Chapter 98

Chapter 98

Luo Qianyu felt a pang of apprehension.

This man was the envoy from the State of Zhao who had traveled to the capital years ago. Luo Qianyu had met him twice before. If his memory served him right, the man's name was Wurle.

He recognized him so quickly because of the metal mask on Wurle's face. It was cold, hard, and radiated an air of keeping strangers at a distance, yet it was also highly distinctive. Anyone who saw it once would find it hard to forget... Moreover, this man had once saved his life.

The Young Marquis's thoughts raced.

...

Why would Wurle appear here?

The State of Zhao bordered the northern frontier, but this was the territory of the Western Desert. Not only was it separated by most of the Central Plains, but it was also a remote, wild mountainous region. The Daxi Army had only just reached Black Wind Pass. How could a former envoy from a nation with diplomatic ties be lingering here? Besides, as a survivor of the recent battle, he himself had only fled to this place in a desperate, panic-fueled flight.

Most importantly, his plan to fake his death was known to no one else in the world.

Yet, in this desolate, uninhabited place, at this critical moment of life and death, he coincidentally ran into an old acquaintance. The timing was far too convenient. The young man's first reaction was not relief, but wariness. He wasn't sure if Wurle was friend or foe. Was saving him from the rebels back then also part of today's scheme?

And how did this Wurle know he was here?

Or perhaps he didn't know, and his appearance was merely a coincidence?

The Young Marquis lowered his eyes, pursed his lips slightly, and decided to conceal his identity for now.

Yunshan was originally a gift from Wurle.

The Arctic Wolf species was rare; few people in the world had ever seen one. Now, in this borderland between the Central Plains and the Western Desert, if Wurle saw Yunshan, would he recognize it and thereby deduce the Young Marquis's identity?

Fortunately, his appearance was completely altered now.

An ordinary person wouldn't even think of disguise.

The masked man didn't speak. Instead, holding him, he retraced his steps. On the way, Luo Qianyu glanced at the corpses on the ground and saw more than just those few from earlier had been killed. It seemed Wurle had already dealt with most of the Ximo soldiers on his way to find him.

Yunshan only followed beside them, watching the masked man carry him, but showed no hostility towards Wurle.

Perhaps seeing that Wurle had just saved him, Yunshan let its guard down. Or perhaps, since Wurle was its original master, even after a year had passed, the Arctic Wolf still recognized him.

"Who are you, Your Excellency?"

Seeing Wurle had already helped him onto the horse, Luo Qianyu could feign ignorance no longer. He broke the silence first, his voice low, "Thank you for saving my life, hero. However, I still have urgent matters to attend to. For the journey ahead, perhaps we should part ways here..."

Wurle still didn't utter a word.

Nor did he let him go.

He merely gave the horse's sides a slight squeeze with his legs, and the horse began to trot slowly. The speed wasn't fast, and though there was some jostling, it didn't pull at Luo Qianyu's wound at all. Because of this position, he seemed to be sheltered within the man's embrace.

The Young Marquis, unwilling to give up and feeling somewhat flustered inside, said, "If you won't reveal your name, so be it. You don't look like someone from the Central Plains. Even if you wish to travel with me, you should at least say something. Where are you taking me?"

"..."

The masked man remained silent.

Luo Qianyu was secretly astonished; he had never encountered such a tight-lipped person.

But gradually, perhaps due to bone-deep exhaustion or the wound restricting his movement, the young man felt his eyelids growing heavier and heavier, fighting a losing battle against sleep.

He caught the scent on the man, a faint, subtle fragrance that inexplicably evoked a sense of reassurance. Unconsciously, he gradually drifted off to sleep—or perhaps fainted.

When he opened his eyes again, it was already dark.

Heavy darkness enveloped the surroundings.

Soft clothing was padded beneath him, insulating him from the cold ground, and a cloak still carrying body warmth was draped over him. Warmth, wrapped in that faint scent, drifted over.

