sword drawn
Order to Suspend the Sword!
Legend has it that this order, granted by successive Qin emperors to their trusted ministers, granted the power to mobilize a hidden, highly dangerous, and clandestine force of assassins—"Hanging Blades"—directly under the emperor's command, to carry out the most dangerous and clandestine missions in times of national crisis and extreme military urgency. The cost was enormous, and such action was forbidden unless the nation was on the verge of collapse.
Inside the wounded soldiers' camp, desperate groans and the stench of death swamped like a viscous swamp, swallowing every life that still clung to life. Xiao Yuxuan lay on the cold straw mat, the excruciating pain in his left shoulder like a tightening noose, his consciousness teetering on the edge of unconsciousness. His right hand gripped a cold piece of wood tightly, its sharp edges digging deeply into his palm, bringing a sliver of acute awareness.
The heavy, slow, death knell-like sound of the "death drums" coming from outside the camp gate pierced through the foul air, striking the hearts of every wounded soldier like an invisible hammer. The groans inside the tents seemed to weaken for a moment, and countless pairs of eyes, some blank, some in pain, some in despair, instinctively looked in the direction from which the drums came.
"General...we're going to fight to the death..." a veteran with a broken arm murmured, tears streaming down his cloudy eyes.
Xiao Yuxuan's heart clenched under the drumbeats. Qin Zhaoyang… that mountain-like figure… was he about to be swallowed by this boundless sea of blood? For what? For that cold imperial decree? For that… that trembling eunuch cowering on the watchtower behind him?!
Anger and boundless sorrow surged within him like fire and ice, churning within his chest.
Just then, the heavy felt curtain of the tent was suddenly flung open! A gust of cold wind, carrying snow flakes and a strong smell of blood, rushed in, causing the candlelight inside the tent to flicker wildly, illuminating several ghostly figures at the doorway.
The leader was extremely thin, as if only skin and bones remained. He wore a faded, patched, dark gray Taoist robe, its wide sleeves billowing empty in the cold wind. His white hair and beard were tangled and obscured most of his face, revealing only his eyes. Those eyes were not bright, even somewhat cloudy, yet deep as an ancient, cold well, carrying a calm and compassionate understanding of the world's vicissitudes. On his back was a similarly worn wicker medicine basket, stuffed with various earthy roots and leaves.
Behind him followed two young Taoist priests, also dressed in tattered robes. Their faces still showed signs of immaturity, but they carried a heaviness and weariness that were beyond their years.
The gaunt old Taoist priest calmly swept his gaze across the hellish scene within the tent. His cloudy eyes held no fear, only a deeper, more profound compassion. He walked silently to the nearest wounded soldier, whose abdomen had been ripped open, his intestines barely visible. The soldier was on the verge of death, his eyes glazed over, only weak groans proving he was still alive. Beside him, an elderly shaman was roughly and desperately trying to staunch the wound, which was gushing dark red fluid, with a filthy rag.
"Get out of the way." The withered old Taoist's voice was low and hoarse, yet it carried a strange penetrating power, leaving no room for doubt.
The shaman was taken aback, then looked up and saw the old Taoist priest and the young Taoist behind him. A barely perceptible hint of disdain and anger flashed in his cloudy old eyes: "Where did these wild Taoist priests come from? Get out of the way! Don't get in the way..."
Before he could finish speaking, the withered old Taoist's emaciated fingers shot out with lightning speed, precisely striking a spot on the soldier's wrist. The shaman felt his arm instantly go numb and powerless, and in shock, he involuntarily released his grip. Without even glancing at him, the old Taoist bent down, his withered fingers rapidly massaging several acupoints around the wounded soldier's bloodied and mangled abdomen. Strangely enough, the gushing blood visibly slowed its flow!
Then, the old Taoist priest swiftly took out several herbs from his medicine basket. Without any apparent movement, he simply rubbed them in his palm, and the dried leaves instantly turned into a fine powder. He gestured to a young Taoist priest behind him to fetch some relatively clean snow water (clean water was a luxury in the wounded soldiers' camp), mixed the powder into a paste, and gently and quickly applied it around the gruesome wound. He then took out several thin bone needles from his sleeve, his movements so fast they were almost invisible, and precisely pierced the flesh around the wound.
