Chapter 30 Changing the Medicine
The wooden windows of the safe house were covered with worn-out gauze paper. When the morning light shone through, it filtered out the harshness, leaving only a hazy, warm yellow hue on the floor. The air was filled with a faint smell of medicine, dust, and the dampness of grass and trees drifting in from outside—this was their third temporary shelter since leaving the Queen Mother of the West's Palace. It was secluded yet quiet, perfect for recuperating.
Hei Xiazi had been lying there with his eyes open for almost two hours. He lay on his side, his gaze fixed on a figure by the window not far away, not daring to be too blatant, only glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. Zhang Qiling was sitting on that faded wooden chair, his back ramrod straight, his black and gold ancient sword leaning against the side of the chair, the rope binding the hilt unconsciously stroking his fingers. This man seemed to never need to sleep. Last night, when Hei Xiazi was half-awake from the pain, this was the image he saw; as dawn approached, he groggily closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, Zhang Qiling was still in that position, only his eyelashes trembling in the morning light, as if just waking from some kind of alert, light sleep.
Black Bear's Adam's apple bobbed, and he deliberately tilted his head towards the wound. The bandage was wrapped tightly, and a sharp pain shot through his skin as it pulled at his flesh. He couldn't help but gasp, the sound not loud, but it echoed in the quiet room.
“Hey,” he said in a hoarse voice, his tone deliberately weak at the end, “the bandages need to be changed, or they’ll start to fester.”
Zhang Qiling immediately opened his eyes. His pupils were a deep brown in the morning light, usually appearing as if covered by a layer of frost, but now they were very bright, his gaze fixed on Hei Xiazi's wound. He didn't speak, and his movements were so light as to be almost silent as he got up. He walked to the bedside table and opened the medicine box—it was the one Xie Yuchen had brought last night. Now, the iodine, gauze, and ointment inside were neatly arranged, and even the tweezers were arranged by size. It was clear that Zhang Qiling had put them away while they were asleep.
"Lie down." He finally spoke, his voice lower than usual, slightly hoarse from just waking up. He paused when his fingers touched the knot in the bandage, gently pressing the edge of the bandage as if checking for bleeding, before slowly untying the knot.
Black Bear lay obediently on his back, his gaze fixed on Zhang Qiling's face. The morning light fell on Zhang Qiling's brow bone, making the contours of his nose even clearer, and even the shadows cast by his eyelashes under his eyes were distinct. The iodine-soaked cotton pad felt a little cool when it touched the wound, and Black Bear deliberately flinched, letting out a soft gasp, his voice softening: "Ouch—this thing hurts more than being stabbed?"
Zhang Qiling's movements instantly softened. He rubbed the wound with a cotton pad, the touch as light as a feather. He glanced at Hei Xiazi, his eyes devoid of emotion, but his tone softened slightly: "Does it hurt?"
"Blow on it and it won't hurt anymore." Black Bear was no longer serious. He had a sly smile on his lips and his eyes were narrowed into slits as he waited to see how Zhang Qiling would refuse. He thought that this person would just frown or simply ignore him. After all, Zhang Qiling was never the kind of person who would do such a "soft" thing.
But Zhang Qiling didn't refuse. He was silent for two seconds, then actually bent down, tilted his head slightly, and gently blew on the wound. The warm breath brushed against his skin, carrying a faint minty scent—it was the mouthwash Zhang Qiling usually used; Hei Xiazi had seen the empty bottle in his backpack before.
This was all so sudden. Hei Xiazi's smile froze instantly, and even his breath caught in his throat. He could feel Zhang Qiling's hair gently brushing against his collarbone, a little itchy, and the minty scent mixed with Zhang Qiling's unique, faint cedar fragrance enveloped him, making his heart tighten. He opened his mouth, but his usually eloquent tongue was now stuck, and he could only watch as Zhang Qiling straightened up, his ears quietly turning red, like a speck of rouge fallen on the snow.
