Chapter 103

Chapter 103

The next two weeks were spent on endless mountain roads.

The closer they got to the Western Desert border, the fewer Da Xi soldiers they saw. After Wurle had killed many Western Desert leaders in the canyon behind Black Wind Pass, their journey became increasingly perilous, caught between a rock and a hard place, so they had to be even more careful.

They could no longer stay at inns, nor could they enter cities or even the outskirts. Yet, whether heading to the Nine Abyss Alliance or Zhao, this was the only way through.

For the first few days, they could still eat hot noodle soup, warm beef, and steamed buns. Now, the Young Marquis was back to chewing dried meat. Occasionally, when resting by a river, they might enjoy grilled fish that Wurle caught—a nice change.

Having just recovered from snake venom, his high fever subsided, leaving the Young Marquis weak and constantly tired. He'd sleep for hours on end, even dozing off on horseback, curled up against Wurle.

Luo Qianyu thought blankly,

Had it been almost two months since the battle at Black Wind Pass?

How does the masked man have so much energy?

What really got to the Young Marquis was...

During this time, he hadn't managed to remove Wurle's mask even once.

After all, his martial arts had been personally taught by Wen Yu, step by step. The masked man even gave him chances to get close, yet he couldn't remove that damned mask?

Wurle had said he would take him to the Nine Abyss Alliance. The Young Marquis didn't know what Wurle got out of selling him to sect leader Zhongli Jinyue, but he understood well that one shouldn't accept favors without merit. All of Wurle's kindness now came with strings attached.

If he couldn't give something in return, why would the masked man treat him so well unconditionally?

He had tried to escape several times, only to be caught each time. After a while, the Young Marquis just gave up on running.

He knew that despite the man's ulterior motives, Wurle would protect him.

Despite the arduous journey, the masked man had looked after him well. Not only was he not tanned at all, but sometimes, when the Young Marquis looked down at the river, watching the shimmering ripples, he'd get lost in thought.

"..."

He even suspected he had gained weight.

It was hard enough surviving independently in the wild, especially since this body had suffered too many severe injuries after his feigned death and needed time to heal. If Wurle weren't here, forget about making it to Zhao, even basic survival would be hard to sustain alone.

Luo Qianyu filled a gourd with spring water, carefully removed his disguise mask, moistened it, and rolled it into a damp bamboo tube.

Miss Su had once said that the Disguise Art was no easy feat. First, making the mask was hard, with very few people in the world who knew how. According to Su Hongying, even her teacher, the Chief, who had perfected the Disguise Art, needed several months to create a single mask.

Out in the wind and sun, if worn daily, it would only last three months at most, and he only had one mask.

So, the Young Marquis would remove it when not in use, carefully preserving it.

Once he reached a foreign land, beyond the search range of Da Xi's territory, no one would recognize him, and he wouldn't need to disguise himself anymore.

The Young Marquis revealed his original appearance. Just as he was about to remove his outer robe to bathe, his movements halted abruptly. Glancing sideways, he happened to meet Wurle's gaze.

Luo Qianyu frowned. "…?"

He had noticed it before—it wasn't his imagination. Every time he removed his mask, he would find the masked man watching him.

That gaze held no curiosity, nor did it seem probing. Instead, it was more like... not missing a single moment, fearing to overlook even the slightest detail, simply wanting to see more of his true appearance.

The Young Marquis hesitated for a moment, then put his robe back on. However, just as he intended to continue the journey, he saw the masked man unloading the baggage from the horse.

Luo Qianyu was slightly taken aback and asked, "Aren't we continuing?"

"Mm." Wurle's voice was low and concise. "We'll sleep here tonight."

The Young Marquis thought for a moment and still decided to bathe.

The fire in the cave was dying down. The Western Desert had extreme temperature swings. While the daytime was stiflingly hot, once night fell, the frosty night air crept in, making even the stones on the ground feel chilly.

The young man fell asleep, his hands and feet tucked into the warm, fluffy fur of the Arctic Wolf's belly. Yet he still felt cold, his limbs trembling uncontrollably. A thin mist seemed to condense on his eyelashes, and he slept restlessly.

Then, suddenly, a warm hand gently lifted him from the wolf's fur. A cloak that smelled of leather and something cool and fragrant wrapped around his shoulders, and his outer robe was tightened layer by layer. The next moment, he was drawn into a broad, warm embrace.

The young man's eyelashes fluttered slightly, but he didn't wake up, only his head showing.