The dying wounded soldier's rapid and weak breathing miraculously became more stable. Although he was still barely breathing, his unfocused eyes seemed to have gathered a faint light.
This scene, like a glimmer of light in the darkness, instantly drew the attention of the surrounding wounded soldiers. Even the numb medics stopped what they were doing, looking at the suddenly appearing, gaunt old Taoist priest with surprise and uncertainty.
The old Taoist priest didn't linger and immediately moved on to the next wounded soldier. His movements seemed slow, yet exceptionally efficient. His withered hands seemed to possess some strange power, instantly assessing the severity and urgency of the injury. For superficial wounds, the herbs he applied seemed to have miraculous cooling and hemostatic effects; for fractures and dislocations, his technique was breathtakingly precise, and after a few teeth-grinding soft clicks of bones realigning, the wounded soldier's screams turned into suppressed groans; for those with high fever, delirium, and festering wounds, the herbs he used were even more peculiar, with a strong, pungent odor. After applying them, the wounded soldier's burning forehead could feel a touch of coolness, and their cloudy eyes seemed to clear a little.
He remained silent, rarely speaking, only giving brief instructions to the two young Taoist priests behind him: "Sanqi, stop the bleeding." "Gusuibu, reattach." "Rindongteng, clear toxins and reduce fever." The young Taoist priests deftly handed over the necessary herbs or assisted in securing the bandages.
"It's Master Xuanweizi!" A veteran with a broken leg, leaning against the corner of the wall, recognized the old Taoist priest. His voice was filled with excitement and disbelief. "Master Xuanweizi has come! We're saved! The Taoist priest is a living god!"
The name, like a pebble thrown into stagnant water, stirred a faint ripple in the despairing wounded soldiers' camp. A glimmer of light ignited in the eyes of some of the still-conscious wounded soldiers.
Xuanweizi? Xiao Yuxuan vaguely heard the name. He had never heard of it before. But watching that gaunt figure move through the blood and filth, those withered hands repeatedly pulling life back from the brink of death, an indescribable, complex emotion welled up in his heart. Was it hope? In this boundless sea of blood and despair, this faint glimmer of redemption seemed so distant, yet so… blinding.
Xuanweizi approached Xiao Yuxuan. His deep, well-like eyes fell on Xiao Yuxuan's bloodied left shoulder wound, then swept over his pale face from the pain and blood loss, finally settling on his right hand, which was tightly gripping a piece of wood. The old Taoist's gaze lingered for a moment on the blood-stained, rough-edged piece of wood, a barely perceptible ripple seeming to flicker in his turbid eyes, like a small pebble dropped into the depths of an ancient well.
He didn't say much, his withered fingers resting on Xiao Yuxuan's wrist. His fingertips were icy cold, yet carried a strange sense of stability, as if soothing his restless blood. Xiao Yuxuan felt a faint but clear warm current flow through his almost frozen body along those icy fingers, slowly rising along the meridians of his arm, finally converging around the gaping wound on his left shoulder. The burning pain, miraculously, lessened somewhat under the warmth, replaced by a cool, tingling sensation.
“Bone fracture, tendon rupture, excessive blood loss. Evil qi has entered the body.” Xuanweizi’s voice was low and hoarse, like wind passing through dry reeds. “We need to first strengthen the body and stop the bleeding, then expel the evil and repair the tendons.” He instructed the young Taoist behind him: “Take ‘Sanguisorba officinalis charcoal’ and ‘Dracaena cochinchinensis powder’, mix them with the main ingredient of ‘Golden Wound Medicine’, and add a herb called ‘Bone-penetrating herb’.”
The young Taoist priest quickly complied. Xuanzi took the prepared dark brown ointment, which emitted a strong and peculiar medicinal fragrance. With a small wooden knife carefully wiped clean with snow water, he gently scraped away the congealed scabs and dirt around Xiao Yuxuan's wound. Each touch brought excruciating pain, but Xiao Yuxuan gritted his teeth, remaining silent, his eyes fixed on Xuanzi's focused and calm gaze. The old Taoist seemed to sense his gaze, lifting his eyelids. His cloudy eyes reflected the flickering candlelight, so deep they seemed to see right through one's heart.
“Pain is proof of being alive.” Xuanweizi’s voice was low, almost drowned out by the groans in the tent, but it clearly reached Xiao Yuxuan’s ears. “Endure it. This medicine is potent; it clears away decay and promotes tissue regeneration. Pain is the key to healing.”