"You..." Black Bear's Adam's apple bobbed, and he finally found his voice, "Where did you learn this from? Are you trying to coax a child?"
Zhang Qiling didn't reply, but had already picked up the ointment. He dabbed some milky white ointment on his fingertips and gently circled it around the wound, moving very slowly and deliberately avoiding the scabs. Hei Xiazi could clearly feel the thin calluses on his fingertips—the result of years of handling knives and handling zongzi, very rough, yet he controlled his strength so precisely that he didn't hurt him at all.
“Dumb,” Hei Xiazi suddenly reached out and grabbed Zhang Qiling’s wrist, “You’ve practiced this technique, haven’t you?”
Zhang Qiling paused. He looked up at Hei Xiazi, the morning light falling directly into his eyes, revealing emotions he usually kept hidden—a mixture of helplessness and seriousness. He remained silent for a while before letting out a soft "hmm."
"Who did you train with?" Hei Xiazi pressed, his fingers unconsciously tightening slightly. He knew that Zhang Qiling had taken care of Wu Xie before and treated Fatty's wounds, but he just wanted to ask, he just wanted to hear an answer that belonged only to him.
Zhang Qiling's gaze fell on the hand gripping his wrist, then he looked up at the man's face, his lips moved, and he uttered only one word: "You."
That single word was like a pebble, striking Hei Xiazi's heart and creating ripples. While he was still stunned, Zhang Qiling had already deftly wrapped the new bandage, leaving a little looseness in the knot so as not to hurt him. But just as Zhang Qiling was about to straighten up, Hei Xiazi suddenly reached out, grabbed the back of his neck, and gently pulled.
The distance between them instantly closed, their noses almost touching. Hei Xiazi could clearly see his own reflection in Zhang Qiling's pupils, and he could also see that the usually calm "lake" in his eyes was now rippling with tiny waves. Zhang Qiling's breathing was a little erratic, and warm breath sprayed on his face, carrying that familiar minty scent.
“Zhang Qiling,” Hei Xiazi’s voice was low and hoarse, his fingers still gently stroking the skin on the back of Zhang Qiling’s neck, “do you know how dangerous this is?”
Zhang Qiling didn't dodge, just quietly watched him. Sunlight fell on his eyelashes, gilding them with a layer of fine gold dust, softening even the emotions in his eyes. His lips moved, as if he wanted to say something, but just then, Wuxie's footsteps came from outside the door, accompanied by his carefree humming—"The Queen Mother of the West's palace, the pit in the ground, Little Brother's knife, the blind man's lamp..."
Zhang Qiling straightened up instantly as if he'd been burned, even subconsciously adjusting the hem of his clothes. Hei Xiazi could see clearly that his ears were still red, even the tips were tinged with pink, but his face had regained its usual calm. He took a step back, his voice as steady as possible: "Eat when you're awake."
After saying that, he turned and walked towards the door. His back was still upright, but his steps were a little faster than usual, as if he was hiding from something. Black Bear watched his back, a smile curving his lips. He gently touched the newly changed bandage with his finger—it didn't hurt, and it was even a little warm.
Just then, his gaze fell on the medicine box on the bedside table—Zhang Qiling had forgotten to take the used bandage. Hei Xiazi reached for the bandage, but his fingertips suddenly stopped: there were a few dark marks on the edge of the bandage, dried bloodstains.
It's not his.
The smile on Hei Xiazi's face gradually faded. He brought the bandage to his nose and smelled it. Besides the smell of medicine, there was also a very faint smell of blood, with a hint of coldness—it was Zhang Qiling's blood. He had smelled it in the tomb before and would never mistake it.
He recalled his half-awake state last night: his wound was throbbing with pain, and in his hazy state, he seemed to feel someone applying something warm to it, and heard very faint breathing—not the usual steady breath, but a suppressed, rapid sound. At the time, he thought it was a dream, but now it seemed…
"Silent One," Hei Xiazi muttered to himself, his fingertips gripping the roll of bandage until his knuckles turned white, "how many things are you still hiding from me?"
