Chapter 199: Swaying Jasmine — XXIII
A fortnight prior the massacare of Xiajin Yao elders.
That night was cold and haunted as any other could be in war times. Occasional groans and grunts of pain echoed through the camp, filling the darkened atmosphere with a chilling air. The winds howled low and slow, hissing through the rustling leaves and swaying trees. The ghost of solemnity sang in the camp, looming and watching the camp, unknowable and unseen, a grief ill-said.
Li Xinyuan’s shoulders weighed down and heavy as he entered his tent, exhausted beyond care, back tense and aching. In moments of quiet loneliness, though glad to be not saddled by the responsibilities of strategizing, the surgeon found himself missing his friend and attendant Hu Lijing.
As he lowered himself on the bed heavily, spine curved and head in his hands, trying to ignore the impending headache thrumming in the back of his eyes, his mind wandered towards Hu Lijing and Bai Huiqi, absently wondering what those two were doing right now, sleeping most likely.
Rubbing away the knots in the back of his neck, the golden eyed doctor sighed deeply, lip caught between his teeth as he worried over the flesh, eyes closed. The news of fire in the Heavenly Demon Cult had reached him the same day as it did Cheon WuHui.
Taken by worry, he had sent a lengthy letter to Hu Lijing and Bai Huiqi, inquiring about their well-being. He had yet to receive a response letter, so the only thing he could, realistically, do in that regard was hope for the best.
As the doctor stretched his arms above his head, preparing himself to retire for the night, a soft gust of air caressed the side of his face. A freezing chill burst down his spine as he weaved, eyes widening when a blurred shadow darted past him, the glint of blade cutting through where he had just been sitting.
Immediately, all the exhaustion vanished from his system, nerves shifting to high alert as his jaw tightened, blocking the strike with his forearms when the assassin lunched for him again. Kicking his feet out, Li Xinyuan threw the man off, expression cold.
He was at a disadvantage. Not only had he failed to notice an attacker lying in wait for him, but also did not have a good weapon at hand. Nor could he use a lot of things in this threadbare tent of his.
When the assassin struck again, sword raised high, Li Xinyuan grabbed the hard pillow on the bed and used it to block, the impact breaking the pillow in two.
Immediately, he hurled one half of the pillow at the man and bashed the other on his hand, seizing his clothes as he did so.
Pulling the man close, he punched him on the jaw, ignoring the cracking sound of the bone as he punched harder, adrenaline coursing through his veins like poison.
The man kicked him in the gut, sending him back, forcing his hold to loosen as the former cradled his broken jaw.
The doctor crashed on the side of the tent with a grunt, barely dodging in time as the assassin swung his blade. It left a long, deep laceration down his stomach. Had he not gotten out in time, the assassin would have cut through him.
Panting and dizzy from the increasing headache, Li Xinyuan attacked, slamming himself on the assassin, eating up any distance in between. His primary weapon was, seemingly, a sword. The less distance was between them, the harder it would be to manoeuvre the sword.
Tackling the intruder to the ground, the surgeon and him exchanged blows.
By now the noise they made should be enough to attract the attention of the soldiers in the vicinity. At least a few of them would be on their way to inspect.
But Li Xinyuan had no time to focus on anything but the assassin as he fought for an upper hand with a disadvantage. As the man straddled him, producing a small knife from somewhere, Li Xinyuan gritted his teeth and swiped on of the fallen vials and slammed it on his head, the flesh hissing as it made a contact with the assassin’s head, drawing a deafening scream and wafting smoke.
Desperately, with all the strength he could muster, the surgeon kicked his knees out, throwing the man off himself, but not before the man gained another slash across his chest.
"Fuck—" Li Xinyuan cursed out, digging his nails into the man’s throat, blood spilling into his hand.
As he stood, shaking and in pain, hands pressed on the places where the bleeding was the worst, his ears rang, blood hot and roaring in his veins as he held his head, a piercing ache spreading from behind his eyes. His knees threatened to give out, and the copper taste of blood swimming in his mouth.
He staggered. Legs shaking and unstable, the surgeon trembled, praying for the men to arrive faster so he could faint in peace. His hands were stained in the assassin’s blood, bits and pieces of torn off flesh clinging beneath his nails. Cut and scorched skin littered the palm of the hand he’d slammed the vial on the man’s head with.
It was going to be a gruelling healing process for him.
Under the onslaught of everything, Li Xinyuan failed to notice when the assassin regained his footing, his hands shaking as he slammed into his back, pulled him to turn around and stabbed. The man grinned with malice, bloodshot eyes wide and frenzied as he pushed the dagger deeper and twisted, looking no less than a malevolent spirit.
Li Xinyuan had no time to react. One moment he was lamenting his hands and the next, there was a filthy dagger lodged deep in his gut, punching all the air out of his lungs.
Then, he blinked, pain making him breathless, and the man was thrown far away from him, a hand keeping the dagger stable. It was the only thing keeping the bleeding minimal, he noted absently, swaying forward.
"I am sorry," through the painful and breathless haze, the Crown Prince’s shaking voice cut in, chasing away the ringing in his ears. "I am sorry. I should— I should have been careful."
Somehow, to Li Xinyuan’s hazy mind, Liu Mingyun sounded terrified.
With a choked noise from the back of his throat, he slumped against the youth, powerless and barely conscious. Forehead pressed against the Crown Prince’s throat, smearing blood on his skin, he did not have the energy to comfort him or say more. Heaving a long, wet exhale, the surgeon groaned, grateful for the arm wrapped around his waist.
It was the only thing keeping him from falling over.
These were objectively the worst of the injuries he ever sustained in this life so far. He hated it. He hated this. He wanted to cry. Confused and unsure, he wanted to cry against his own better judgement.
In the end, Li Xinyuan was only able to groan out a broken—
"It... hurts."
Before his darkening vision gave out and consciousness faded away.