Chapter 46
Shengxuan suddenly sprang up from the straw mat!
Like a lion whose tail has been stepped on, he strode up to Su Zhelan in a few steps, his tall figure almost blocking out the light in the doorway. His dark, close-fitting clothes billowed in the wind, carrying with them a sweltering aura, mixed with the smell of hay and medicine boxes from the tent, wafting towards her.
"You know it's dangerous?! You know it's dangerous, yet you still insist on coming here?!" Sheng Xuan's voice rose, filled with suppressed anger and deeper anxiety. He pointed at the dried blood and medicine stains on Su Zhelan's body, his fingertips almost poking into Su Zhelan's chest.
"Look at yourself! What have you gotten yourself into! Those cult lunatics are wandering around outside! Gu poison! That can kill people! What are you trying to do?! Aren't you just asking for death?!"
He became more and more agitated as he spoke, his chest heaving violently, his eyes wide open, filled with lingering fear, worry, and a pent-up frustration.
He recalled the focused yet dangerous way Su Zhelan had treated the bloody wound in the medical tent, and his heart felt like it was being violently squeezed.
"Do you know...do you know..." The rest of the words caught in his throat, turning into a low growl, "...you make me so worried!"
Su Zhelan was so startled by his shout that she instinctively took half a step back, her back hitting the cold door frame.
The porridge in the bowl jiggled violently, splashing a few drops onto the back of his hand. He looked up, meeting Sheng Xuan's fiery eyes, a flicker of annoyance rising in his tired gaze. He was about to retort, "My affairs are none of your business..."
Before he could even speak, another figure silently stepped in.
Xiao Qiyun's movements were as swift as the wind, yet irresistible. He reached out and precisely grasped Su Zhelan's wrist, the hand holding the ceramic bowl!
Su Zhelan's wrists were icy cold, and stained with dried blood and a sticky, gooey substance.
Xiao Qiyun's warm palm carried an undeniable strength; it wasn't rough, yet it made it impossible for anyone to break free.
With a deft flick of his fingertips, he effortlessly removed the rough pottery bowl from Su Zhelan's hands and placed it steadily on the ground beside her.
Without the slightest hesitation, his hand, which had just put down the bowl, slid down and grasped Su Zhelan's dirty and cold hand with extreme naturalness yet overwhelming force!
"Don't move." Xiao Qiyun's voice was soft, but it had a strange penetrating power, instantly suppressing Sheng Xuan's roar.
He turned slightly to the side, using his pale figure to subtly separate Sheng Xuan and Su Zhelan from the tense atmosphere.
Then, with an even more direct action, he took Su Zhelan's cold hand, which he was holding, and gently, yet irresistibly, stroked it onto his smooth, jade-like cheek!
Xiao Qiyun's gaze was fixed on Su Zhelan's wide, astonished eyes.
The dim light of the oil lamp fell on his face, highlighting the stark contrast between Su Zhelan's stained fingers and his smooth skin.
Those eyes, which always held a gentle smile, now clearly reflected Su Zhelan's blood-stained and exhausted face, churning with complex and indescribable emotions—heartache, longing, and a burning passion that had been suppressed for so long and had finally found an outlet.
“Ze Lan…” Xiao Qiyun’s voice lowered, carrying a gentle tone that was almost a sigh, yet each word was clear, like pearls falling in the silent night, “You have lost a lot of weight in the two months since I last saw you.”
His thumb lightly brushed against the inside of Su Zhelan's cool wrist, bringing a subtle, heart-fluttering itch.
“The military camp is bitterly cold, and the poisonous insects are dangerous. You’re all alone here…” He paused, his gaze sweeping over Su Zhelan’s blood-stained clothes and the dark circles under her eyes. His Adam’s apple bobbed almost imperceptibly. “…Are you doing well? Have you been eating on time? At night…are you sleeping soundly?”
His voice grew softer and closer, carrying a hypnotic magic that kept Su Zhelan firmly in his sight.
“I…” Xiao Qiyun’s breathing seemed to quicken, and in his deep eyes, Su Zhelan’s somewhat stunned and flustered face was clearly reflected, “…I miss you so much.”
He spoke those three words very softly, yet they were like a pebble thrown into a calm lake, creating silent ripples in the cramped tent.
"And you?" Xiao Qiyun tightened his grip on Su Zhelan's wrist, forcing him to look closer. His voice was slightly hoarse and... tentatively probing, "...Have you... dreamed of me?"
The tent fell into a deathly silence.
The only sounds were the crackling of the oil lamp and the howling wind outside the tent.
Su Zhelan was completely stunned.
Her wrist was enveloped by Xiao Qiyun's warm palm, the force was not strong, but it carried an inescapable control.
Xiao Qiyun's gaze was like an invisible net, completely enveloping him. That deep, gentle voice, that straightforward "I miss you so much," that almost interrogative "Have you ever dreamed of me?"... Every word was like a scorching hot iron, burning his heart and making his ears burn uncontrollably, even the shallow scar on the back of his neck began to feel faintly hot.
He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but found his throat so dry that he couldn't make a sound.
The ceramic bowl in my hand felt incredibly heavy. The coolness of the rim seeped through my fingertips, but it couldn't suppress the increasingly intense burning sensation coming from my wrist.
He instinctively tried to break free, but Xiao Qiyun held him even tighter.
The deathly silence inside the tent was broken by a heavy gasp.