The sound of bowls and plates clattering came from outside the door, and Wu Xie's loud voice was still ringing out: "Hey bro! Is the porridge ready yet? If Blackie gets hungry, he'll try to steal my chicken leg again!" Xie Yuchen responded gently: "Don't rush, let it simmer for two more minutes, otherwise the rice won't be soft."
Hei Xiazi slowly sat up and tried to move his shoulder—the wound was actually much better than yesterday, and even raising his arm was easier than he had imagined. Just as he was thinking this, the door was gently pushed open, and Zhang Qiling walked in carrying a bowl of porridge.
Seeing Hei Xiazi sit up, Zhang Qiling immediately frowned, his tone carrying a hint of reproach: "Don't move around, your wound will reopen."
"Yes, sir, Master Zhang." Hei Xiazi smiled and reached out to take the bowl, his fingertips deliberately brushing against the back of Zhang Qiling's hand. Zhang Qiling's hand was a little cold, but Hei Xiazi's fingertips stopped instantly—he saw a small band-aid on Zhang Qiling's right index finger, the edges of which were already curled up, and there was a faint trace of pale red seeping out.
Yesterday, when he saw Zhang Qiling washing his hands, this finger was still perfectly fine.
"What happened to your hand?" Black Bear asked casually, but his eyes remained fixed on the band-aid.
Zhang Qiling immediately withdrew his hand and hid it behind his back, trying to keep his tone calm: "I burned myself while frying the eggs."
Hei Xiazi didn't expose the lie. He had known Zhang Qiling for so long and knew that although the man's cooking skills weren't top-notch, he would never make such a basic mistake as burning his hand while frying an egg—Zhang Qiling could even precisely control the heat when roasting meat over a campfire in the dungeon, how could he possibly get injured while frying an egg in a safe house?
He lowered his head and took a sip of the porridge. The rice grains were cooked until soft and sticky, the temperature was just right, and it even had a faint aroma of rice. His heart felt like it was filled with something, yet it also ached a little.
"Delicious." Hei Xiazi looked up at Zhang Qiling and smiled, a hint of seriousness in his eyes. "Did you make this?"
Zhang Qiling didn't look at him; his gaze was fixed on the bowl in his hand, and he gave a soft "hmm." Hei Xiazi could see that the corners of his mouth seemed to twitch slightly, but it was too quick, almost like an illusion.
Just then, Wu Xie peeked in, holding a steamed bun in his hand: "Hey, you look much better today! I knew Xiao Ge was a reliable person when it came to taking care of people. Last night when I got up to get a drink of water, I saw him standing at your door, like a guardian deity!"
Xie Yuchen followed behind, adjusted his glasses, and held a notebook in his hand: "I just looked at your wound. The recovery speed is much faster than expected, exceeding the normal healing time. The medicine Mr. Zhang used last night may have special ingredients."
Hei Xiazi's gaze fell on Zhang Qiling's hand hidden behind his back, and an absurd conjecture suddenly popped into his mind—could it be that his wounds healed quickly because of the injury on Zhang Qiling's hand?
He remembered a folk remedy he'd heard from the village elders when he was a child, something about how certain people's blood could be used as medicine to speed up wound healing. At the time, he'd dismissed it as just a made-up ghost story, but now… He stared at the bowl of white porridge, suddenly feeling a tightness in his throat. Could something have been added to the porridge? Like… Zhang Qiling's blood?
"What's wrong?" Zhang Qiling keenly noticed his unusual behavior, took a step forward, and reached out to touch his forehead. "Are you feeling unwell?"
Hei Xiazi quickly came to his senses, shook his head, and handed the bowl to him: "It's nothing, I just think this porridge smells so good, I want to have another bowl."
Zhang Qiling didn't suspect anything, took the bowl, and turned to go to the kitchen. Hei Xiazi watched his retreating figure, his fingers tightly gripping the hem of his clothes—just how many foolish things had this silent fellow done behind his back?
