Chapter 34 Zhang Qiling: "You are more important"
Half an hour earlier, the steel frame of the abandoned factory collapsed under the impact of explosives, and dust mixed with gunpowder smoke filled the night. When Zhang Qiling dragged Hei Xiazi out of the back door, a deformed steel plate grazed Hei Xiazi's left leg and hit the ground—he only had time to pull Hei Xiazi into his arms, but his own back was cut by flying metal, and his right hand was also gouged out by broken glass when he braced himself, leaving a deep wound that exposed the bone.
At this moment, Zhang Qiling carried Hei Xiazi through the weeds, which were ankle-deep. He took each step firmly, avoiding pebbles and potholes. The person on his back was breathing heavily, and the blood from his left leg seeped through the fabric onto his shirt, a warm patch that felt like burning on his skin.
"Put me down," Black Bear's voice was panting, but he didn't forget to tease him as usual, "If you keep carrying me like this, your shirt will be stained red, what a waste."
Zhang Qiling didn't speak, but tightened his grip on Hei Xiazi's thigh, his knuckles gripping the back of his thigh, avoiding the wound. He could feel the person on his back enduring the pain—Hei Xiazi was always like this, able to bear the pain no matter how much it hurt. Only the cold sweat on his forehead dripped down his jawline, hitting Zhang Qiling's neck, burning him.
After walking for about twenty minutes, the outline of a dilapidated wooden hut appeared in the woods ahead. It was an old forest ranger station; the wooden walls were mottled, and most of the roof tiles were missing, but it was enough to keep out the wind and rain. Zhang Qiling slowed his pace until he stepped onto the rotten wood in front of the hut, then gently placed the bear on a wooden bed covered with dry grass, his movements as light as if handling a fragile porcelain vase—he even reached out to brush away the wood chips on the bed first, afraid of hurting the bear's injured leg.
"Don't move." Zhang Qiling's voice was exceptionally clear in the quiet wooden house. He bent down to lift Hei Xiazi's trouser leg, but his wrist was grabbed.
Black Bear propped himself up and, by the moonlight streaming through the broken window, saw that Zhang Qiling's shirt was soaked dark with blood on the back. A gruesome wound stretched from his shoulder blade to his waist, the congealed scabs already stuck to the fabric. Even more jarring was his right hand—the bandage he had applied earlier had been torn off at some point, the wound was still bleeding, and the flesh at the edges was peeling back, looking incredibly painful.
"Are you fucking crazy?" Black Glasses' tone instantly turned cold, his usual nonchalant attitude gone, and a hint of anger even flashed in his eyes. "Take care of your injury first! My leg isn't broken yet, I can handle it!"
Zhang Qiling's fingertips paused for a moment, but he didn't let go. He just looked down at the hand that Hei Xiazi was holding his wrist—those hands usually wore black gloves, but now they were unshielded, and there were still scratches on the knuckles from their previous fight. Yet they held his wrist very tightly, as if afraid he would run away.
"I'll deal with you first." He repeated the same words, his voice flat but firm, leaving no room for argument, as he reached out to tear off Black Bear's trouser leg.
Hei Xiazi didn't loosen his grip; instead, he pulled him closer, the distance between them suddenly closing until they could clearly see the light in each other's eyes. "Zhang Qiling," Hei Xiazi called him by his full name for the first time, his voice trembling without him even realizing it, "Look at me—if you delay treating the wound on your back, it'll get infected; if your hand rots, how will you hold a knife in the future? I'm asking you, how can I feel good seeing you in pain?"
These words were like a pebble, striking Zhang Qiling's usually calm eyes. He stared into Hei Xiazi's eyes, which reflected the moonlight, his own shadow, and a rare, almost anxious concern. He stopped moving, remained silent for a few seconds, and then gently loosened his wrist—not to push him away, but to instead, his fingertips gripping Hei Xiazi's hand.
