Chapter 116 Love and Hate

Chapter 116 Love and Hate

Helian Che crouched with his back to the howling north wind, blocking it from Le Wuya, and reached out to grasp his ankle.

Le Wuya instinctively shrank back.

Helian Che didn't even lift his eyes, saying coldly, "Want to lose that leg?"

That threat did the trick, and Le Wuya behaved himself, truly staying still.

Helian Che bent down and scooped Le Wuya up, carrying him to a sheltered ditch out of the wind.

As soon as his boots came off, Le Wuya shivered violently from the cold.

With no way to dodge or hide, he just shoved his feet into Helian Che's chest.

Helian Che glanced at the foot pressed against his stomach, his face cold as ice: "You sure make yourself at home, don't you?"

Le Wuya pressed his lips together, deliberately pushing his luck: "Cold."

Helian Che: "Then push them up higher."

Le Wuya paused, caught on, and lifted his leg higher so Helian Che could get a better look.

Helian Che ran his fingers along the bone, asking, "You didn't have a weapon in hand just now—why not pull the dagger?"

Le Wuya: "The dagger's plugging the wound, so it won't bleed much. Pulling it out would be the real problem."

"Mm. You know your stuff." Helian Che said, "Aren't you from a Jiangnan rice merchant family? Did the shop teach you that?"

"When you travel far and wide, picking up extra skills never hurts. I even thought about trading this dagger for one with a blood groove—good thing I never did..."

At that point, Le Wuya hissed and said pitifully, "Go easy, will you?"

Helian Che stared at the leg with the dagger stuck in it, brow furrowed.

Le Wuya fought to sit up a little, eyeing the curved blade: "Brother Da, let me borrow that saber to cut open my pant leg."

"That waterskin of yours is full of liquor, right?" Le Wuya had a hell of a nerve—before his last request was even granted, he was already asking for another. "How about pouring a little on me?"

Most Jing folks could hold their liquor, and out here in the freezing cold, a drink was the best way to warm up.

Helian Che didn't say a word, just unbuckled the sheathed saber and tossed it to him.

Le Wuya grabbed the hilt with one hand, pulled the blade free with the other—it rang out sharp and bright, gleaming like snow.

He clicked his tongue, genuinely impressed: "Nice blade."

Helian Che was about to grab the liquor pouch when something clicked.

Only then did he really look at Le Wuya: "Didn't anyone teach you not to point a dagger at someone?"

"Oh, they did."

Le Wuya held the hilt, bent his elbow, and tilted the blade up under Helian Che's chin, saying with a smile, "So, Brother Da, you wouldn't be the one behind all this, would you?"

Can't blame Le Wuya for being suspicious.

Helian Che showing up was way too much of a coincidence.

Helian Che studied him for a long moment, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Le Wuya had never seen him smile. That unfamiliar look only made him more on edge.

"Magistrate Wen Ren's made a big splash in Xingtai County, cutting off people's money streams—so of course they want you dead." Helian Che bared his throat right under the blade's tip. "The Liao, Annam, even the Jing—plenty of folks want you dead. The bounty's already made its way into Jing lands."

Helian Che left some things unsaid.

Ever since he'd learned that the opium-trafficking gang had a grudge against Wen Ren Yue and put a bounty on his head, he'd had men watching the county office for over ten days.

Yesterday, for no real reason, he'd felt restless—only got two hours of sleep. At first light, he'd had a strange urge to come check on Nanting.

The moment he heard "Xingtai," Le Wuya had a pretty good idea what was going on.

He asked, "So what's the price on my head?"

Helian Che glanced at him sideways: "What do you figure you're worth?"

"Got to be at least eight or nine thousand taels." Le Wuya put the saber down, finally letting the pain show, and groaned: "...That hurts."

Helian Che watched him, unmoving: "Magistrate Wen Ren, feel free to keep that blade pointed at me."

"You'd be suspicious too if you were me, so quit being so petty." Le Wuya fumbled with the saber, slicing open his pant leg. "Hurry, hurry—it hurts like hell."

Helian Che uncorked the waterskin and held it to his mouth: "Take a sip."