The Arctic Wolf nearby looked up, then stood and walked over to their side. Its massive body lay down next to Luo Qianyu, its fluffy fur blocking out a little more of the cold for the young man.

A faint pink gradually spread across Luo Qianyu's originally pale cheeks. His subtle breaths fell against Wurle's neck, one after another, very light.

Until the night outside the cave slightly faded, the flickering firelight faintly seeped in. The young man's eyelashes trembled lightly, and he slowly opened his eyes.

.

When Luo Qianyu woke up, he found himself lying with Wurle again.

Clearly, before falling asleep, they had been apart, each sleeping separately. He had been curled up in a corner hugging Yunshan, while Wurle kept watch not far away, always maintaining some distance from him.

The Young Marquis propped himself up slightly, gazing at the masked man lying flat beside him, momentarily lost in thought.

He had read the book, but even after scouring through the plot, how could he not remember this character?

Wurle's martial skills were so exceptional, and as an envoy from Zhao, his status must be significant. Such a character should typically be one of the buy-stock gong who liked the protagonist shou, definitely not someone whose name wasn't even mentioned.

After spacing out for a while, Luo Qianyu suddenly froze.

Something felt... off.

Was Wurle being a bit too quiet?

Not in the sense of being taciturn, but rather, the man's chest hadn't shown any rise or fall for a long time, not even the slightest tremor.

As if... he wasn't breathing.

The hand propping up the Young Marquis's chin dropped, and he abruptly sat up. He leaned down, pressing his ear against Wurle's chest.

...

No heartbeat.

Luo Qianyu's entire body stiffened. He then reached out to check Wurle's nose—not a trace of warmth or breath, only a mask-like chill.

Was he having a nightmare?

Otherwise, how could Wurle have no breath or heartbeat?

How was this possible?

He had been perfectly fine the previous night.

The Young Marquis was utterly panicked, at a loss. Terror surged over him like a tide. Wurle's hands were ice-cold, and checking his neck revealed no pulse whatsoever.

What should he do.

Amid the confusion, Luo Qianyu's hand had just reached Wurle's face, his fingertips grazing the edge of the metal mask, when suddenly his wrist was grasped.

The grip was light, yet it froze the youth.

Luo Qianyu was first stunned, frozen in place, then came the awkwardness:

"You... how..."

Coming to his senses, he found it utterly absurd.

Even if it were a nightmare, this dream was too preposterous. Yet, of course, the masked man woke up at this very moment, making it seem as though he had attempted to steal Wurle's mask once again and was caught red-handed.

...

If he said now that he thought Wurle was dead, would Wurle believe him?

Luo Qianyu withdrew his hand, slowly moved out from under Wurle's cape, and lay down with his back to him. He pulled the Arctic Wolf close and silently passed the buck: "Yunshan, why are you so restless while sleeping? You kicked me all the way over to Wurle's side."

The Arctic Wolf gave a low whine and licked the youth's cheek.

The next second, the Young Marquis pinched its mouth shut with a hint of disdain.

As they left the mountain road behind, they finally exited the mountains, switching from horses to a carriage. Though the wheels jounced over the dirt road, it was far more comfortable than riding on horseback all day.

Previously, the skin on Luo Qianyu's inner thighs had repeatedly chafed raw and broken, sometimes even seeping blood. Now, with soft cushions laid inside the carriage, he could sit, lie down, and eat in peace, his suffering greatly reduced.

One day, Luo Qianyu had some leftover flatbread. After a moment's thought, he reached his hand out through the carriage curtain.

Shortly after, Wurle outside the carriage took the flatbread from his hand.

A moment later, Luo Qianyu heard the sound of the mask being placed on the wooden floor of the carriage.

The youth fell silent, and the carriage was quiet for a while.

"Wurle."

The Young Marquis opened his mouth and asked softly, "Will you die?"

"That night, you suddenly stopped breathing and your heart stopped. I wasn't mistaken, I didn't mishear, and it wasn't a dream." The Young Marquis paused, then whispered, "Are you going to die?"

There was no movement outside; Wurle didn't speak.

Only the soft rustle of wind brushing against the carriage curtain.

Luo Qianyu bit his lip and continued, "Why do you save me again and again? And why must you take me to the Nine Abyss Alliance?"

As always, the masked man gave no response.

Then, he heard the sound of Wurle eating.

The Young Marquis hugged his legs, resting his head on his knees, and murmured, "Will you leave me?"

...

The carriage slowly stopped by the river.

The sun was warm, and the river shimmered with light. The carriage curtain was partially drawn up as Wurle went to a nearby town to buy things.

When he returned, Wurle's figure froze.

