As night fell, Feng Lingjun, still unconscious, had a dream.
In his dream, he returned to Wangchun Mountain, where the spring flowers were in full bloom. The bright sunlight poured down from the sky, Chu Qian stood by the waterfall, the mist refracting a rainbow in front of him.
Chu Qian held the camellia flower that Feng Lingjun had gifted him, his cheeks flushed as he smiled gently, calling out softly, “Brother Lingjun…”
Feng Lingjun felt a sharp pang in his heart, nearly waking from the dream, but his body remained immobilised.
He was trapped in slumber, as if his soul had separated from his body. Gradually, it became indistinguishable whether it was an imagination or a dream. In the haze, he found himself walking into Chu Qian’s thatched cottage. Under the dim window, a flickering candlelight cast long, trembling shadows.
Chu Qian stood before the lamp, half of his face shrouded in darkness, his expression sorrowful. He looked at Feng Lingjun and said, “We’ve already performed the hair-binding ceremony; you mustn’t forget me.”
I won’t forget you, come back, hurry back…
Feng Lingjun reached out in desperation, but his hand only grasped a gust of wind that stirred the flame. He had rarely ever shed tears, but that night, his pillow was soaked with warm tears.
After the effects of the drug wore off, Feng Lingjun finally awoke. The sky was already bright. He lay on the bed in a daze for a while, an indistinct fear lingering in his heart. He almost didn’t dare to recall what had happened the previous evening, wondering if it had all been just a dream.
Feng Lingjun broke free from the ropes, reaching out beside him, but found nothing. Only then did he suddenly awaken, flipping off the bed without bothering to dress or wash up, wearing only a thin garment, hair dishevelled as he rushed out.
At a quarter past the hour of the rabbit1卯时三刻 – 06:45 am, Feng Lingjun rode out of the city.
The streets of Weishui City were desolate, the cold wind blew against his face sharply like a knife, yet he felt nothing. The withered forest lay to the west of the city, where the Wulin Alliance had set an ambush early on. He didn’t know if it was all over already, as he hadn’t encountered a single living soul.
—Where was Chu Qian?
Feng Lingjun felt a chill in his heart, as if an invisible hand was gripping his throat, making it hard to breathe.
From the moment they met until now, he has always regarded Chu Qian as someone he should protect. Chu Qian is innocent, naive to the ways of the world, and extremely dependent on him. He feels affection, tenderness, guilt, and a sense of responsibility towards Chu Qian. He wants to minimise the impact he has on Chu Qian, hoping that Chu Qian can live the latter half of his life well.
Yet in the end, he accomplished none of that. He had been hurting Chu Qian all along, while it was Chu Qian who was protecting him and sacrificing for him.
Feng Lingjun’s veins bulged on the back of his hand, his fingers trembling uncontrollably. When he dismounted, he nearly fell off the horse. He didn’t bother to tie up the horse and rushed straight into the withered forest.
This forest was vast, winding and labyrinthine. Feng Lingjun walked deeper in and noticed signs of a fierce battle. Ashes from the fire, bloodstains, the bodies of the demonic cult’s followers, and those from the Wulin Alliance… He looked around blankly, feeling as if all the blood in his body ran cold.
——Where is Chu Qian? He shouldn’t be here, right?
“Qian’er!” Feng Lingjun shouted. What he got in response was the sound of startled crows flapping their wings.
Feng Lingjun, in a daze, continued walking forward. When he finally saw someone, it was as if he had found a saviour. He rushed over, incoherently asking questions. The person was leaning against a tree, tending to a wound, and couldn’t answer his questions. He only said that the Wulin Alliance had won last night, but the scene was chaotic. “Hero Feng” and Qin Qing were not present in the decisive battle, so he didn’t know the outcome.
After saying this, he glanced at Feng Lingjun, recognizing him as the “Hero Feng” he had mentioned, and was immediately startled.
Feng Lingjun was anxious and had no time to explain in detail. He turned and dashed deeper into the forest.
…
By the time he found Chu Qian, Feng Lingjun was on the verge of collapse.
He was already restless, and after wandering around in the “maze,” he quickly lost all sense of direction.
He forced himself to calm down, marking his path almost tree by tree, meticulously searching through the entire desolate forest. Finally, behind a large tree, he spotted a familiar corner of clothing.
“Qian’er?” Feng Lingjun called out cautiously, hesitating for a moment before leaning closer. He was afraid that the person there wasn’t Chu Qian, or that Chu Qian had already… already become unable to respond to him.
No, it can’t be.
Feng Lingjun suppressed his fear and rushed forward, stumbling as he went. His long hair was already a mess, and his clothes were covered in dirt, but he was in much better shape than Chu Qian—
—The person behind the tree was indeed Chu Qian.
Chu Qian was covered in blood, leaning against a tree trunk, Chouguang2Just a friendly reminder, Chouguang is the name of Feng Lingjun’s sword was pressed beneath his hand. He lowered his head, his pale face faintly tinged with blue, and with his downcast eyes, it was hard to tell if he was alive or dead.
“……”
Feng Lingjun had seen many dead bodies and had personally killed many people, but he had never felt as scared as he did now.
Feng Lingjun pressed his lips tightly together, mustered his courage, and leaned down to check Chu Qian’s breath.
Fortunately.
Thank goodness.
He let out a sigh of relief, collapsing to his knees on the hard ground, the sharp pain in his knees bringing him back to his senses.
“Qian’er, wake up.” Feng Lingjun patted Chu Qian’s face but received no response.