Le Wuya coughed twice, choked on the harsh barley liquor, covered his mouth, and shook his head: "No, drinking it'll get me drunk. Just pour it over the wound."

Helian Che took a deep breath and poured the harsh liquor straight onto the wound.

A second ago, Le Wuya had been howling in pain, but when the liquor hit the wound, he went quiet.

All that was left was the howl of the wind and the faint grinding of his teeth.

"Keep your dog in check." Helian Che wiped the blood from around the wound and used the sock Le Wuya had pulled off to tie the pant leg back up. "It's been eyeballing me for a while."

Le Wuya gritted his teeth and reached out into the dark: "Er Ya, come here, girl."

Er Ya, who'd been lurking in the dark like a ghost ready to pounce, limped over at his call and curled into his arms, whimpering softly.

Helian Che was checking on Le Wuya, and Le Wuya was checking on Er Ya.

That Liao guy had kicked Er Ya, but luckily her ribs were fine and she hadn't coughed up blood—just a twisted front paw that made her limp.

Helian Che finished his exam: "Tendon's not cut. But the bone might be messed up."

Le Wuya tensed up: "I'm not gonna end up crippled, am I?"

Helian Che shook his head: "Bone's not snapped, but it's definitely cracked."

Then he dropped an annoyingly smug verdict: "You're hard to kill."

Le Wuya shot back: "You son of a bitch."

Helian Che: "?"

He didn't get it—he'd just saved the guy's life, so how was he the bastard?

Helian Che said flatly: "Is this how Dayu folks show their manners?"

"Some manners you've got," Le Wuya shot back. "How long have you been following me, just standing there watching me get beaten and killed?"

Helian Che: "..."

This really wasn't his fault.

He hadn't wanted Le Wuya to notice him, so he'd wrapped his horse's hooves in cloth and trailed a few dozen feet behind.

The wind and snow swallowed up every faint sound he made.

When he noticed the lantern up ahead had stopped moving and heard shouts and the clash of fighting, Helian Che had meant to intervene right away—but Le Wuya, one man and one dog, had already cut down four in a flash.

Helian Che figured Wen Ren had killed before.

He was no armchair general like Zhao Kuo.

At the archery range, Magistrate Wenren had indeed cut a striking figure, his archery was nothing short of masterful.

But that was something you could hone through practice.

To face unknown bandits on the road, make a split-second call to abandon any hope of "paying to avoid disaster," and go straight for the kill—that wasn't something an ordinary man could bring himself to do.

Helian Che stopped himself, refusing to dwell on it. "Want me to take you back to Nanting?"

The town was still a ways off; it'd be safest to head back and have a physician remove the blade.

Le Wuya didn't answer. He grabbed the edge of the road and looked up.

Five bodies lay sprawled all over the place.

In the short time they'd been talking, the dead had already frozen stiff, and the guy Er Ya had bitten bloody had passed out.

At least the little yellow horse was unharmed, standing by the roadside, lowering its head to look at him, and letting out a soft whinny as if to ask, "You'll freeze to death—are we going or not?"

Le Wuya fought through waves of dizziness and managed to stagger to his feet.

Helian Che: "Can you walk?"

"No shit. Do I look like I can walk?"

"Turtles are made for hauling people." Le Wuya spread his arms, all lazy and brazen. "Carry me."

Helian Che looked at him, thinking coldly, he's pushing his luck.

Then he thought, can pushing your luck count as being spoiled?

With that strange thought in his heart, he hoisted Le Wuya onto his back, braced against the wind and snow, climbed up the road embankment, glanced around, and pressed his tongue to his teeth to let out a short whistle.

The next moment, a pitch-black Ferghana horse emerged soundlessly from the darkness.

Next to it, the little yellow horse looked even more like a mule.

But the little yellow horse had one virtue: it was dumb, so it showed no alarm at the corpses scattered around, just craning its neck, sheltering from the wind while foraging for food.

Helian Che lifted him onto his horse. "What do you want me to do with the bodies on the ground?"

Le Wuya didn't even blink. "Put the living one on the little yellow horse. String the dead ones together with rope and drag them back to town."

Helian Che: "So I'm the one doing it again?"

Le Wuya said matter-of-factly, "Who else would?"

