As Ning Que awakened, the world had disappeared.
Looking at the ants’ dead bodies in front and the green leaves and ice gravel that were scattering and heaping together, he pulled himself up with difficulty after a short moment of absent-mindedness. He wondered how long he had been in coma. It might have been very long or very short, but he knew it was extremely dangerous to lie in the middle of the street. Hearing the distant sounds of bamboo flutes and hoofs, he bit his lower lip to gather his nerves, and then dragged his tired and injured body to run into a side alley.
The remaining blood had disappeared without a trace, as if the bluestones had been washed in the rain several times and dried up in the warm spring. He did not notice that the blood stains on his body were gone. He was so clean that it seemed he had taken a bucket bath for half a night in the House of Red Sleeves.
What had happened when he was unconscious? He had no memory of the magic fight between the Vermilion Bird portrait and the big black umbrella. Instead, only a vague impression stayed in his mind at that moment.
After walking into the side alley, he quickly took off his robe, which was full of sword cuts, and then noticed that no traces of blood were seen. He became slightly stunned and struggled to look down at his body to confirm that there was indeed not any blood left. And then strong doubts hit his heart. But now he had no time to think it over as he was in an urgent situation where feudal officials had been disturbed. He directly tore a piece of cloth off and hung it on the branches, and threw his robe into a house behind the wall.
He still felt extreme pain in his chest, since the invisible spear coming from the sky still seemed to be inserted in his chest. Every step he took made him look paler. Even the weakest trembling would make him feel that the cut that was torn in his heart became larger.
He stretched out his trembling palm to hold a low fence, and leapt over it with the strength of his waist and abdomen. He quietly passed by a sleeping resident to take a blue robe from some bamboo, and quickly put it on.
He carried some excellent medicine for incised wounds. Nevertheless, while putting on the clothes, he took a hasty glance at his body and found that those bloody wounds cut by the flying swords had been healed. This healing was not a real cure but more like something that had been forcibly scorched with fire. Although the cuts had stopped bleeding, Ning Que remained wounded.
Ning Que silently walked through the high streets and back lanes in Eastern City of Chang’an in the last of the darkness. He hid in trees and climbed onto the top of eaves from time to time to avoid those increasingly closer sounds of horseshoes and those sharper sounds of bamboo flutes.
When he finally succeeded in getting close to Lin 47th Street, he found himself unable to return to the Old Brush Pen Shop to heal the wounds. The local government runners of Chang’an had already begun to knock on the shop doors for inquiries with iron rulers and ropes in their hands.
Looking with a frown at those doors that had been knocked open, Ning Que raised his hands and covered his mouth to suppress the strong impulse of coughing. He returned to the shadows of the alley to lean on a wall and take two rapid gasps.
An ordinary horse carriage, whose shaft was printed with the logo of the Academy, appeared at the entrance to the alley.
Hiding in the darkness, Ning Que stared at the horse carriage that fetched him and sent him to the Academy every day, listening carefully to the sounds of opening doors from time to time and silently calculating the time in his mind.
He unleashed the final strength of his weak body with his tired right foot pedaling fiercely on the wall. He darted to sweep into the alley, opened the gate of the carriage with his right hand at lightning speed, and then got inside.
The local government runner, who was inquiring of the owner of the old antique shop, vaguely saw something. He was shocked and turned around but saw nobody in the alley, just a horse carriage that was quietly parked there.
“It is so early now, why is a carriage parked here?” The runner talked to himself and was ready to take a look there.
The antique shop owner in an unroped dress yawned and, taking a glimpse of the horse carriage, casually explained, “The horse carriage is here to take Boss Xiaoning to the Academy. It’s always waiting here at this time every day.”
Upon hearing the word “Academy”, the runner stopped with an ironic smile and turned around, saying toward the owner with emotion, “It’s really rare that someone on this street could be admitted to the Academy.”
Sitting inside the carriage, Ning Que observed the conversation between the runner and the shop owner on the stone steps to confirm that nothing went wrong. Then he drew down the curtain, gently knocked on the window lattice, and said in a tired voice, “Lao Duan, you can go now.”
The old carter was shocked, and looked back at Ning Que behind the curtain. “Boss Ning? When did you get in the carriage? Why didn’t I know? You are really early today,” he said in surprise.
Ning Que softly explained, “I didn’t review the lesson plan of Etiquette yesterday, so I hurry to the Academy to go over it.” With his facial expression changing slightly, he bent and coughed heavily with his sleeves covering his mouth.
Hearing the suppressed but piercing coughing in the carriage, the driver inquired with concern. “Are you all right?”
Ning Que replied, “Last night I engorged two bowls of ice and took a big shower with a few barrels of well water as it was too hot. I probably caught a cold.”
The driver turned back with one hand holding the reins and the other waving the whip. He said with a smile, “Wind-heat is the most troublesome. But as you are young and full of energy, you’ll be fine after drinking some herbal tea when you get back to the shop.”
When hearing those words full of energy, Ning Que wondered why a sense of palpitation arose in his heart. After a moment of startling, he bowed his head to look at his sleeves, on which two gobs of coughed-up blood were seen. He then clutched the sleeves tightly in his hands.
