Chapter 373 Pretending

Chapter 373: Pretending

Cheng Ge remained motionless, not even bothering to lift his eyelids, using his actions to convey "I'm dead to the world, don't bother me."

He wrapped himself in the blanket like an airtight silkworm cocoon, leaving only a few stubborn strands of hair poking out, expressing his silent, stubborn refusal to eat.

Wuliji's thick black eyebrows, dark as if smudged with soot from a pot's bottom, furrowed into a knot.

He reached out and tentatively tugged at the "cocoon." No reaction. He pulled harder, and the "cocoon" squirmed, wrapping itself even tighter.

Wuliji set down the bowl, grabbed both corners of the blanket with both hands, and heaved with all his strength—"Whoosh—!"

The blanket was yanked open, abruptly exposing Cheng Ge to the light.

He stiffened at first, his half-dead closed eyes suddenly snapping wide open.

Quick as a flash, Cheng Ge seemed to snap out of his limp, boneless state.

His arms whirled like windmill blades, with a ferocious, clawing fury, lashing out at Wuliji's shocked face!

His legs thrashed wildly beneath the blanket, his whole body bouncing, twisting, and rolling on the bed.

He looked exactly like a hog at slaughter that even three or five strong men couldn't pin down.

If there was one thing Wuliji had going for him, it was raw strength.

Seeing Cheng Ge suddenly go full "raging hog" without any warning,

he acted on the fly, reached out with his big hand, and rolled the loose cotton blanket back up.

He bundled the still-thrashing Cheng Ge up tight, arms and legs pinned, with only his head poking out.

Cheng Ge was rolled up so tightly he couldn't move, only his eyes still free to roam, looking exactly like a burrito.

He shot Wuliji a murderous glare, trying to slay him with sheer eye contact.

Unfortunately, killing someone with a glare was pure fantasy, and with two days of no food or water, plus his body drained by injuries and the lingering poison in his system,

whatever strength he had left for fighting quickly fizzled out once he was wrapped up tight, leaving only a fierce glare that was all bark and no bite, and heavy, ragged breaths.

Wuliji watched him—looking like death warmed over, yet still putting on that vicious, menacing front.

He was silent for a moment, then said gruffly: "Great Zhou... it's fine now."

Cheng Ge's blazing eyes froze instantly, the murderous glint ebbing away like a retreating tide, replaced by shock and a faint, disbelieving flicker of hope.

He fought to raise his head from the blanket roll, his voice cracking with weakness and urgency.

"Wait, what? Great Zhou's fine? Then... what about Cui Ji? How's Cui Ji doing?!"

Hearing the urgency in his voice about Cui Ji, Wuliji's eyes darkened almost imperceptibly, but he answered honestly anyway.

"...The scouts reported," Wuliji said, picking his words with care, his voice still gruff but softer now, "...should be fine."

"Really?!" Cheng Ge's eyes lit up like someone had just switched on a light inside them, as if stars had fallen into his gaze.

That look made something inexplicably tight clench in Wuliji's chest. He said nothing, just turned and picked up the bowl of meat porridge that had been kept warm.

He knew Cheng Ge couldn't stomach Northern Di food, so he'd gone out of his way to find a Great Zhou woman in camp to make it.

He scooped up a spoonful, blew on it gently, then held it to Cheng Ge's lips.

Cheng Ge was still basking in the relief and joy of "Cui Ji's okay."

The smell of food hit his nose, and his stomach betrayed him with a loud, drawn-out gurgle of protest, even as his mouth had already opened on its own.

The porridge, fragrant with rice and a faint hint of meat, slid down his dry throat, and his hunger-strike vow crumbled fast in the face of basic instinct.

Cheng Ge blinked, watching Wuliji scoop up another spoonful. This time he didn't hold back—he leaned in eagerly, wolfing it down.

Wuliji fed him, awkwardly reminding him: "Slow down."

A bowl of porridge was gone in no time, and Cheng Ge licked his lips, still wanting more, his eyes drifting to the sturdy clay pot nearby.

That was what Wuliji had brought in, and it clearly still had more. His eyes said it plainly: "Got any more? I'm not full."

The corner of Wuliji's mouth twitched, almost imperceptibly, like he wanted to laugh but choked it back.

He didn't say a word, just picked up the bowl and ladled out another full serving from the clay pot.

Cheng Ge seemed to realize he'd slipped up, and a wave of embarrassment washed over him.

He casually glanced up at Wuliji, then ate a bit slower, no longer like someone who hadn't eaten in a week.