The oil-paper package in his hand fell to the ground, and hot chestnuts rolled out, covered in dirt.

On the open ground by the river, a dozen or so Ximo people surrounded the carriage, curved blades drawn. One of them spotted Wurle and immediately grinned, laughing, "Well, if it isn't the esteemed guest we've been chasing all this way?"

He sneered, "About time you showed up."

The Ximo soldier who had earlier identified Luo Qianyu fleeing into the valley now glared at Wurle, his voice thick with menace: "It's them!"

"They killed over twenty of our brothers, and the leader was stabbed through the throat by him. One is the supervising general of Da Xi, and the other is the masked guard escorting him. Now that we have them, we must have our revenge!"

Another stepped forward, his gaze sweeping over the carriage, his tone mocking: "You've run quite far, haven't you? Given us a lot of trouble. Laying low for so long, if you're so cautious on the road, why not return to Da Xi's territory?"

"Staying in Ximo—isn't that like a wolf entering a tiger's den, asking for death?"

Wurle stood in place, unmoving.

But one of them sharply noticed the masked man's fingers sliding toward the blade at his waist. That person immediately roared, "Don't move!"

"If you don't value your life, do you care about his?"

Inside the carriage, Luo Qianyu's Adam's apple bobbed as he lowered his gaze to the blade pressed against his neck. The cold touch made his spine tense. He quietly reached for the folding fan in his sleeve.

Just as he was about to act, a shrill, agonized scream came from outside the carriage.

Followed by the sound of a beast pouncing and tearing flesh.

The youth's heart tightened as he called out, "Yunshan!"

An Arctic Wolf, sprung from nowhere, had pounced on a Ximo soldier, its fangs sinking deep into his shoulder. Blood splattered as it tore at him. In moments, two or three others lay in pools of blood. Seeing this, the Ximo soldiers panicked, their previously tight formation instantly thrown into disarray.

Wurle had already drawn his blade. In a flash of cold steel, he charged into the crowd. Working in tandem, three more fell to the ground. Blood sprayed from the fallen men, quickly soaking into the damp soil by the river.

Everything happened too suddenly. Just as they seemed doomed, a furious shout suddenly cut through the chaos: "Everyone, stop fucking moving!"

The man raised his hand, holding a short crossbow.

The arrow tip was aimed directly at the youth inside the carriage.

Sure enough, at his words, both the man and the wolf halted their movements, though the hand gripping the blade remained tense. The leader kept the crossbow trained on the carriage and roared, "Call off that beast!"

"Masked man, drop your blade! Twitch a muscle, and I'll shoot this little general through the throat!"

The air nearly froze.

The wind carried dampness from the river, carrying the scent of blood as it brushed against their faces.

Wurle's fingers tightened around the hilt of his blade. His gaze swept over the carriage, then settled on the Ximo men closing in. Yunshan crouched on the ground, a low, guttural growl rumbling in his throat. His wolf eyes fixed on the man holding the crossbow, his silver-white fur bristling.

Just as Wurle's blade was about to fall from his hand, a clear, youthful voice rang out from inside the carriage: "Giddy up!"

No one had time to react.

Wurle's pupils constricted: "A-Yan!"

Before his words faded, the horses suddenly reared up in fright, dragging the carriage violently toward the river! The wheels crunched over gravel, and the next moment, with a thunderous crash, the carriage plunged into the rushing river, sending up a geyser of water!

The swift current instantly engulfed the carriage, sweeping it toward the center of the river.

The situation on the bank changed abruptly.

Yunshan lunged first, pouncing on the nearest Ximo warrior; the piercing sound of claws tearing flesh filled the air.

Wurle spun around and caught the blade he’d dropped. As cold light flashed once more, he had already felled the two men at the front. Chaos erupted among the Ximo, but how could they match his skill? In moments, they all lay dead in pools of blood, the crimson liquid slowly seeping down the riverbank’s slope into the water, staining a stretch of the river red.

The carriage, swept along by the current, drifted rapidly down the turbulent river.

Icy water quickly flooded over the wheels and seeped through the gaps in the carriage. The bedding and cushions inside were instantly soaked, and the water rose to waist level in an instant.

The Young Marquis clutched the drenched window ledge, his heart sinking deeper with every second.

He couldn’t swim—and now, he could only flail helplessly along the carriage walls, searching desperately for something to hold onto.

In his panic, he lifted a corner of the carriage curtain to look outside—only for his gaze to freeze abruptly.

Ahead, the river ended at a sheer cliff.

