Chapter 365 Unrest

Chapter 365: Troubled Times

"R-remember?" His eyes instinctively darted away for a second.

Then he forcibly steadied himself, putting on a show of trying to remember but drawing a blank. His voice softened, with a touch of innocence and confusion.

"Ah... have we... met before? General, could you be... mistaken? I-I'm just a nobody—how would a nobody like me ever get to meet a big shot like you? It's just... just that I've often heard people speak of Wuliji, the Northern Di's foremost warrior—fearless in battle, a genius at strategy... Now that I see you in person, you really... live up to the hype!"

He spoke rapidly, stacking up every compliment he could think of, no matter how jumbled, just hoping to throw him off the scent and get by.

Meanwhile, his heart pounded wildly as his brain was racing, analyzing: Wuliji's reaction... didn't seem like he was about to settle an old score?

He asked "Do you remember me?" not "I recognize you now." Could it be... that night at the Wild Fox Ravine cliff was so chaotic, and it was already dark—he never got a clear look at my face?

And that arrow he'd fired... from that far away, how could he possibly know who shot it!

A faint glimmer of hope, like light slipping through a crack in a dead end.

It got Cheng Ge's nearly-stopped heart beating again—though all over the place.

There was a chance! Things might not be at their worst yet!

He snuck a quick peek at Wuliji, trying to gauge his expression.

But then his eyes met Wuliji's directly—a look that was complicated and hard to read.

Like he was sizing him up, but with something else in there that Cheng Ge couldn't quite figure out?

Cheng Ge's heart lurched, and he yanked his gaze away like he'd been burned, pretending to be totally fascinated by a crack in the tent ceiling.

Wuliji caught every bit of his guilty, shifty behavior.

Silence filled the tent, broken only by the occasional crackle of the fire.

Just when Cheng Ge thought the silence would snap his last nerve, Wuliji suddenly spoke: "You... are not Yuli?"

Those few words sliced through Cheng Ge's frayed nerves like an ice-cold blade.

The blood in Cheng Ge's veins seemed to freeze on the spot—even his fingertips went stiff.

The tent was so quiet you could hear the flames licking the firewood.

That question—"You're not Yuli?"—hit him like a ton of bricks, his mind buzzing and his blood running cold.

Deny it? Say I'm not Lin Nanshu? Then who the hell am I? Wouldn't I be found out in seconds?

No way! Absolutely not!!!

The muscles in Cheng Ge's face twitched. The forced smile was gone, replaced by a stiff, blank look.

His eyes darted around, not daring to meet Wuliji's. He nervously looked up and locked onto the tent ceiling, as if the rough wood grain held some kind of lifesaving charm.

His lips moved hesitantly, his voice coming out weak and floaty: "N-no... it's not like that..." He drew the words out long. "A real man doesn't change his name, sitting or standing—I'm Lin Nanshu."

With that, he stared straight at the tent roof and froze.

Wuliji didn't say a word, but Cheng Ge could feel those eyes still on him—heavy, suffocating, hard to breathe under.

Time crawled by, every breath like being boiled in oil.

Just when he felt he was about to break, the edge of the bed sank a little.

Wuliji had moved closer.

Every muscle in Cheng Ge's body went taut in an instant—he didn't even dare blink.

The pain he expected never came. Instead, a bit of warmth touched his forehead—Wuliji's hand.

The palm was rough, callused from years of swinging blades and drawing bows, but the touch was surprisingly... gentle.

He even awkwardly brushed the stray hairs stuck to Cheng Ge's sweaty forehead.

"Mm." Wuliji's low voice came from above, still flat—no telling if he was happy or not.

But the icy suspicion from before seemed to have thawed a bit. "Lin Nanshu, Yuli... both are nice names."

The tent was so quiet you could hear the faint pop of sparks. Cheng Ge lay there stiff, listening to Wuliji's low murmur.

Nice names? This barbarian's tone was flat, but why did that sound so... wrong?

Alarms were going off in Cheng Ge's head, but he didn't dare show it. He kept up that dazed look, staring at the tent roof until his eyes went dry.

But inside, he couldn't help grumbling: Of course! His Yuli was top-notch in every way—his name was naturally as precious as jade and pearls. Only slightly worse than Cheng Ge's own, of course.

"Ge" meant weapon of war—it sounded badass, decisive, and fierce!

Just as he was getting a kick out of this private comparison, the warmth on his forehead disappeared.

