Chapter 363 Prisoner?

Chapter 363: Prisoner?

"Ah—!" She let out a short, hoarse cry, and with a burst of strength she didn't know she had, finally hoisted Cui Ji's heavy torso onto her thin, frail shoulders.

Her legs sank deep into the snow, trembling violently, but she clenched her teeth and, inch by inch, pulled herself and her burden free from the deep snow.

The moment she straightened, her vision went black, spots swimming before her eyes.

The weight on her back pressed down until her spine creaked, her knees so weak she almost buckled on the spot.

She pressed her eyes shut for a moment, and when she opened them again, her gaze locked onto the blurred path behind her.

She couldn't look back. She couldn't look at the young master.

She began to walk. Her feet felt like lead, stumbling through knee-deep snow, plowing a crooked, deep furrow behind her.

The bitter wind howled straight at her, whipping snow against her face, stinging like needles.

Dahuang paced anxiously beside her, glancing at her, then back at Cheng Ge, who lay alone in the snow wrapped in the cloak, letting out mournful whines.

Lü Rou's vision blurred with wind, snow, and tears, with only a stretch of pale white ahead.

The snow fell harder, quickly covering her stumbling tracks, gradually obscuring the solitary figure behind her.

Between heaven and earth, only a tiny figure remained, bearing the heavy weight of the nation's fate and a solemn charge.

In the endless white expanse and bitter cold, desperate yet tenacious, she moved toward a faint glimmer of hope.

Cheng Ge blinked.

Before him was a blur of swirling white, mixed with dim gray light.

His eyelids were heavy as if weighted with lead, and every attempt to focus only left him more disoriented.

He quirked the corner of his mouth—a barely formed, self-deprecating curve.

Still... a bit reluctant to die. He hadn't even gotten to sleep with Cui Ji yet! They'd only kissed.

Hah... pathetic. He nearly scoffed at himself—about to die, and this was what he was thinking about.

Forget it. No point dwelling on it. Let it be.

The snow was quiet. The wind faded. Exhaustion washed over him like a tide, and consciousness slipped toward the dark depths.

Just then, something wet, rough, and warm touched his face.

Cheng Ge forced his heavy eyelids open again. Through the haze, a furry silhouette moved closer.

A pair of round dog eyes looked at him, with his own blurry reflection in them.

The dog gave a quick lick to his cheek, then nuzzled affectionately against his chin.

Then Dahuang backed up a step, turned toward the path they'd come from.

It ran a few steps toward where Lü Rou had gone, then stopped and looked back at him.

A low, urgent whine rose from its throat, its tail wagging in short, anxious flicks, urging him to follow.

Cheng Ge watched it, and his faint breath hitched, dissolving into a laugh so quiet it was nearly inaudible.

"Cough—" which turned into a violent, muffled cough, and fresh warmth seeped from the corner of his mouth.

"...Stupid dog." His voice was barely a whisper, scattered by the wind. "You... go back..."

Seeing that he wouldn't move, Dahuang quickly ran back, pressed its wet nose against his cloak-wrapped arm, then grabbed the hem of his clothes and tugged.

When he still didn't move, Dahuang circled him twice, its whines now clearly agitated.

After trying for a while, it seemed to understand something.

It suddenly went quiet, pacing back and forth by Cheng Ge's leg, tamping down the snow.

Then, very carefully, it curled up beside him, pressing its body tightly against his leg.

It laid its head gently on Cheng Ge's knee.

And then, it didn't move.

...

Horse hooves shattered the silence. A figure emerged from the wind and snow, hitting the ground hard.

Boots slammed into the deep snow, sending up a spray of snow and grit that scattered over the curled figure on the ground.

Time was thick and murky, like being submerged in icy, deep water.

Cheng Ge couldn't feel his limbs, only a deep, prickling numbness—and the cold, a chill seeping into the very marrow of his bones.

Through his daze, there were faint sounds.

Not wind—murmured voices, in a strange tone, drifting near and far, indistinct.

He was too exhausted to even try to distinguish them, wanting only to sink away.

He struggled to pry his eyes open, immediately squinting against the sting of light.

He couldn't see anything clearly—just a shifting dark shape looming over him, its outline blurred by the light.