He didn’t know where Chu Qian was injured. Carefully checking him over, he was surprised to find that Chu Qian had no external wounds, the blood on him didn’t seem to be his own.
Although the internal injuries were already very serious, as long as the person was still alive, no matter how severe the injuries, Feng Lingjun felt it was good news. He cautiously picked up Chu Qian and carried him out of the forest.
On the way back, Chu Qian woke up once.
Feng Lingjun rode the horse, and Chu Qian leaned against Feng Lingjun’s embrace, lifting his head slightly on the bumpy ride.
Feng Lingjun had been paying attention to him and immediately stopped when he saw this: “Qian’er?”
“…” Chu Qian coughed a few times, his voice weak, “Ling, Lingjun gege…”
“Don’t speak. Let’s head back to the inn first.”
“No, I…”
“Don’t speak anymore, save your strength, be good.”
Feng Lingjun didn’t ask anything, just tightened his embrace, holding him more securely.
Chu Qian, however, seemed like a child eager to show off, suddenly becoming particularly childish. Finding it a bit difficult to turn his head, he gently leaned back against Feng Lingjun’s shoulder and whispered, “Brother Lingjun, I… I won…”
Feng Lingjun didn’t respond, so Chu Qian grabbed his sleeve: “I helped you kill him. Aren’t I impressive, huh? Aren’t I…”
Feng Lingjun’s nose felt sour.
Chu Qian continued, “I won’t hold you back anymore. You can’t leave me behind again…”
“I won’t”, Feng Lingjun said hoarsely. “Get well, take good care of your injuries. From now on, we will never be apart again.”
“Alright… don’t lie to me.”
Chu Qian felt a sense of satisfaction, his voice light and airy, as if the breath that had been supporting him all along had finally been swallowed down, and his head drooped again.
Feng Lingjun’s heart sank, shaking Chu Qian’s shoulder: “Qian’er?… Qian’er!”
But Chu Qian seemed to have fallen into a deep sleep, unable to hear his voice or respond.
Feng Lingjun’s heart shattered, his eyes bloodshot as he urged his horse to gallop back to the city.
He had always been very capable, handling everything in an orderly manner, calm and collected, never making mistakes. But now, it felt as if he had become a different person, having lost all sense of organisation in an instant. If he hadn’t run into Alliance Leader Zhao at the inn’s entrance, he wouldn’t have known what to do. He just held onto Chu Qian, neither daring nor willing to let go.
Leader Zhao was looking for Feng Lingjun and was unaware of the events from last night. This morning, when the Wulin Alliance was cleaning up the aftermath, they only found Qin Qing’s body and did not see Feng Lingjun, assuming that Feng Lingjun had left on his own.
Zhao Mengzhu originally wore a joyful expression, but upon seeing Feng Lingjun’s seemingly mad demeanour, he was taken aback: “What… what happened?”
Feng Lingjun opened his mouth but couldn’t find the words.
Zhao Mengzhu noticed the person in his arms and recognized Chu Qian’s attire, seemingly understanding the situation. He reached out to check Chu Qian’s pulse.
“Such severe injuries,” Zhao Mengzhu said. “We can’t delay; let’s take him to the divine doctor.”
The so-called “divine doctor” was merely a wandering physician who had come to Weishui City with the Wulin Alliance. He had the heart to save lives, but lacked the skills to bring the dead back to life.
Feng Lingjun approached the doctor with the fervour almost of someone praying to the gods, but the physician could only shake his head, saying that there was a force mixed with poison blocking Chu Qian’s meridians, and it had also injured his lungs. There was no hope for salvation, and he should accept the loss and move on.
Accept the loss and move on?
Feng Lingjun had not yet fully awakened from the daze of last night. At dawn, without his knowledge, everything quietly came to an end, including the life of the one he loved. How could he mourn and accept this change? He simply could not believe that any of this was real.
“Impossible, impossible.”
Feng Lingjun carried Chu Qian back to the inn, laid him properly on the bed, and began channelling his internal energy into Chu Qian.
What good is this? Just barely prolonging his life.
But even if he exhausted all his strength, Chu Qian still wouldn’t wake up.
Feng Lingjun had practised martial arts for over twenty years, learning to be chivalrous and help those in need. Yet he couldn’t even save the one he loved most, who else could he save?
Feng Lingjun thought, though I am not a flawless sage, I have never committed evil. Over the years, wandering through the martial world, helping those I can and saving those in need, and done my fair share of good deeds. Whether in public or private matters, I can truly say I have a clear conscience, so why does fate treat me so harshly?
Feng Lingjun held Chu Qian in despair, suddenly filled with an unprecedented sense of resentment and desolation. He truly felt the helplessness of calling out to heaven without response and to the earth without relief. He didn’t know how to wake Chu Qian up, how to bring that pale face back to life, how to bring back those filled with anger, shyness, and tearful eyes…
Feng Lingjun stared blankly for a long time, perhaps an hour or two, while Chu Qian remained motionless in his arms, so quiet it seemed as if he were truly dead.
“…”
Feng Lingjun’s eyes flickered as his gaze shifted from Chu Qian to the sword by the bed.
“Chouguang…”
Chouguang was… the sword his master had given him.
Feng Lingjun suddenly felt a surge of determination. He got out of bed, picked up Chu Qian, and wrapped him in a heavy fox fur cloak—
“We’ll return to the sect, Qian’er. We’ll go find my master, my master will definitely be able to save you.”
“—I’ll take you to Buxu Peak.”