A waterfall, like a ribbon of white silk, cascaded from the cliff’s peak, its mist swirling into a hazy veil midair. Even from afar, the roar of the falls pounded against his eardrums—terrifying in its raw power.

The carriage, still propelled by the current, edged ever closer to the precipice.

The water swept it toward the cliff’s edge; the howling wind, rushing water, and thunderous roar of the falls exploded in his ears—each second felt like a countdown.

Luo Qianyu stared at the approaching cliff edge and steeled himself.

Even if death awaited, he would not go quietly.

The young man took a deep breath, shoved open the carriage door, and leapt into the river.

The moment his feet touched the icy, churning water, a deafening crash erupted behind him. The carriage smashed violently against a massive boulder in the river’s center—shattering instantly!

Sharp wooden splinters jutted from the wreckage like fangs; twisted planks tumbled in the current. Had he remained inside, those spikes would have impaled him.

Before he could even register relief, a surge of water engulfed him, choking him painfully.

He couldn’t swim—his limbs flailed uselessly. The current rose past his chin, like countless hands dragging him down to the riverbed.

Water flooded his mouth and nose; suffocation seized his heart. His vision darkened, and he lacked even the strength to cry out.

Then—someone grabbed his collar.

He was hauled from the water by a powerful arm, pulled tightly against a chest. Coughing and gasping, the Young Marquis opened his eyes—blurred vision resolving into the masked face of a man.

It was Wurle.

Before the young man could regain his composure, the current beneath them suddenly intensified, sweeping them straight toward the cliff along the river!

Wind shrieked in his ears; the waterfall’s roar hammered his eardrums. Then—weightlessness struck. The Young Marquis squeezed his eyes shut, his heart nearly stopping.

Together, they plummeted into the deep pool below the cliff!

With a thunderous splash, the pool swallowed them whole.

He was held fast in the man’s embrace—the only sound in his ears the hollow, muffled roar of water, as if sealed off from the world. His limbs went weak; instinctively, he clung to the other’s lapels—yet the violent current wrenched them apart.

He had no sense of time.

Then—suddenly—a force lifted him toward the surface. Wet fur brushed his cheek.

The Arctic Wolf gripped his collar in its teeth, dragging him, inch by inch, toward shore.

Luo Qianyu collapsed onto the bank. He coughed up several mouthfuls of water, his sodden clothes clinging heavily to his frame. He lay there, coughing violently until tears streamed down his face.

But as his gaze swept over the calm surface of the pool, he shot upright, urgency sharpening his voice:

“Yunshan—he’s still in the water!”

“Wurle is still in the water!”

Yunshan released the young man’s collar, turned, sprinted a few steps—and dove into the pool. Its back traced a graceful arc across the water’s surface before vanishing into shimmering ripples.

Luo Qianyu knelt on the bank, bracing himself on the slick mud, his gaze locked blankly on the water. His heart constricted; his breathing quickened.

With every passing second, panic mounted.

Then—ripples stirred on the surface. The Arctic Wolf’s head broke through first, gripping Wurle’s hem in its teeth as it struggled toward shore.

Luo Qianyu rushed into the water without hesitation—the river rising past his waist. Together with Yunshan, he dragged Wurle onto the bank.

The man lay drenched, his hair plastered to his skull, motionless—no rise or fall visible in his chest.

The Young Marquis was utterly frantic, his hands trembling.

“…Wurle.”

His voice shook. He reached out halfway—then froze, drew a sharp breath—and tried again: “Wurle!”

No response.

…Chest compressions. Artificial respiration.

The thought surfaced in his dazed mind. The Young Marquis pressed his lips together, withdrew the hand cradling Wurle’s head—it was stained with fresh, crimson blood.

Clenching his bloodied palm, he raised his trembling hand; his fingertips grazed the edge of the metal mask. With effort, he slowly peeled away the mask that had concealed the man’s face for so long.

The moment it fell, Luo Qianyu’s breath caught.

The man’s face was pale, his brow bones pronounced, his long lashes resting against his cheeks. His nose was straight, his thin lips colorless.

His fair skin only heightened the contrast of the light brown scar on his jaw—one Luo Qianyu had never seen before—and the phoenix mark on his forehead.

Luo Qianyu froze—every tremor in his fingers ceased.

The world fell silent in an instant—or perhaps he simply slipped out of it. All he heard was the heavy, deafening thud of his own heartbeat.

He stared at that achingly familiar face—his mind utterly blank. It took a long, suspended moment before his voice returned, trembling almost imperceptibly: “…Elder Brother Crown Prince?”