The dark shape moved, seeming to lean closer. A strange, guttural voice spoke above him.

Something hard, rough, and wet touched his lips. On reflex, his cracked lips parted slightly.

A warm liquid flowed in. His throat worked, and he swallowed greedily.

He drank too fast—he choked, coughing violently, his entire chest burning with searing pain.

A large hand patted his back, roughly.

The coughing slowly subsided, and the breath he'd forced up faded. His head lolled to the side, and he sank back into darkness.

He drifted in and out of consciousness.

...

Days and nights passed. He lost track of how long.

The smell of boiled mare's milk mixed with hay and dust hit his nose.

Cheng Ge's eyelids fluttered, and he opened his eyes once more.

At first, his vision was blurry, like looking through frosted glass. Gradually, the light came into focus, and shapes sharpened.

The first thing he saw was a dome built from rough logs and thick felt.

He was lying on a stiff felt mat, covered with the fur of some animal he couldn't name.

He moved his eyes and saw someone sitting nearby, watching him with mismatched eyes.

Cheng Ge stared back for a long while, his chapped lips twitching a few times.

He thought, what the hell, even the afterlife's got foreigners!

Then he calmly closed his eyes.

But no sooner had he closed them than a slow, slightly awkward voice hit his ears.

"You... awake."

Startled, Cheng Ge's eyes snapped open.

Wuliji looked at him and tried again, a little smoother this time, but every word still sounded like it was being squeezed out from between rocks: "You... hungry?"

Cheng Ge's brain was still foggy, chaos and exhaustion pulling at his mind like thick mud.

The foreign-looking face in front of him, plus that stumbling, weird accent, only messed up what little sense he had left.

Suddenly, he slowly lifted his arm and gave the guy a weak slap across the face.

Wuliji: "???"

Wuliji froze, his mismatched pupils narrowing slightly, catching the daylight that slipped through the tent's seams.

He didn't dodge. He just raised a hand and touched the spot where Cheng Ge had slapped him.

Then he looked at Cheng Ge and asked, slowly, one word at a time: "You... want to touch... me?"

Cheng Ge: "..."

It wasn't a question. It was a statement, like he was confirming something.

That one moment shot a weak current through Cheng Ge's half-dead nerves, jolting his foggy brain into sudden clarity.

Holy shit, I'm not dead!

This realization, along with that ridiculous "touching my face" misunderstanding, slammed into his brain.

The rush of emotion strained his weak body, and a raspy sound came from his throat.

He tried to talk, but only a faint puff of air came out, and his vision went dark again.

Wuliji, though, seemed to get his answer from that reaction.

The slight confusion on his face faded, replaced by a calm "just as I thought" look, and even... a hint of barely noticeable tolerance?

He didn't push the "face-touching" thing any further, like that chapter was already closed.

He turned and walked over to the fire pit, gently stirring the mare's milk in the pot.

Cheng Ge lay sprawled on the felt mat, staring at the rough dome, listening to the soft clink of the wooden spoon against the clay pot behind him.

These sounds of "being alive" slowly seeped into his numb senses.

He closed his eyes, not from drowsiness this time, but because he needed a minute to process.

Cheng Ge lay on the felt mat, staring at the rough ceiling.

His mind was racing, but it felt like a rusty gear grinding through sand.

He, Cheng Ge, a loyal citizen of the Great Zhou, and one who was tight with Zhenbei Prince Cui Ji.

How many years had the Northern Di and the Great Zhou been fighting? It started before he transmigrated, and it hadn't stopped since.

He'd personally killed no fewer than a hundred Northern Di men.

Now he was in Northern Di hands, in a Northern Di tent, being "looked after" by some big Northern Di guy?

There was only one answer—captive! He had to be a prisoner!!!

These Northern Di savages must have figured out who he was.

Were they gonna torture him for military intel? Or use him as a hostage to threaten Cui Ji? Either way, it was nasty.

No way, he couldn't just sit there and wait. If they got a grip on him, that stubborn Cui Ji might actually fall for it...

Just as he thought that, a shadow fell over him.

Wuliji had somehow already made it to the edge of the bed, bowl in hand, his huge frame like a small mountain, blocking the light from the tent door.