A little color crept back into his pale face, and his energy was visibly coming back.

As he ate, Cheng Ge's mind started churning again. The news that Cui Ji was okay was like a shot of adrenaline, lifting half the weight off his chest.

But the other half—a far more practical problem—pressed down on him: what to do about this Northern Di man sitting right in front of him?

In his current state—frail enough to keel over in a stiff breeze—high-tailing it out of here wasn't exactly in the cards.

Fight? Can't win. Flee? Can't move. Cheng Ge's mind raced—first priority was to get this busted body back in shape, then figure out the long game. Where there's life, there's hope.

With that in mind, he couldn't help but look up and size up Wuliji, who was sitting by the bed.

He suddenly remembered something Cui Ji had once mentioned in passing—the Di were mostly big and tall, but not exactly the sharpest tools in the shed.

Wuliji, under Cheng Ge's unblinking stare, felt his cheeks warm a little, but luckily his skin was dark and leathery from years of wind and sun, so no blush could show through.

"You said before," Cheng Ge said, slowly swallowing the porridge, eyes locked on Wuliji's face, "about marrying me—that was a joke, right?"

The air seemed to freeze for a beat; the crackle of the charcoal and the faint wind outside the tent suddenly sounded loud and clear.

Wuliji's hand, holding the spoon, paused almost imperceptibly. He looked up and met Cheng Ge's eyes.

He didn't answer right away. Instead, he scooped up another spoonful, brought it steadily to Cheng Ge's lips, and watched him open his mouth and take it on instinct.

"Yuli... I'm serious. Not... joking."

Cheng Ge slowed his chewing. He looked at Wuliji—his expression was still hard and set, but his eyes were so open and honest that there was no room for doubt.

The faint hope he'd been clinging to—that it was all a joke—went pop, shattering clean and complete.

Well, shit. Cheng Ge lowered his eyes, his long lashes throwing a small shadow beneath them, hiding the thoughts churning through his head.

The plan to get better and play the long game just got another painfully thorny item forced onto the list.

The tent went quiet again, leaving only the sound of even breathing.

One asked straight out, the other answered just as bluntly—there was a strange, no-bullshit "honesty" to it.

Yet behind that "honesty," one was quietly fretting over how to clean up the mess ahead.

And the other... perhaps even he himself hadn't figured out what that "not a joke" truly meant, or where it was supposed to lead.

The last shred of hope in Cheng Ge's heart got smashed to bits by those four words—"not a joke"—but his brain was still whirring like a top.

Lin Nanshu... Yuli... Wait! This guy had been calling him "Yuli" the whole time!

Cheng Ge jolted with a start, and it all clicked.

This big Northern Di guy before him... Cheng Ge stole a glance at Wuliji, who was watching him intently, staring straight at him, so open it was almost... dumb? Obsessed?

That's it! Cheng Ge had a sudden epiphany. Yuli's reputation for brilliance was unmatched, his elegance peerless—admirers stretched from the capital to the northern border, and of course there'd be a few unhinged fanatics in the mix!

This one before him was probably one of those legendary "toxic stan" types—or worse, a delusional fanboy—someone who idolized their crush as a fantasy lover and would haul them home by force!

Damn! That explained it! A chill ran down Cheng Ge's spine.

No wonder this guy had been so weird—saving him, taking care of him, even talking about getting married!

A cold shiver ran up his spine.

Cheng Ge stared at Wuliji's face and instinctively swallowed, his throat dry and tight.

What if I just told him right now I'm not Lin Nanshu?

The thought barely popped up before Cheng Ge slammed it back down in a panic: No! Absolutely not!

He'd heard some obsessive fans would move heaven and earth for you when they loved you, but the moment they realized the "idol" didn't match up, the fallout could be deadly!

At best, they'd flip on you and curse you out; at worst...

Cheng Ge's mind couldn't help but conjure up an image of Wuliji wringing his head off like a wineskin and tilting it back to chug some strong liquor, letting out a satisfied sigh... bloody and brutal.

"Sss—!" Cheng Ge couldn't help but shudder, his toes curling under the blanket.

That image was way too vivid; he had zero desire to test it out himself.

No way! I'd rather die than say it! At least until he healed, scoped out the camp, and figured out a safe escape route, this "Yuli" identity had to be welded on—tighter than the gold roof of the Northern Di royal court!

Wuliji saw him suddenly freeze, go pale, and shiver. His thick brows furrowed immediately, figuring he was cold or his wound was hurting, and instinctively reached out to check his forehead.