After breakfast, Xie Yuchen needed to organize the information about the Queen Mother of the West's Palace. Wu Xie insisted on helping, and the two of them packed their things and went to the living room. Only Hei Xiazi and Zhang Qiling remained in the room.
Zhang Qiling was clearing away the dishes, his movements very light, the clinking of the dishes barely audible. Hei Xiazi leaned against the headboard, watching him quietly, watching him wipe the dishes with a cloth, watching him arrange the chopsticks neatly, watching the edge of the band-aid curl up a little more when he occasionally raised his hand.
“Dumb,” Black Bear said softly, his voice lacking its usual roguishness and carrying a barely perceptible hoarseness, “Don’t do that again next time.”
Zhang Qiling stopped moving. He had his back to Hei Xiazi, neither turning around nor speaking. The room was quiet, with only the intermittent chirping of birds coming in from outside the window.
"What is it like?" After a long while, he finally spoke, his voice so low it was almost a whisper.
"Playing dumb?" Black Bear chuckled, but there was no warmth in his laughter. "My wound healed quickly, which has something to do with the injury on your hand, right? And the blood on that bandage, it's yours, isn't it?"
Zhang Qiling finally turned around. His face was a little pale, and his eyes held a hint of weariness that Hei Xiazi hadn't noticed before. He looked at Hei Xiazi with a complex expression, a mixture of guilt, worry, and a sense of helplessness.
“You don’t need to know,” he said.
"I need it!" Black Bear suddenly raised his voice, trying to get out of bed. The movement was too hasty, aggravating his wound and making him wince in pain. "I'm your companion, not a child you need to secretly take care of! I don't like you doing things behind my back, and I especially don't like you hurting yourself for my sake!"
Zhang Qiling took two steps forward and reached out to help him, but Hei Xiazi grabbed his wrist. Hei Xiazi pulled his hand in front of him and carefully peeled off the band-aid—beneath it was a small scratch, already scabbed over, with slightly red edges, like it had been cut with a knife, not burned.
"You used your own blood as medicine, didn't you?" Black Bear's voice trembled slightly as he gently touched the wound. "Did you think I couldn't withstand this injury? Or did you think I was afraid of pain, so you preferred to suffer the pain yourself rather than tell me?"
Zhang Qiling didn't speak, but just looked into his eyes. His pupils reflected Hei Xiazi's face, which was filled with a hint of panic and a touch of stubbornness. He gently tried to pull his wrist away, but couldn't. Instead, he grabbed Hei Xiazi's hand in return. His fingers were cold, yet his grip was very tight.
“It’s worth it,” he said, just two words, light as a feather, yet they struck Hei Xiazi’s heart with a thud.
Hei Xiazi was stunned. He looked into Zhang Qiling's eyes, into the seriousness in them, into the slightly drooping corners of his eyes from exhaustion, and suddenly his temper vanished. He sighed, reached out and pulled Zhang Qiling to sit on the edge of the bed, then gently hugged him.
"Fool." Hei Xiazi buried his face in the crook of his neck, his voice tinged with grievance and a touch of heartache. "If anything happens in the future, just tell me, okay? It's not like I can't handle it."
Zhang Qiling's body stiffened for a moment, then slowly relaxed. He raised his hand and gently hugged Hei Xiazi's waist, the movement very light, as if afraid of hurting him. His chin rested on Hei Xiazi's shoulder, his voice low like a sigh: "Mmm."
Sunlight gradually filled the room, casting long shadows of the two men across the floor. The birdsong outside continued, and a breeze blew in through the cracks, carrying the scent of grass and trees. Hei Xiazi leaned against Zhang Qiling, able to hear his steady heartbeat and smell the cedarwood scent emanating from him, and suddenly felt a sense of peace.
Some things seem to have quietly changed this morning. Like a stream whose ice and snow have just melted, it flows slowly but steadily forward, toward some warmer direction.
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