The makeshift cloth bandage on his wound had been replaced with clean white cloth. It felt cool and refreshing against his skin, clearly having been treated with medicine. The original burning, searing pain had lessened considerably.

The Young Marquis was taken aback. Propping himself up slightly on his elbow, he looked out and could see a faint, flickering light reflected on the cave wall.

Only then did he realize he was inside a cave.

Looking up, Wurle was sitting by a campfire not far away, his outline faintly illuminated by the flames. He seemed to be dozing. Occasionally, sparks would fly up from the fire, land on the stone surface, and quickly die out, making the surroundings seem even quieter.

Staring at the man's figure, a thought quickly surfaced in his mind. Between lifting Wurle's mask and sneaking away, Luo Qianyu deliberated for only three seconds before unhesitatingly choosing the latter.

The young man carefully shifted his body, trying not to let the fabric rustle. When his foot slowly extended from under the cloak and was about to touch the shoes placed on the ground, his ankle was suddenly grasped by a warm hand.

The grip wasn't strong, but it startled the young man, freezing him instantly.

Wurle didn't say anything. He placed his foot back under the cloak and returned to his original spot, not looking at him.

Luo Qianyu felt somewhat awkward. He wanted to pretend nothing had happened, but then noticed the man had taken his boots and placed them beside him, conveniently blocked by his tall frame.

Young Marquis: "..."

Luo Qianyu was speechless. Since he wasn't allowed to run, he had to address the immediate problem.

The young man hesitated for a long moment before finally parting his lips: "I... I need to relieve myself."

His voice was very soft, but Wurle definitely heard it.

Between two grown men, relieving oneself in front of the other shouldn't be a big deal, but for some reason, Luo Qianyu wanted the other to step away. Perhaps because there were too many gay men in this world; since transmigrating into the book, he had subconsciously felt that such matters needed to be avoided not only around women but also around men.

Sure enough, although the masked man was a man of few words, he was quite considerate and immediately stood up.

But he walked towards him.

Luo Qianyu was taken aback, looking up at him blankly. It wasn't until he was picked up that alarm bells started ringing in his mind.

"What... what are you doing...?" The Young Marquis was carried out of the cave, his trousers already loosened. Realizing what Wurle intended to do, he said hurriedly, "I can do it myself!"

Wurle still didn't speak. He simply stood behind him, reached out to hold the base of his thighs, and held him steady.

As his robe fell open slightly, his calves hung down, and his toes curled unconsciously.

The masked man didn't speak, nor did he urge him on.

After all, the one in a hurry right now wasn't him.

The Young Marquis gradually understood. The other was probably considering his injury, acting out of goodwill. But to be so unabashed, and in this posture reminiscent of holding a child to pee...

Luo Qianyu's cheeks burned. He hurriedly said in an urgent voice, "I don't need to go anymore... not anymore, you blockhead... let go first!"

Wurle remained silent, but his breath was right above his neck. He was probably looking down, his gaze fixed on that spot.

The Young Marquis clenched his teeth, stubbornly refusing to compromise.

His fingertips tightened imperceptibly around the fabric beneath him, but the urge to relieve himself grew increasingly urgent. The steady support and secure hold from behind felt like a silent encouragement and permission.

After a long while, a faint, trickling sound broke the silence.

...

The Young Marquis lay on the stone bed, burying his head under the cloak without uttering a word.

Wurle had found some dried meat and water, placing them beside him—perhaps he had been carrying them all along. Despite not having eaten or drunk anything for a full day and night, his mouth parched and stomach empty, the Young Marquis still refused to turn around.

His wounds ached faintly, but he had no desire to speak to the masked man ever again.

Wurle couldn't speak. Tomorrow, he would find a chance to escape.

...

"Luo Qianyu."

This time, he finally heard the masked man's voice.

The Young Marquis’s pupils contracted sharply.

He had actually recognized him, even through the disguise.