Then he yanked the blanket up higher, wrapping him up like a tight cocoon, and asked in a low voice: "Cold? In pain?"

Cheng Ge's heart nearly stopped at the gesture and the question. He quickly shook his head, forcing what he hoped was a decent smile: "N-no, not cold... just, the porridge's a bit hot, I'll take my time..."

He deliberately softened and slowed his voice, trying to mimic Lin Nanshu's gentle way of speaking, though the end of his sentence wavered a bit from guilt.

He lowered his head, avoiding Wuliji's probing gaze, his mind already spinning:

Keep up the act! I have to keep it going! And I have to sell it!

He frantically tried to recall Lin Nanshu's usual demeanor—warm as jade, proper in manner, refined in speech, and easygoing...

Cheng Ge felt his head ache more. Having a reckless scoundrel like him play a refined young master with breeding baked into his bones? That was asking a lot...

But... to keep his head from becoming a wineskin, to keep his life, he'd give it his all!

He took a deep breath, and when he looked up again, he worked his facial muscles, curving his mouth into a faint smile.

He tugged the corners of his mouth up slightly, trying for a refined, reserved smile befitting a young master.

Unfortunately, the effect on his face—stiff from injury and sickness—was a real mixed bag.

Three parts forced, three parts guilty, three parts effort, and one part a slight twitch from straining too hard, like he'd been stung by a bee but was still trying to be polite.

He tried to make his eyes look clear and calm, keeping them fixed on Wuliji, and opened his mouth, imitating Lin Nanshu's clear, gentle voice:

"Brother Wu... I owe you a lot this time. The porridge tastes great—thanks for the trouble."

He finished with a slight, barely noticeable nod, trying to convey a reserved gratitude.

Wuliji watched his completely different demeanor, and his thick black brows twitched almost imperceptibly.

The grassland man was straightforward, but he vaguely felt the "Yuli" before him seemed... a bit different? Though he couldn't quite say how.

Seeing Wuliji nod, Cheng Ge's little schemes clicked away in his head, convinced he'd blossomed with wisdom in the face of disaster.

This Northern Di guy—big and simple-looking, his mind didn't seem too hard to read.

Play along for now, keep things steady, and once he'd scoped out the area, slip away without a trace—that was the smart move.

He raised a hand to cover his mouth, deliberately letting out a couple of muffled coughs, and softened his voice.

Struggling to mimic the soothing tone he remembered Lin Nanshu using, he looked at Wuliji.

"Being stuck in the tent all day is a bit stifling... Brother Wu, would you mind taking me out for a little walk? Just around here, that's all."

He deliberately added the last part to signal he had no intention of wandering off, lowering the other's guard.

Wuliji's thick black brows twitched almost imperceptibly as he looked at Cheng Ge.

Though he didn't understand why the man's attitude had changed so fast, his heart still swelled with joy, and after a moment's hesitation, he nodded.

Seeing him agree, Cheng Ge's heart leapt with joy, thinking he was a goddamn genius!

Reality, however, soon delivered a solid slap—one swung with full force.

Cheng Ge planted one foot in the stirrup, grabbed the saddle horn with both hands, and pushed with his waist and legs.

But the graceful, clean mount he'd pictured never happened.

His body was so weak it felt boneless; no matter how he gritted his teeth and strained, he stayed glued to the horse's side.

All he could do was stick his ass out, scrabbling at the horse with hands and feet like a clumsy sloth climbing a greased pole.

Within moments, a fine layer of cold sweat broke out on his forehead and back.

Wuliji watched, dumbfounded, and hesitantly reached out, hovering his hand near Cheng Ge's side.

Cheng Ge struggled, gasping for breath, and to make things worse, a few Di people happened to walk by.

They didn't stop, but their glances prickled his back like needles, his face burning with shame, wishing he could crawl into a hole in the ground.

He dug deep, summoning every ounce of strength, face twisted with effort, and after a frantic scramble, finally clambered onto the horse's back in a graceless heap.

Before he could even catch his breath, a violent dizziness slammed into him.

His vision went black in an instant, the world spinning, and he crumpled to the side.

"Holy crap—"

Fortunately, Wuliji had quick reflexes, reaching out with a long arm to catch him steadily, keeping him from hitting the ground hard.

Cheng Ge stood up and steadied himself, about to complain, "What the hell..."

But before he could finish the curse, he immediately stopped himself.

Man, he almost forgot he was supposed to be in character—