Chapter 7: The First Step to Getting Close

Chapter 7: The First Step to Successfully Getting Close

Wasn't he the one who wanted to humiliate and torment him in the first place?

So why did he come back to save him?

No, he definitely wasn't here to save him—he must want something from him.

He was a bastard, a thorn in everyone's side. No one in this world loved him anymore.

Sang Yu's eyes slowly turned bloodshot, his murderous aura thickening.

Catching Sang Yu's piercing stare, Li Zhiming forced down the unease in his chest and turned just in time to flash him a forced smile: "Be good, it'll be done soon. Don't be impatient."

Sang Yu froze for a second.

"Doctor, are you done yet?"

The doctor was so careful with each move that it took twice as long.

Once the bandaging was done, he did perk up a little. He drank some broth, and the ache in his body eased a bit.

"Don't think about killing me—I really do know I was wrong." Li Zhiming flashed his dimples and gave a deep, respectful bow. "I've got a room ready for you. You're hurt, so don't overdo it. I'll carry you there on my back."

His voice was nice to listen to—warm, soft, and as soothing as a feather.

Still no reply, so Li Zhiming had no choice but to crouch down and unlock the iron chains.

Every move made his heart quake, terrified that one slip would mean getting his neck snapped again.

But the show had gone this far—he had to keep it up.

He forced himself to stay flawless and quickly undid the chains.

The second they were off, he thoughtfully slid an arm around Sang Yu's waist: "Careful, your leg's hurt too. I've got you—you can grab onto me."

Sang Yu, yanked by the waist, had his claw already an inch from the back of Li Zhiming's head. But at those words, he hesitated, then slowly lowered his claw.

Li Zhiming's heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might jump out of his throat.

Holy crap, he didn't kill me.

I nailed that performance!

"Here, I'll crouch down and carry you. Easy now, careful with your wounds." Li Zhiming, half thrilled and half terrified, crouched down and patted his shoulder. "Hop on."

Sang Yu looked down at his scrawny frame and said flatly, "You can't carry me."

"???"

Li Zhiming pushed on, twisting his head to grin at him, beaming, and even flexed his arm.

"I can carry you. See, I'm strong. You're all skin and bones—you're not heavy. Come on, hop on."

That blinding smile left Sang Yu dazed for a second.

How long had it been?

He couldn't even remember.

The only person he could remember ever smiling at him—their ashes were probably long gone by now.

A raspy word slipped out from his cracked, bloody lips: "Okay."

The wound on his chest got pressed, and blood slowly seeped through the gauze.

His brows knitted tightly, but he didn't make a sound. Lying on Li Zhiming's back, he watched the blood stain the gauze on his chest red, inch by inch.

Beautiful, like a flower.

This man's body was warm and comfortable too. No one had ever carried this bastard on their back before.

How nice.

Li Zhiming carried him, scared his wounds would tear open, so he didn't dare walk fast.

Every step, he tried to stay as steady as possible, all while watching for any sign the guy on his back might snap. It was pure torture.

That short walk felt like it lasted an eternity.

He carried Sang Yu back to the room right next to his.

The moment he set him down by the bed, the world spun, and Li Zhiming was shoved onto the bed, his head smacking the headboard with a sharp crack.

"Ow."

He instinctively went to rub his head, but his hands were grabbed and pinned above him.

The face hovering over him held a confused, murderous look. Sang Yu's voice got even raspier and darker: "What's your goal?"

Li Zhiming froze, then shook his head frantically: "I don't have a goal, I swear. I just want to make it up to you. Please—don't kill me, I really do want to make amends—"

"Talk."

"Really, I truly want to make amends. Do you believe me? You can stay here as long as you want, or leave whenever you like. I won't stop you. It's all up to you."

Sang Yu said nothing, staring at him, as if weighing whether he was telling the truth.

Li Zhiming was so panicked his neck flushed red, tears welling in his eyes making him look pathetic, like he was about to drop to his knees and swear on his life.

"Really, please don't get worked up, don't kill me. I truly have no other motive."

"Really, really. Can you let go of me first?"

Even in a life-or-death moment, getting pinned to a bed by another guy was just humiliating.

Just as he was tensing up, Sang Yu's face grew paler and paler, his grip on Li Zhiming's hands gradually losing strength. Then, with a thud, he collapsed straight forward, unconscious, onto Li Zhiming.

Li Zhiming: "..."

How embarrassing. The man was half-dead already, and he was still scared out of his wits.

If he could throw him out, he would have done so already.

Soon, Li Zhiming noticed something was wrong. His chest felt wet and sticky.

He quickly pried the man off himself and saw that the gauze on Sang Yu's chest was completely soaked through with blood, which had already seeped into his own robe.

Damn it.

Good thing he'd had the physician stay right in the residence.

Li Zhiming quickly went out to get Feng Yin. When Feng Yin saw the large patch of blood on his chest, his face dropped: "Young master, what the hell happened to you..."

"I'm fine. It's that guy—his wound split open again. Go get the doctor to redo the bandages."

"Yes."

The physician internally sighed: Thanks a lot.

Li Zhiming, on the other hand, let out a sigh of relief. Getting the guy up here was a huge step forward, meaning there was still a chance to smooth things over.

He went back to his room and ate and rested easy.

Sang Yu stayed out cold for two full days and only barely came to on the third.

During those two days, Li Zhiming met with his father, the Prime Minister, and his mother. As expected, his old man chewed him out, and he also got a handle on who was who in the household.

The Prime Minister's household had two wives.

The first wife was the daughter of a prominent family of equal standing. Li Zhiming was the legitimate son of the first wife, and he had a younger sister.

The second wife was a commoner the Prime Minister had taken a fancy to, and she had given birth to a son, Li Zhixing, who ranked second.

The two young masters' personalities and conduct could not have been more different.

The eldest son was a playboy—boozing, chasing women, and hanging around the red-light district. He disliked both reading and martial arts, a weak, good-for-nothing guy who just liked to have fun, often being admonished by his father.

The second son was well-read and eloquent. Though he did not practice martial arts, his essays were excellent. He had already ranked second in the imperial examinations and entered the court as an official, earning widespread praise.

Though the brothers were born of different mothers, they usually had a very good relationship.

Li Zhixing was clever and knowledgeable, always offering advice to his elder brother, serving as his strategist.

Sigh.

In summary, he was the most useless and incompetent of them all.

Li Zhiming stared up at the sky in silence.

Although Sang Yu was a hostage, no matter how little the King of Nanxun favored him, he still represented the relationship between the two nations. If he died, war would inevitably break out.

Once Sang Yu woke up, Li Zhiming hurried to his room to keep him company, watching him eat and bringing the physician to change his dressings.