Chapter 20 High-Risk Subject

Chapter 20 High-Risk Subject

Jing Rong only waited a short while before feeling Jue crush him in a desperate hug.

Jue’s voice was strained: "I’ll take you back, brother. Let me treat your injuries."

Holding Jing Rong’s hand carefully, Jue led him toward the tents in the camp area.

As the leader, Jue had a private command tent for communications, guarded by several red-haired sentinels outside.

Jing Rong could feel Jue's fingers damp with cold sweat from tension. With his other hand, he gently stroked the back of Jue’s neck, like calming a skittish wolf cub: "It’s not a big problem for me. Just needs some rest to heal. Don’t worry."

Jue remained silent.

The guards outside the tent saluted upon seeing him: "Leader."

Jue, his face drawn with worry, didn’t even respond before lifting the tent flap and leading Jing Rong to sit on the camp bed.

Jing Rong was unusually compliant, not saying a word as he followed, none of his usual Arbiter authority showing. When not in battle, he always resembled a young student—more suited to the title of a Geography Exploration Society than that of an Arbiter.

Jue supported his back, helping him lie back and placing a pillow behind him.

Jing Rong chuckled softly: "This is my first time in the leader’s tent. Too bad I can't see the decor."

Normally, Jue would either glance at him with his blue eyes or get flustered by the teasing, but today, there was nothing.

Only silence.

Sensing Jue’s unusual mood, Jing Rong tilted his head slightly and reached out, his hand finding the curve of a narrow waist.

The owner of that waist stood rigidly, standing at stiff attention.

Jing Rong wrapped his arms around the stiff leader and pulled him close: "Today went as well as could be expected. Don’t be upset."

Sitting in his embrace, Jue spoke quietly: "You didn’t tell me about the risks you faced. I won’t let you take such dangers again."

Jing Rong’s fingertips lightly traced his face, hesitating before finally saying: "Alright."

His time as an Executive had been too long. Apart from his core being, everything else could be repaired—broken bones mended, shattered flesh restored. To him, his body was no different from any other weapon, just another tool.

He had never paid much mind to the wear and tear of tools.

Softening his tone gently, Jing Rong said: "I didn’t think of it that way. Next time, I won’t make you worry."

Jue whispered: "Brother, my heart bleeds too. It will ache for you."

The oil lamp burned softly beside them.

Jue pressed his face tightly against Jing Rong’s neck, like a wolf pup nuzzling for comfort.

After a moment of silence, Jing Rong held him tighter and murmured: "I know."

Once Jue had calmed down, still nestled against Jing Rong’s shoulder, he said quietly: "Let me treat your wounds. Did you do any first aid, brother?"

Jing Rong replied uncertainly: "A little."

After being injured by the blast, he had only stopped the bleeding due to the urgency of the wounded in You Tier’s team. Shrapnel still lodged in his skin went unattended.

Time had been tight upon his return, and Jing Rong had planned to tend to his wounds himself that night—until Jue found out sooner than planned.

Kneeling before him, Jue’s voice remained tense.

In his blindness, Jing Rong could only feel Jue take his hand and place it on his knee, working open his cufflinks with care.

Jing Rong’s outer coat was black, but when the shirt was peeled back, the stains became visible: dried blood, now dark red, clung to his skin.

"Does it hurt, brother?" Jue watched Jing Rong’s expression, slowing his movements.

Jing Rong replied: "No. Don't hold back."

The words held unintended intimacy, but there was no time to dwell on it. Jue focused intently, using scissors to cut away his shirt.

Ten minutes later, Jing Rong’s shirt was completely removed, his upper body exposed to the cool air.

Jing Rong remarked: "Your hands are steady. Your patients are in good hands."

Jue ignored him, meticulously examining his wounds.

Shrapnel had peppered through the inner side of Jing Rong’s arm and his waist—superficial wounds and burns, pale skin marred by angry red welts.

After a pause, Jue stood to retrieve tweezers and disinfectant cloth. "Brother, this will sting. I’ll remove the fragments."

Jing Rong nodded: "Alright."

Still silent.

Leaning against the foot of the bed with his eyes lightly closed, Jing Rong remained still as Jue knelt before him.

As the fragments were extracted, the wounds reopened, fresh blood welling up.

Jue had no formal medical training—all his first-aid knowledge came from the battlefield.

The procedure would've been agony. With Jiek Town’s dwindling medical supplies, all anesthetics were reserved for critical cases. Ordinary wounds were stitched raw.

It took longer than expected. Jue steadied his hands, extracting every piece of shrapnel and placing them on a sterilized tray.

Jing Rong didn’t utter a word, though his lashes were clumped with cold sweat, dark and glistening.

He could sense Jue’s gaze lingering on his eyes.

When Jing Rong shifted slightly, Jue suddenly leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his eyelids, his tongue catching the salt.

"Brother, if the darkness stays, I’ll give you my eyes," Jue declared, his voice firm and resolute.

Jing Rong replied: "Alright. If it comes to that, I’d gladly accept the loveliest blue eyes in the world."

His tone was so casual that it took Jue a moment to realize he was being teased. Flushing, caught between concern and shyness, his ears reddened.

Raised on the battlefield, Jue had never flirted before—nor could he handle Jing Rong’s effortless words.

After applying medicine, Jue wound the bandages snug.

Surveying his handiwork, he looked up at Jing Rong: "Brother, stay put here. Don’t go out for the next few days."

After a brief consideration, Jing Rong agreed: "Alright. Just call if you need me."

Jue nodded but was interrupted by Jing Rong's chuckle: "Already thinking of ways to hide your psychic abilities from me, aren’t you?"

Jue's hand went rigid.

Jing Rong slid his fingers into Jue's long red hair, gently stroking it.

Jue was elated.

Freeing fellow POWs, reuniting with the guerrillas, sealing off the western route of the war train—the entire western front would be cut off from reinforcements for the coming winter... Every single thing was good news, and peace felt close enough to grasp.

He wasn’t sure how much longer he had to live, so he wanted to accomplish everything as quickly as possible.

Jing Rong said, "Alright, use it if you want."

Jue froze for a moment.

Jing Rong’s tone was casual: "I’ll sustain it."

He would replenish his energy.

And he knew exactly how to replenish his energy.

His little red wolf wasn’t like any other creature—caging him would spark rebellion, breaking him would backfire, and pampering would rot him. Only wild freedom could revive him, freeing him from the shackles of reality.

When he liked something, he always liked things alive—thriving, untamed.

Jue’s eyes widened, locked onto him.

Jing Rong’s eyes were half-lidded, his aura restrained yet profound, carrying a scent like metallic sweetness laced with winter’s bite.

Jue rolled onto him, reaching out to grip his chin.

His voice was slightly hoarse: "Gege, what do I do?"

"I want to fuck you right now."