Chapter 69

Chapter 69

Luo Qianyu froze, and the grip in his hand went slack.

He remembered this voice.

At the banquet hosted days ago for the envoys from Zhao, he had won the jade pendant from that man and, unexpectedly, brought Yunshan back with him.

He fell silent for a moment, his body trembling slightly but forcing himself to appear calm. He hesitated before asking, "Are you here to kill me too?"

After a short pause, he heard the other's low, hoarse voice reply, "...No."

"I am not here to kill you."

Luo Qianyu said nothing, skeptical, yet he dared not act rashly. After all, the situation was simply bizarre. He couldn't fathom how this person had appeared here or why he had saved him. They were strangers; just days ago, they had been opponents on the martial arts field.

Not only had he shown up Zhao, broken the masked man's winning streak, and won a highly prized heirloom jade pendant, but he had even claimed the man's prize, the Arctic Wolf.

Logically, the other should hate him to the core.

Yet, the masked man made no further move.

He neither held Luo Qianyu underwater to drown him nor plunged a blade into his chest. Instead, he kept holding him up above the water's surface, moving slowly and steadily. Luo Qianyu had no idea where they were going until he was suddenly lifted and placed on a wooden plank.

Luo Qianyu couldn't see his surroundings, enveloped in an impenetrable darkness so thick he couldn't even tell if it was day or night. He only felt the surface beneath him swaying gently, with the distinctive rocking motion of being on water.

It was as if he had been gently placed on a drifting leaf.

The sensation of being lifted by that man still lingered at the small of his back and in the crook of his arms. Clearly, he had been set down first, then the other man climbed aboard.

...That man had carried him onto a boat.

The boat rocked slightly. Inside the cabin, only the faint sound of water lapping against the hull could be heard, while in the distance, the muffled yet unmistakable clamor of rebellion and fighting persisted.

No sooner had he been set down, Luo Qianyu couldn't help but break the silence, asking, "Luo Shifu... the young man in the Jinyiwei uniform on the roof of the first waterside pavilion earlier... did he survive?"

A low, damp, chilly voice responded from above, "Hmm."

The Young Marquis was about to breathe a sigh of relief when the man spoke again, "Perhaps."

Luo Qianyu: "..."

He choked, his breath caught in his throat.

Why did this person talk like that?

As he pondered, a shadow suddenly loomed over him from above, accompanied by the soft patter of dripping water. A few cool droplets landed on the side of his neck, making him flinch and his Adam's apple bob.

The man froze, his leaning motion halting for a second. The next moment, something hard was removed and placed on the wooden plank beside him with a soft *click*.

Some instinct told him the other had likely removed his mask.

Luo Qianyu's heart leaped into his throat, a sudden sense of foreboding taking hold. He asked nervously, "...What are you doing?"

"Your wound is bleeding."

The man's voice was closer now, without the mask, it sounded more immediate, yet his true timbre remained indistinguishable. "It needs to be bandaged."

He frowned slightly, his lips parting but ultimately saying nothing. He now felt sure that the other was truly here to save him.

...Though there was no logical reason for it.

Perhaps he didn't need to be so on edge. After all, the masked man wasn't one of Wen Yu's suitors... at least not yet. He wouldn't see Luo Qianyu as a romantic rival. Moreover, Luo Qianyu wasn't the only unmarried princess of the Da Xi Dynasty, so there was no worry about being kidnapped to a foreign land as leverage.

Come to think of it, if he could really leave the capital and flee far away, it would actually suit his wishes. He wouldn't have to follow that damn plot or fake his death to escape the original story.

As his thoughts ran wild, one of his wrists was suddenly grasped.

As Wurle's other hand just touched the fabric at his shoulder, he flinched. The man spoke in a low voice, his hoarse tone devoid of emotion, "It might hurt during the bandaging."

Luo Qianyu was taken aback, repeating blankly, "Hurt?"

"Hmm," Wurle affirmed. "If you can't bear it, bite me."

Luo Qianyu: "..."

The youth turned his face away, his expression somewhat bewildered.

Really, Masked Bro? Bite you?

He had seen too many martial arts dramas. Of all injuries, the most painful was undoubtedly having a blade pulled from one's flesh. His was merely a penetrating wound on the shoulder. As long as the bleeding was stopped promptly, survival was almost certain. The protagonists in those stories wouldn't even bat an eye at such a thing. A real man, since he wasn't having a sword pulled from the wound on the spot, why would he need to bite something to endure the pain of mere bandaging?

Wurle said no more. He pulled the sash from his waist and deftly tore a strip from the hem of his inner garment. The cloth was coarse, carrying the faint, lingering scent of light soap. He went down on one knee, leaning over so his shadow covered half of Luo Qianyu's face. His fingertips first probed and pressed around the edges of the wound.

Luo Qianyu felt a dull ache and was about to frown when the cloth strip was suddenly tightened by the other, wound tightly from top to bottom and pressed down firmly against his shoulder.

It wasn't a gentle touch but a forceful, unyielding pressure, as if trying to grind the torn flesh back into place.

"...!"

Although the action was swift, not even giving him a chance to struggle or react, the inevitable, intense pain erupted instantly, worse than the initial stab, as if countless blunt needles were drilling into the bone.

Luo Qianyu's entire body stiffened. An involuntary whimper escaped his throat. Any earlier thoughts of "being a real man" were long forgotten, scattered and vanished by the pain, never to be recalled.

Darkness swam before his eyes. Instinctively, he turned his head and bit down on the nearest source of warmth—Wurle's exposed wrist.

"Mmmph... ngh...!"