Before he finished speaking, the dark brown ointment was already applied to the wound!
"Ugh—!" An indescribable, searing pain, like a scalding hot iron being pressed directly onto a wound, suddenly exploded from his shoulder! Instantly engulfing his entire body! Xiao Yuxuan's vision went black, his body convulsed violently, his teeth biting his lip tightly as he tasted the strong metallic taste of blood! Cold sweat instantly soaked his back like a stream!
Xuanzi's withered yet remarkably steady hand swiftly bandaged and secured the wound with a clean (relatively speaking) strip of cloth. The intense burning pain persisted for a moment before slowly receding like the tide, leaving behind a strange, bone-deep coolness and tingling sensation. Xiao Yuxuan gasped for breath, soaked to the bone as if he had just been pulled from the water, but the persistent, tearing pain in his left shoulder had indeed been replaced by a more "dull" yet more "clear" feeling.
Xuanweizi took out a small packet of medicinal powder wrapped in oiled paper, emitting a bitter smell, and handed it to Shengguo, who had been watching anxiously. "Dissolve it in warm water and feed it to him in three doses. It can strengthen his body and temporarily slow the invasion of the evil poison." His gaze fell again on Xiao Yuxuan's right hand, which was tightly gripping the wooden piece. Something extremely complex seemed to flash across his cloudy eyes before returning to a deep calm. "This thing..." he paused, his voice almost inaudible, "...is heavily tainted with death energy. If you feel uneasy, you can put it down for now."
Having said that, he didn't linger, turning to walk towards the next wounded person struggling on the brink of death. His gaunt figure, in the dim, flickering candlelight, amidst the pervasive blood and despair, appeared so small, yet carried an indescribable strength.
Xiao Yuxuan slumped on the straw mat, feeling the strange sensation from the wound on his left shoulder. He heard Xuan Weizi's low, hoarse voice in his ear—"Pain is proof of being alive." He subconsciously loosened his clenched right hand, opening his palm. The rough, cold, blood-stained piece of wood lay there quietly. Deep red marks were left on the skin of his palm from the sharp edges, and tiny beads of blood even seeped from some places.
He was heavily tainted by the aura of death... and his mind was uneasy...
Xuanweizi's words echoed in his mind. He stared at the wooden piece. Just moments ago, in the excruciating pain, at the instant Xuanweizi's ointment was applied to the wound, he seemed... he really felt that the cold wooden piece in his palm... "beat" very faintly? Like a sleeping heart awakened by excruciating pain, emitting a very weak, almost imperceptible... pulse?
Was it an illusion? A hallucination caused by the excruciating pain? Or...?
He gripped the wooden piece tightly! Even tighter! The cold, hard edges dug deeply into the flesh of his palm once more! This time, he concentrated all his energy to feel it!
There was no pulsation. Only coldness and hardness.
Just as a sense of disappointment and self-mockery welled up in his heart—
"boom!!!"
A deep, rumbling sound, yet sharp as tearing silk, suddenly came from the direction of the camp gate! In an instant, it drowned out all the sounds of fighting, drumming, and wind and snow on the battlefield! The entire ground of the wounded soldiers' camp seemed to tremble violently! Dust fell from the tent roofs!
Immediately following was a terrifying sonic wave, completely different from the horns of the Qin army or the Di people, extremely eerie, like the simultaneous shrieks of thousands of vengeful ghosts! The sound carried a violent, chaotic, and destructive aura that pierced the soul, instantly sweeping across the entire battlefield!
Everyone inside the tent was sent chills down their spines by the sudden, terrifying roar and sonic boom! Even Xuanweizi, who was trying to help, abruptly stopped. His withered body stiffened slightly, and his deep gaze instantly turned towards the tent entrance. For the first time, a clear trace of... fear flashed across his cloudy eyes!
Xiao Yuxuan felt as if an invisible, icy hand was gripping his heart tightly! He instinctively clenched the wooden piece in his palm!
This time, he felt it clearly!
The cold, rough, blood-stained piece of wood, deep in his palm, seemed to respond to the terrifying shriek... extremely faintly, yet undeniably real... pulsated! An indescribable chill, violence, yet carrying a hint of ancient desolation, spread instantly from his arm throughout his entire body!
The sword has been drawn!
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