Cheng Ge's heart jumped, and his blood ran cold.

What was this? Poison? Or some kind of torture tool?

He stared at Wuliji's blank face, at the steaming white liquid in the bowl, like it was deadly poison.

The closer the guy got without saying a word, the heavier the invisible pressure pressed down on him.

Wuliji stopped by the bed, bent down a little, like he was trying to hand the bowl over, and his lips moved: "Drink..."

That one word was the last straw that broke Cheng Ge's already frayed nerves.

Can't drink it! If I drink it, I'm done for!

Survival instinct took over. Cheng Ge suddenly kicked a leg out from under the thick furs and shoved it into Wuliji's shoulder.

It wasn't a strong kick, more like a shove.

Wuliji, caught off guard, tilted the bowl, and hot mare's milk splashed out onto his own hand.

Cheng Ge, using the push-back from that shove, rolled to the side with all the strength he had!

He actually managed to roll off the bed!!!!

And then—

A dull thud, along with the faint crack of bone hitting the hard ground.

Cheng Ge, like a pile of mud with no bones left to hold him up, landed face-down on the cold, rough felt floor.

Other than his fingers twitching a little, he didn't even have the strength to lift his head.

Cheng Ge: "???"

His face pressed against the rough felt, the cold touch instantly cooling his feverish mind.

What the hell is going on now? Wasn't he just kicking someone a second ago? How come the second he hit the ground, it felt like someone ripped his spine out?

This was getting awkward in a way he couldn't quite put into words.

He turned his head a tiny bit, peeking up out of the corner of his eye.

Wuliji was still standing there, one hand holding the bowl, the back of his other hand reddened from the scald.

He looked down at Cheng Ge sprawled on the ground, his face showing pure, unguarded confusion.

He glanced at the back of his own hand, then back at Cheng Ge on the floor.

"You... poison... shaman said... can't... move, use strength."

Cheng Ge: "..."

Hilarious. You're the one who's poisoned! Your whole damn family is! This is just being hurt and freezing and starving, you idiot! Do you even know how to talk?!

Wuliji clearly had no clue about the whole soap opera going on in Cheng Ge's head. Seeing Cheng Ge fall, he bent down, scooped him up with one arm, and plopped him back on the felt bed.

Cheng Ge: "???" Wait, bro, you're making me look really... pathetic, you know?

Wuliji settled him down, stood by the bed, still holding that bowl of half-spilled mare's milk, his mismatched eyes calmly fixed on him.

He thought for a second, then said: "You, want... do... what?"

Cheng Ge lay there, sneering inside: Ha, what do I want? I want to do you!

Of course, some things need the right time, place, and mood, or you might end up cosplaying Louis XVI right then and there.

He looked up at the bulging chest muscles barely visible at Wuliji's collar: "I... need to pee."

Wuliji stood there holding the bowl, staring at Cheng Ge like he was processing some new info.

The tent went quiet for a moment, only the fire pit crackling now and then.

Then he set the bowl—now barely half full—on the little stool by the bed, turned, walked to the corner of the tent, and bent down to dig around.

Cheng Ge lay on the bed, eyes following him, heart going crazy.

What's this barbarian doing? Getting a torture device? Or... a bedpan? His mind ran through all kinds of weird torture methods the Northern Di were rumored to use.

Then Wuliji pulled something out from the corner—a thing stitched from thick leather, with a long spout... a pot?

The shape was weird, but what it was for was pretty obvious.

He also grabbed a clean, kinda soft piece of hide.

Then, holding both, he turned and walked back to Cheng Ge's bed, steady and calm.

Cheng Ge watched him, heart pounding faster with every step.

He watched Wuliji set the leather pot on the ground, then reach out—not for a weapon, but for the thick fur over Cheng Ge.

"W-wait!" Cheng Ge was really panicking now, voice cracking. "What are you doing?!"

Wuliji's hand stopped, and he looked up at Cheng Ge's face, like he didn't get why he was so worked up.

He pointed at the leather pot, then at Cheng Ge's lower half under the fur, and explained in that blunt, almost brutal way of his: "You, can't move. I, help you."

Help... help you my ass!!!

Cheng Ge's mind went blank with a bang, all the blood in his body rushing straight to his face.