Wuliji pulled his hand back but didn't leave right away. He just stood there by the bed.

His tall shadow swallowed Cheng Ge whole—a silent pressure that also cut off most of the light.

The moment Cheng Ge's private boast about being "mighty and imposing" crossed his mind, the warmth on his forehead was gone.

Cheng Ge blinked, adjusting to the shadows. The hot goat's milk he'd downed earlier seemed to burn in his stomach, spreading a hollow warmth that made his already tired mind even sleepier.

He licked his dry lips, rubbed his chin against the blanket, and asked in a thick, nasally voice, almost without thinking: "How... how many days have I been asleep?"

Wuliji was bending over to grab the empty bowl off the low table. At the question, his movement paused, barely noticeable.

He straightened up, his voice flat, no emotion in it: "Seven... days."

"Seven days?!" Cheng Ge's unfocused gaze snapped into focus. He nearly shot straight up.

Seven days! He'd been out cold in this Northern Di barbarian's tent for seven whole days?!

What about Cui Ji?! What about Lü Rou?! How were they? What about the Great Zhou side...

He whipped his head to the side, staring desperately at Wuliji's face—shadowed and unclear in the flickering firelight—trying to read something in those mismatched eyes.

"While I was out, has there been any news from the Great Zhou? Things been peaceful?" The second the words left his mouth, he felt a twinge of regret—maybe that was too much to ask.

Wuliji was wiping the rim of the bowl with a piece of leather. At the question, his hands froze.

He turned his head, his gaze landing calmly on Cheng Ge's anxious face.

He did not answer immediately, nor did he show the displeasure or wariness of being probed that Cheng Ge had anticipated.

A few breaths of silence passed, just as Cheng Ge's heart was about to pound through his chest.

Wuliji finally spoke slowly, but his words landed like a boulder plunging into still water: "The Great Zhou... has been unsettled lately."

Unsettled?! Cheng Ge's heart sank heavily, a premonition of doom flooding over him like an icy tide.

He propped himself up slightly, fingers unconsciously clenching the furs beneath him, his voice cracking: "What happened? What's going on?!"

Wuliji watched his face drain of color and the panic nearly spilling from his eyes, and his brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.

He set down the bowl, stepped closer, his tall frame nearly blotting out the firelight, casting Cheng Ge into deeper shadow.

His gaze lingered on Cheng Ge's face, complex and unreadable—part scrutiny, part somber weight Cheng Ge could not fathom.

He leaned in slightly, closing the distance, and with his distinctive accent, spoke each word slowly and deliberately:

"Cui Ji... gravely wounded... fate unknown."

Every word was like a cold hammer striking Cheng Ge's eardrums.

Cui Ji... gravely wounded... fate unknown...

"Boom—!" Cheng Ge felt something explode in his mind, wiping it blank.

His ears rang, Wuliji's voice seeming to come through thick ice—muffled yet piercing.

His vision darkened, breath seized, chest hollowed out, aching with emptiness.

"Fate unknown..." His lips moved, barely forming a whisper.

Those words drove into his bones like red-hot nails.

The fact that Great Zhou was sealing off news could only mean the situation was dire—so dire they couldn't risk shaking morale among troops and civilians!

The last trace of color drained from Cheng Ge's face, fine cold sweat instantly beading at his temples.

His fingertips trembled slightly, reaching for something to hold onto, but only brushing against the rough furs beneath him.

His heart pounded wildly in his chest, sharp waves of pain sweeping over him.

He couldn't hold back a low groan, brows knitting tight as he raised a hand to clutch his chest.

Seeing this, Wuliji's face changed. He turned swiftly, walked to the cabinet against the tent wall, opened a drawer, and took out a small flat box.

Inside were several dark brown pills sealed in wax.

He took one out, snapped the wax seal off with his thumbnail, and returned to the bedside.

Cheng Ge's face grew even paler, hair plastered to his temples with sweat, a rasping wheeze escaping his lips with each breath.

Wuliji reached out, grabbed Cheng Ge's jaw, and forced the pill into his mouth, while his other hand grabbed the waterskin from earlier.

The pill dissolved on contact, releasing a strong, strange bitterness. Cheng Ge choked and instinctively tried to spit it out, but Wuliji, quick as a flash, poured a mouthful of warm water into his mouth.

He forced down the bitter pill and warm water together, and a strange coolness spread down his throat.