Helian Che hesitated, seriously considering whether to blow up at him.

But when he set about stringing the corpses together, he didn't blow up after all.

While Helian Che was busy, Le Wuya lay draped over his horse's back, haggling with the little yellow horse. "Hey, Er Ya's hurt, so let Er Ya ride you for a bit. She did a hell of a job—without her, all three of us would be dead here."

Helian Che hoisted the guy whose face had been torn up onto the little yellow horse's back, thinking, absolutely insane.

Yet when he swung back into the saddle and touched Le Wuya's forehead, the frost already on his face turned to ice. "...You've got a fever?"

Le Wuya mumbled drowsily, "Brother Da, I'm cold. You're warm. Hold me tight, don't let me fall off."

Helian Che was just mounting his horse, trying to steady Le Wuya's swaying body, and at those words, an inexplicable ache welled up in his chest.

The words were like a hidden whirlpool, dredging up an old, buried pain.

He still remembered the sound of the blue swaddling cloth he'd shielded against his chest being slashed by a blade and hitting the ground with a thud.

Helian Che lowered his head, looking at the man slumped in his arms, and a scorching heat rose up in his chest.

He answered shortly, "Alright. Don't sleep."

From Helian Che's experience, the injured were prone to drowsiness, and if they fell asleep in this kind of cold, it'd be hard to gauge their condition—they might never wake up at all.

Unfortunately, Helian Che was a man of few words, so keeping Le Wuya talking took every ounce of his wits.

At first, Le Wuya could still answer coherently, but halfway through, his words began to wander—rambling from one thing to another, sometimes muttering to himself, sometimes as if talking to someone else.

Helian Che couldn't let him carry on like that.

If he kept talking to himself, he'd wear himself out.

He cut Le Wuya off bluntly. "Shut up. Listen to me."

Le Wuya perked up, lifting his head. "Are you gonna tell me a story?"

"...Mm," Helian Che said. "I'll tell you a story about my younger brother."

Helian Che was never much of a storyteller.

Besides, his time with Yaya had lasted only half a year.

After that, it was all pain, separation, and a sea of resentment he never let himself recall.

Because he'd never dwelled on it, Helian Che had assumed he'd long since forgotten the details of their meetings.

But only when he began to speak did he realize, with a shock, that those old memories were etched into his mind with perfect, unerring precision.

Including the desperate, pleading look on Le Wuya's face as he rode toward him at full gallop.

Including the slight furrow between his brows and the rumpled clothes at his waist when Helian Che had pinned the envoy Le Wuya against the wall, hurling accusations at him.

Helian Che knew that toward Le Wuya, he had once felt deep love, and later deep hatred.

Now, even Helian Che himself couldn't tell anymore whether what he felt was love or hate.

But as he spoke, he wove in no love or hatred—just a flat, straightforward account, dry and almost dull, until he himself grew drowsy.

Le Wuya, though, had stopped dozing off, gazing up at the sky, lost in thought.

Finally, Helian Che added, "He'll hate me till the day he dies. That's fine."

At least he'd still remember him.

Le Wuya cocked his head and mulled it over for a moment.

"Why would he hate you?" he whispered. "He loved you so much."

Helian Che went still.

It felt like his heart had been stabbed through the chest and squeezed tight. Through the pain and panic, his voice cracked out of control: "What the hell did you just say?!"

Le Wuya racked his brain for a moment, then replied, "He just loved you a lot, it's just that it hurt him to love you."

Helian Che's breathing turned ragged, and he snapped, "What do you know?"

Le Wuya looked startled, quickly putting on a pleading face, lifting his head again and whispering, "Brother, don't be mad, don't leave me, okay?"

The word "brother" thawed something in Helian Che's heart that had been frozen for years.

He was almost instantly at a loss: "I... I..."

Le Wuya finished the rest of the sentence: "...once I pick that biggest persimmon, I'll come right home."

Helian Che's face darkened.

— The Jing tribe never grew persimmons.

Yet, before the bitter aftertaste could spread through his chest, he suddenly yanked the reins, his heart pounding violently amid the howling snow.

— As far as he knew, Wen Ren was an only son, with no brothers at all.