…
…
The Southern City of Chang’an was a noble place, in which a really noble lakeside villa was built. People who were entitled to live there were either rich or honorable. Yan Suqing, the tea master, though he could not be compatible with the court, still enjoyed some reputation among the upper-class celebrities. The previous desperate fight in the lakeside villa had already alerted other residents by the lake. And the Chang’an Local Government, even the Yulin Royal Guards, had immediately begun the investigation and seizing after learning that Yan Suqing’s head was severed.
The city gate had just been opened, so it was the best time to block the murderer in the city. The Chang’an Local government runners were making inquiries all around, while the Yulin Royal Guards were organizing their defenses in the street. And the inspection at the gate was especially strict.
However, no matter how strict the inspection was, some differences still existed after all—at least for the horse carriages with the Academy logo that were in charge of sending students to the Academy. Those serious soldiers at the gate just optionally asked a few questions, opened the carriage curtain to take a glance, and then waved to let it go.
Ning Que lifted up the curtain and looked at the city gate, thinking that he would not get through it easily today if all the blood on his body had not somehow disappeared. At the moment, he did not know that the blood on Vermilion Bird Avenue had also completely evaporated without leaving a trace. Otherwise, by following the blood, the cavalry of Yulin Royal Guards would have caught up with him, who was tired and badly hurt.
With the clip-clop of horseshoes and the rumble of wheels, the first touch of dawn’s light landed on Chang’an City and on the lad’s innocent cheeks, making his pale face paler. He could not help but squint his eyes, recalling the black sunshine in that world and lots of confusing things that happened to him last night. Then he subconsciously shook his head to hide the knife under the board of the carriage.
Ning Que slowly and calmly walked to the Academy after the horse carriage had arrived. The tranquil stone path that was usually bestrewn with blooming flowers and green grass seemed so long today. In order not to let others discover his injuries and abnormalities, he needed to endure the pain that was caused by taking steps. Even raising his eyebrows was not allowed, no matter how severe the pain in his chest was.
It was clear to Ning Que that he was absolutely unable to attend class at present. If he insisted, he would probably spit out one mouthful of blood and die in front of the instructor and his classmates. Thus in the morning sunshine, he directly passed through the quiet side lane of the Academy, slowly walking through the wetlands to the old library.
The old library was open to students day and night. The instructor and the four deacons were all absent now since it was still early. Ning Que pushed open the door and then limped upstairs with his right hand leaning on the wall.
After getting to the familiar second floor, Ning Que stared at the thickly dotted cultivation books on the bookshelves. After a while of silence, he gave birth to a strong impulse of reading as somewhere he had a very ominous omen—it would be the last time in his life that he could get upstairs and the last opportunity for him to read those precious books.
But in the end, he did not take a book off of the bookshelves and did not have the energy to see whether the guy named Chen Pipi had left any messages. He just wearily walked to the end of the bookshelf and sat down on the floor under the west window.
Would the female professor be here later to depict her Hairpin-style Small Regular Script? How could Ning Que explain it to her if she saw him like this? Perhaps he would close his eyes and would not wake up again, then why should he bother to give an explanation?
Due to the excessive loss of blood and also the mysterious injuries and collisions inside his body, Ning Que’s mind was extremely chaotic, like floating catkins in a spring wind, wandering without any direction.
He looked down at his chest, feeling the emptiness and the unbearable tearing pain. He subconsciously raised his trembling right hand to slowly touch it.
He did not feel the spear coming from the sky, nor the blood. However, Ning Que felt his own hands full of thick blood, and he was sure that his chest actually had a big hole poked by the spear.
An invisible big hole.
“Will I inexplicably die like this?” Ning Que thought in pain. At the same time, the endless feeling of being sleepy came to his mind. He felt his eyelids had become as heavy as lead, and they kept trying to close.
He released the big black umbrella and gently put it aside, and then tiredly leaned against the wall at his back. He slowly closed his eyes, uttering a relaxed sigh, and naturally opened his legs.
Just like Zhuo Er sitting under the gray wall on that rainy day.
With gentle footsteps from the stairs, the slender female professor slowly walked over and saw Ning Que sitting under the wall. She gently knitted her eyebrows and her eyesight landed on the big black umbrella beside the lad.
The female professor stared at the big black umbrella with a slight frown. When she turned to Ning Que again, a bit of interest showed up on her peaceful face. And she asked, “Was it you or this big black umbrella… that made the Vermilion Bird flare up?”
She calmly looked at the dying lad with no intention of helping. She just gently sighed and said with pity, “It’s really fascinating that so many secrets that I can’t see through had hidden in such a poor lad who did not have any cultivating potentials.
“Constrained by my promise, I can’t help you. Also, I really want to see what you will look like after recovering.” The female professor with elegant eyebrows enjoyed a sense of goodliness that was completely inconsistent with her age. She said, looking at Ning Que on the ground, “I will ask for a leave for you, and I hope that the luck of Haotian can bless you and make you survive. If not, you shall blame yourself rather than me, as you appear in the Academy during these one or two years.”
A moment later, she brought a bowl of water and two steamed buns to his side. Then she returned to the east window and continued to depict the Hairpin-style Small Regular Script as if she had not noticed a dying lad was there behide her.
Out of the window, the dawn gradually flourished and the cicadas and the summer gradually came.
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