The force wasn't great, but it was steady. "You're more important," he said, his voice a little lower than before, and when it reached Black Bear's ear, it felt like a feather brushing against his heart.
Black Bear paused, his grip on Zhang Qiling's wrist suddenly loosening. He watched as Zhang Qiling bent down to tear his trouser leg, moonlight falling on his hair, revealing a slight redness at the tips of his ears—a rare display of emotion on Zhang Qiling's face. The moment the trouser leg was ripped open, a gruesome wound was revealed: a steel plate had torn through the muscle, deep enough to expose the bone, blood still slowly seeping out, and even the twitching of the fascia was visible. Black Bear gasped, about to speak, when he saw Zhang Qiling pull a first-aid kit from his backpack—a kit he always carried on his dungeon runs, its needles, iodine, and styptic powder neatly arranged. This time, however, he unpacked it more slowly than usual, his fingertips occasionally brushing against the wound, causing a very slight tremor.
"Don't let your hand shake, you mute." Black Bear teased Zhang Qiling deliberately, trying to ease the tension, but his eyes never left Zhang Qiling's right hand—that hand, which was usually so steady when holding a knife that it could pin a rice dumpling down, was now holding a needle and thread, but because of the pain from the wound, he had to pause every time he threaded the needle.
Zhang Qiling didn't reply, but instead lowered his head to rinse the wound with saline solution. The cold liquid seeped into the muscle, and Hei Xiazi tensed up in pain, but didn't utter a sound. Instead, he reached out to touch Zhang Qiling's right hand: "This jade pendant..."
His fingertips touched the jade pendant hanging around Zhang Qiling's neck, the cool jade against his skin. It was an old piece of jade, carved with simple cloud patterns, its edges worn smooth—he had asked about it once before, but Zhang Qiling hadn't answered. Now, however, he heard Zhang Qiling's voice fall from above him: "The only thing my mother left me."
Black Bear's heart sank. He had heard about Zhang Qiling's background from Wu Xie before, knowing that his mother had left when he was very young, and that he had grown up under the strict rules of the Zhang family, never even having the chance to be spoiled. This jade pendant was probably his only remaining thought of "home".
"That's why you risked your life to get it back." Hei Xiazi's voice softened slightly, his fingertips gently tracing the edge of the jade pendant. "You were afraid of losing it, right?"
Zhang Qiling paused in his needlework, his gaze falling on Hei Xiazi's face, the moonlight illuminating his eyes. "What I'm afraid of losing isn't just the jade pendant," he said, his voice low but clear enough to reach Hei Xiazi's ears—the look in his eyes was so direct, it was concern, fear of loss, the "care" Hei Xiazi had been waiting for so long, the care that belonged to Zhang Qiling.
Hei Xiazi's heart suddenly raced. He watched Zhang Qiling continue stitching, the needle and thread gleaming coldly in the moonlight. Each time they pierced flesh, they were accompanied by Zhang Qiling's soft breaths. He suddenly reached out and pressed Zhang Qiling's hand: "Stop."
Zhang Qiling looked up, a hint of doubt in her eyes.
“If you keep stitching like that, the wound will reopen.” Black Bear propped himself up, enduring the pain in his leg, and slowly sat up. He reached out and snatched the iodine pad from Zhang Qiling’s hand, his tone hardening again. “Switch hands, I’ll do it.”
Zhang Qiling didn't move, just stared at him. Hei Xiazi felt a little uncomfortable under his gaze and reached out to push his shoulder: "Sit down, don't move. If you keep arguing with me, I'll throw this first aid kit out right now."
That worked. Zhang Qiling obediently sat down on the edge of the wooden bed, his back to Hei Xiazi. Hei Xiazi tore open his shirt, looking at the wound that stretched from his shoulder blade to his waist, his heart clenched again—the wound was still bleeding from the edges, stained with bits of grass, and looked painful. He gently rinsed it with saline solution, his movements so light as if afraid of hurting him, but then he heard Zhang Qiling's voice from in front of him: "It doesn't hurt."
