that wanted to scream and lash out. However, now, he felt he couldn’t hold it back anymore.

Xiao Rong stared fixedly at the red in his hand. Agusheja was desperate but helpless. She turned abruptly, went to her medicine box, and pulled out a different tonic—she couldn’t use Salt Ginseng anymore, but she had other emergency remedies. Every time Xiao Rong relapsed, she brewed him a cup to keep him going.

Zhang Biezhi stood dumbly by. He had been half a step behind this whole journey. Gao Xunzhi told him to fetch hot water. After a while, Zhang Biezhi finally turned to leave.

Once they were gone, Gao Xunzhi walked up to Xiao Rong and said quietly, “You know that even if you get there as fast as possible, it’ll be too late.”

They had Salt Ginseng there. They had Butewu tribe doctors. Nothing was lacking.

Even if he made it in time, the outcome—good or bad, life or death—was out of his control.

Xiao Rong kept his head down and clenched his bloody hand. He gave no reply. Gao Xunzhi thought he hadn’t heard and turned away.

Then he heard Xiao Rong say in a barely audible voice: “…I can’t take it anymore.”

Gao Xunzhi turned sharply. Xiao Rong remained in the same position. Gao Xunzhi couldn’t see his face, but he saw two drops fall onto Xiao Rong’s clenched fist, mixing with the blood.

“I was so stupid. I actually believed him.”

“I didn’t want to, but he spoke so sincerely, so I believed him. I thought he could really do it.”

More tears fell. Xiao Rong suddenly stopped speaking. His clenched hand looked as if it was being pried open by some invisible force and then dropped weakly to his side. Blood mixed with tears slipped through his fingers.

He turned and walked toward the relay station. As he left Gao Xunzhi’s side, the latter heard him murmur once more.

“I really can’t take it anymore.”

Gao Xunzhi looked toward Shengle and suddenly realized something:

Time couldn’t dull the pain in one’s heart. He couldn’t bear it at twenty—and he couldn’t bear it at fifty either.

 

……

 

Fortunately, the fifth bout of blood was the last. Another day and night passed, and Xiao Rong’s complexion gradually improved. Agusheja was shocked, but also relieved.

She didn’t know what kind of constitution Xiao Rong had, but as long as he improved, that was enough.

Military dispatches normally took three days, but these four reached Yanmen Pass in two and a half. The gate guards were stunned. They didn’t know why Gao Xunzhi was suddenly there. He asked if anything had happened in the army. The soldiers looked equally confused.

Gao Xunzhi frowned and didn’t waste words—they pressed on toward Shengle.

On the eighteenth of August—a most auspicious day—at high noon under warm sunlight, Xiao Rong and his group arrived just outside the army. Gao Xunzhi stepped forward and identified himself. The others waited behind.

Since Xiao Rong started eating again, they no longer worried about his health. He ate, he drank, and rested when needed—but he didn’t talk anymore.

He wasn’t completely mute. If asked a question, he gave short answers, but beyond that, nothing.

Zhang Biezhi slowly recovered from his initial shock. He didn’t know why Xiao Rong had to come here, but maybe it was good. Maybe the King could talk some sense into him.

Then something strange happened. Even after Gao Xunzhi revealed his identity, no one took them to see the King. Instead, they were led to an empty army tent. The soldier said the generals would arrive shortly.

A sense of dread crept into Zhang Biezhi’s heart.

Moments later, Jian Qiao, Wang Xinyong, Yuan Baifu, and Gongsun Yuan all entered.

Frankly, even Gao Xunzhi’s presence didn’t warrant such fanfare.

All four knelt fully before Gao Xunzhi—both knees on the ground—and said in unison, “We deserve ten thousand deaths for our crime!”

Zhang Biezhi’s eyes widened in shock. Xiao Rong turned his head aside, expressionless.

Gao Xunzhi had expected something, but the moment they spoke, his heart still clenched hard. “What happened?!”

Jian Qiao was about to speak, but Yuan Baifu jumped in, “On Mid-Autumn Day, the King declared a one-day ceasefire to slaughter cattle and sheep for a feast. The Xianbei agreed, but the king, still cautious, ordered thirty thousand soldiers to remain on the front line in case of an ambush.”

Gongsun Yuan took over, his tone heavy. “The Xianbei were despicable. They had no intention of ambushing. Instead, under the guise of Mid-Autumn, they delivered a ‘gift’ to the king.”

Gao Xunzhi paused and immediately asked, “What gift?”

 

Edited by: Antiope

 

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