The wrist bone was hard and slightly cool from the water. He bit down savagely. Though he didn't taste blood, it just barely stifled his cry, leaving only suppressed gasps escaping between his clenched teeth.

Wurle's hands didn't stop moving. The cloth strip was wound around his shoulder again and again. With each tightening pull, Luo Qianyu bit down harder. Only after a final, secure knot was tied did Wurle release his hold.

Still clutching the man's wrist, Luo Qianyu slowly loosened his bite. A moment later, his hand fell away too, his neck soaked with sweat.

It felt like he had just walked through the gates of hell.

Wurle withdrew his hand, looking down at the clear ring of teeth marks on the outer side of his wrist. There was no blood, only dampness. The man said nothing.

With his injury, even biting down was an effort. So, despite exerting all his strength, it felt more like a gentle nip.

Luo Qianyu turned his head aside, pressing his pale lips together. Besides the penetrating shoulder wound, there were also cuts on his forearm and the side of his calf. These were slightly better, mere lacerations, which the masked man had quickly dealt with.

But it was evident Wurle was skilled. The bleeding seemed to have stopped, and the bandaged areas actually didn't hurt as much now.

"And my eyes..." His vision was still dark. His fingers curled instinctively. He pursed his lips, a note of worry in his voice. "...My eyes can't see either."

"I know."

The response was still that low, hoarse voice, devoid of emotion.

"Will it be like this forever?"

The next moment, a calloused fingertip grazed his eyelashes with a feather-light touch. The Young Marquis instinctively flinched. The masked man seemed to be carefully examining his eyes, his thumb wiping away the tears welling from the stinging pain at the corner of his eye.

The fingertip paused before the man spoke, his voice slightly softer than before. "It's gold dust that got into your eyes. You'll be blind for a time, but not forever."

Luo Qianyu was taken aback, the tension in his back slowly easing. After a long while, he nodded slowly, his long lashes casting faint shadows on his eyelids.

But...

He could clearly sense the demeanor of the person beside him had changed.

...Wurle seemed angry.

Angry wasn't quite the right word. It felt more like suppressed fury, a chilling, murderous intent radiating from him.

He didn't know how long the small boat had been adrift. He felt himself being picked up again, a fox-fur cloak draped over him to prevent hypothermia. He just didn't know where they were heading.

The two remained silent, neither speaking.

The pain kept the young man exceptionally clear-headed.

This was clearly an envoy from a rival state. Even the apparent peace and prosperity were superficial. The Northern Territories, once a vassal of Zhao, were now fiercely battling the Da Xi Dynasty's armies. Lou Xian had joined the military precisely to fight in this war. Moreover, he already knew about the looming tension between Zhao and Da Xi.

Given such an adversarial relationship, why would he save an unrelated nobleman's son?

Luo Qianyu couldn't understand. The pain slowed his thoughts, bringing weariness and chills, but not a hint of drowsiness. The warmth from Wurle, who was currently carrying him, was the only source of warmth now.

Deprived of his sight, with only a hazy darkness before him, the little sense of security he had was utterly shattered. Unable to bear the silence for long, he took the initiative to speak.

"You're really strange."

The man's gaze shifted slightly. An instant silence fell between them. Just as the Young Marquis thought the other wouldn't respond, the man finally parted his lips. "Why do you say that?"

"You and I are complete strangers, yet you risked your life to save me." The Young Marquis pondered. "The waterside pavilion is quite a distance from the lakeside hall. When I was using the telescope earlier, you saw me, didn't you?"

"..."

The man did not respond.

"Before that too, you even gave me the Arctic Wolf."

The Young Marquis's lashes stilled slightly before he continued. "That night at the martial contest, you went easy when you shot the arrow, didn't you? You knew I wanted that jade pendant."

Still no response. The man simply kept walking while holding him.

Luo Qianyu tilted his neck, testing the waters. "Your leader said that Arctic Wolf pledges loyalty to only one person in its lifetime. You deliberately lost to me because you wanted to give it to me for protection?"

"But I'm a pampered, precious young master, raised deep within the mansions of this peaceful and prosperous capital. What danger could I possibly face? Or... do you know that I will leave the capital in the future, that I'll have to go somewhere alone?"

Though he couldn't see, this opportunity for private conversation was truly rare. After tonight, the Zhao envoys would leave the capital. These mysteries would remain bottled up in his heart, forever unknown. Luo Qianyu didn't want to miss this chance.

It was just that this envoy who never showed his face was too reticent, not answering any questions, even more so than when Wen Yu first entered the mansion.

If only he could see Wurle's face beneath the mask like last time, perhaps he could detect some flaw.

Wait, he couldn't see. When the man was treating his wound earlier, the mask was dripping wet. It seemed the man had already taken it off.

So, Wurle probably wasn't wearing the mask right now?

Luo Qianyu pretended to be docile for a while. After a long period of mutual silence, perhaps when the other had let his guard down, he suddenly reached out with his uninjured hand towards the man's face.

The next moment, his wrist was caught.

But he still managed to touch it.

Luo Qianyu closed his eyes, holding his breath slightly. "You seem to have a mark on your forehead. It looks somewhat familiar."

"A vermilion forehead mark isn't common in this world. You always wear a mask. Is it so others won't see this?" The Young Marquis's voice paused. Although this Wurle seemed somewhat indulgent towards him, to avoid being presumptuous, he pursed his lips and said, "I'm not a gossip, and I won't speak of it carelessly."

"Wurle, is your true family name 'Wen'?"

Luo Qianyu's voice grew even softer. "Or... is it 'Que'?"