"Whether you're in pain or not isn't up to you to say." Hei Xiazi's voice was a little muffled. He sprinkled on the medicine powder, and when his fingertips touched Zhang Qiling's skin, he could feel his muscles tense up. "If it hurts, just say so. You don't need to pretend in front of me."
Zhang Qiling didn't speak, but suddenly turned around. Hei Xiazi, still holding the gauze, didn't react in time, only to see Zhang Qiling's hand reach out, his fingertips gently brushing against the stray hairs on his forehead—those fingers, still cool from the iodine, moved so lightly as if afraid of breaking something, as they wiped the cold sweat from his brow. Hei Xiazi precisely noticed the slight tremor in his fingertips, still numb from the previous wound.
“You too,” Zhang Qiling said, her gaze falling on his legs with a hint of barely perceptible heartache.
Hei Xiazi's heart suddenly pounded against his ribs. He couldn't help but reach out and grab Zhang Qiling's hand, pressing his palm against his face. The warmth of Zhang Qiling's calloused palm, still carrying the scent of blood and iodine, brought him a sense of peace. He looked into Zhang Qiling's eyes, where his own reflection shone brightly like stars.
“Zhang Qiling,” Hei Xiazi’s voice softened, “neither of us are good at speaking softly. But today… there are some things I have to say.”
Zhang Qiling didn't pull his hand away; instead, he leaned forward slightly. The two were so close they could feel each other's breath. Hei Xiazi could smell the faint scent of cedar on him, mixed with the smell of gunpowder, which was surprisingly reassuring.
“I know.” Zhang Qiling’s voice was almost inaudible, yet it clearly reached Hei Xiazi’s heart.
Just then, the sound of a car engine suddenly broke the silence of the night. Both men tensed simultaneously—it was Jude Kao's men; they had caught up. Zhang Qiling immediately tried to get up, but Hei Xiazi grabbed his hand.
"Don't rush." Black Bear lowered his voice and listened carefully. "The engine sound is to the east, far away from here, and it's not coming this way."
Zhang Qiling didn't move, but instead grasped Hei Xiazi's hand tightly with his own. The engine noise gradually faded away, and the wooden house returned to silence, broken only by the creaking of the wind through the wooden windows. Moonlight streamed in through the broken window, falling on their clasped hands as if they were plated with silver.
"Go to sleep." Zhang Qiling gently pressed Hei Xiazi back onto the bed, reached out and pulled the tattered blanket next to him over him, "I'll keep watch."
Hei Xiazi tugged at his sleeve, not with much force, but with a hint of coquetry—something that would never happen to the usual Hei Xiazi. “Together.” He looked into Zhang Qiling’s eyes, his tone soft but firm, “Your back injury needs to heal; you can’t sit.”
The wooden bed was small, and the two of them could only lie close together. Zhang Qiling adjusted his position, letting Hei Xiazi's injured leg rest against him to avoid it hitting the bed frame. Hei Xiazi could clearly feel the warmth of Zhang Qiling's body and his steady heartbeat, which fell on his back like drumbeats, bringing him a sense of security.
As the night deepened, Hei Xiazi's consciousness began to blur. Just as he was about to fall asleep, he suddenly heard Zhang Qiling's voice in his ear, low and shrouded in moonlight: "Hei Xiazi, I will not let anyone hurt you."
These were the most beautiful words Hei Xiazi had ever heard. A smile curved his lips, and he snuggled closer to Zhang Qiling, his fingers gripping Zhang's wrist as he slowly closed his eyes. Zhang Qiling felt the person in his arms breathe heavily, and gently patted his back, the movement as light as if soothing a child.
The moonlight, like water, flowed silently through the broken window of the wooden house, landing on their clasped hands. Two people accustomed to walking alone in the darkness finally found a safe and secure support for each other at this moment.
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