Cheng Ge's rapid breathing gradually steadied, but he seemed completely drained, collapsing onto the bed, with only the faint rise and fall of his chest remaining.

Cold sweat soaked his hair, plastering it to his pale cheeks. He stared blankly at the tent ceiling, as if his soul hadn't yet returned from that grim news.

Wuliji stood by the bed, watching him look so listless and lifeless, his brow furrowed into a tight knot.

He felt like a lump of damp wool was stuck in his chest, stifling and heavy.

He bent down, pulled the thick furs back up over Cheng Ge, who had kicked them off, and covered him tightly again, nearly burying Cheng Ge's chin in them.

The tent fell silent, broken only by Cheng Ge's weak breathing and the heavier sound of Wuliji's own breaths.

He stared at Cheng Ge's pale profile, eyes closed, for a long while, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down.

"You... rest well. Get your body... back to strength."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over Cheng Ge's unresponsive face, then spoke solemnly: "Then... marry me."

Cheng Ge jerked his head around, eyes bulging like an ox's, staring at Wuliji in total disbelief: "???!"

Inside the tent, the atmosphere grew intensely awk(weird)ward.

Cheng Ge tilted his head, eyes wide as saucers, fixed on Wuliji with a look like he was staring at a giant groundhog that had suddenly started speaking human.

He licked his lips, dry enough to peel, his voice coming out faint and floaty.

With a probing tone of "did I hit my head and hallucinate, or did you hit yours?"

"You... just now... said what? Wind was too loud, didn't catch it?"

Wuliji, made uncomfortable by Cheng Ge's overly intense stare, furrowed his thick brows.

"You... body... get strong... then... me... marry you."

Each word landed like a rock-hard frozen milk curd, smashing straight into Cheng Ge's skull.

Cheng Ge: "!!!"

The thread of reason in his mind snapped with a crack, shattering more completely than crispy butter cookies.

Internal injuries, external wounds, country and duty, enemy and ally—all blasted to the heavens by this direct marriage proposal.

A surge of fury roared through his veins.

He jolted like a sick cat whose tail had been stepped on, scrambling out of the thick furs, limbs flailing.

Then he lunged at Wuliji, who was right there, claws bared and teeth gnashing.

Unfortunately, weakened by his injuries, his strength was soft and weak, his fists pounding against the other man's wall-like chest like a mosquito's tickle.

Wuliji's expression changed, and he quickly leaned in, one hand easily encircling both of Cheng Ge's thin wrists, the other firmly pressing down on his flailing legs.

Cheng Ge, subdued, was even more furious—hands and feet bound, but he still had his head free!

He aimed at Wuliji's bent face, jerked his head up with all his might, and slammed into that high-bridged nose!

That headbutt carried every ounce of strength Cheng Ge had, reckless, as if he didn't care if he lived or died.

Despite being weakened by injury, he was still a martial artist; the dull thud of skull against nasal bone echoed through the tent, shockingly clear.

Wuliji, caught off guard, could only dodge a fraction. His nose stung and burned, and two streams of bright red blood immediately flowed down his face. Dripping onto the snow-white lambskin in front of him, staining it with a stark pattern.

His expression suddenly darkened, the usual clumsy warmth in his eyes melting away in an instant, replaced by the sharp, fierce aura of a grassland warrior.

But before he could react, the culprit, Cheng Ge, got his own comeuppance first.

That impact had drained the last of his barely mustered strength and rattled his skull so hard it felt like it might split.

Stars exploded before his eyes, then an endless darkness swept over him. A guttural gurgle stuck in his throat, his tensed body went slack, his legs gave a final kick, and he passed out cold.

Wuliji: "??!!"

...

Meanwhile, back at the ranch—seven days earlier:

Up north, snow and wind howled. Lü Rou trudged toward the city, carrying Cui Ji on autopilot, her legs wobbling beneath her.

But without Dahuang to lead the way, the blinding snowstorm nearly swallowed her whole in the frozen wasteland.

Stumbling and collapsing into the snow, she raised a hand to wipe the tears frozen on her face.

Then, with effort, she dragged Cui Ji's arm, inching forward bit by bit, leaving a jagged trail in the snow behind her.

From afar came the faint sound of horse hooves, so light it seemed to leave no trace, like Snowstep's famous tread, yet cutting clearly through the howling wind.

She slowly lifted her head, her vision hazy, as a silhouette gradually sharpened into focus.