Standing behind Xiao Qiyun, Sheng Xuan watched as Xiao Qiyun tightly held Su Zhelan's wrist, listened to his deep, lingering, almost drowning words of love, and saw Su Zhelan's ears turn red and her hands and feet go blank under Xiao Qiyun's gaze. A mixture of frustration, anxiety and intense resentment suddenly surged to the top of her head!
He couldn't utter a single word of the convoluted thoughts swirling in his mind; he only felt a tightness in his chest, driven by a primal impulse—to act! Actions are always more effective than those cheesy words!
Just as the echoes of Xiao Qiyun's question, "Have you ever dreamed of me?" still reverberated in the cramped tent, Su Zhelan was almost suffocated by his burning gaze and words. She instinctively tried to pull her hand away but couldn't move—
Sheng Xuan also stepped forward abruptly!
His tall figure carried a gust of wind, instantly dispelling the oppressive feeling brought about by the ambiguous space that Xiao Qiyun had deliberately created.
Without saying a word, he grabbed Su Zhelan's other wrist.
Su Zhelan was startled by the sudden attack and trembled. She instinctively tried to pull her hand away, but Sheng Xuan held it firmly!
Sheng Xuan's hands were rougher than Xiao Qiyun's, with thick calluses from years of holding a knife, and they were stronger, gripping his wrist like an iron clamp, with an undeniable tyranny.
He grabbed Su Zhelan's hand and, without saying a word, pressed it heavily onto his chest, which was covered by his black outfit—the area around his heart on his left side!
With the impetuousness and stubbornness unique to young people, Sheng Xuan lowered his head and stared intently at Su Zhelan's wide eyes, which were filled with shock. His own anxious and somewhat clumsy face was clearly reflected in those eyes.
Through the thin fabric, Su Zhelan instantly felt the strong, rapid, drum-like heartbeat in his palm! Thump! Thump! Thump! One beat after another, violently striking his palm, carrying scalding heat and vigorous life force, as if it wanted to break free from the restraints in his chest!
The heartbeat was alarmingly fast, carrying an undisguised, primal panic and urgency, forming a stark and glaring contrast to the tender trap that Xiao Qiyun had just meticulously woven.
"I was worried about you!" Sheng Xuan's voice was hoarse with excitement. He gripped Su Zhelan's wrist, forcing his palm deeper into his rapidly heaving chest, the pulsation of his heartbeat clearly transmitted to Su Zhelan's fingertips.
"From the moment I found out you'd run off to this godforsaken place! From the moment I saw you dealing with those damned poisons!" He spoke rapidly, his emotions pouring out in a torrent.
"What kind of bullshit sweet talk is that! I can't say it! But here—" He pressed down hard on Su Zhelan's hand, almost pressing her hand bones into his ribs, "—everything here is real! I was worried about you! I was worried sick! Do you know that?!"
In the end, his eyes, which always shone with an untamed light, were unusually misty, glistening like those of a wronged large dog, staring intently at Su Zhelan with an almost puppy-dog-like accusation and pleading, as if silently questioning: Did you feel it? My heartbeat, my worry, it was all real!
Su Zhelan froze completely.
Her left wrist was enveloped in Xiao Qiyun's warm palm, a combination of inescapable control and a gentle trap.
Sheng Xuan's rough hand gripped her right wrist tightly, forcing her palm to press against his pounding, hot heartbeat, conveying the most primal and surging worries and emotions.
Two completely different temperatures, forces, and emotions, like two surging torrents, simultaneously assaulted him from both sides!
Xiao Qiyun's gaze remained fixed on him, filled with inquiry and a hint of displeasure at being interrupted.
Sheng Xuan's gaze was like a red-hot iron, filled with undisguised heat and grievance, almost piercing through him.
Su Zhelan opened her mouth, but her throat was so dry that she couldn't make a sound. She felt dizzy and her vision blurred, as if she were being roasted at the stake.
After a brief moment of blankness, Su Zhelan's mind began to race. Struggle? He couldn't break free from Sheng Xuan's brute force. Reason with them? These two weren't listening to him at all.
Reprimand him? He didn't dare, nor did he have the confidence. The only way... was...
He took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing his surging emotions and physical discomfort. His face deliberately conveyed extreme exhaustion and vulnerability; his brows were furrowed, his lips slightly pale, and even his voice trembled and became hoarse, as if he had exhausted his last ounce of strength.
"You two..." he began, his voice low but clear enough to reach their ears, carrying an almost weak plea, "...please have mercy..."
He lowered his eyelashes slightly, avoiding their burning gazes, and his eyes fell on the heavy, rough earthenware bowl in his hand, which he had almost knocked over. The paste inside the bowl was half-cooled and had condensed into a thin film.
"Let...let go..." He moved his wrist, which was being held by the two men, very gently, with a weak struggle in his voice. "Let me...let me eat something..."
He raised his head, his gaze quickly sweeping across Sheng Xuan and Xiao Qiyun's faces. His eyes were filled with genuine exhaustion and a deliberately amplified, almost pitiful plea. His voice was even lower, almost weak:
"From dawn until now... I haven't eaten or drunk anything... I really... have no strength left..."
He deliberately emphasized that he had "not eaten or drunk anything," to emphasize his extreme exhaustion.
After saying that, he swayed his body slightly, as if he might collapse from exhaustion at any moment.
This sudden show of weakness was like a bucket of cold water, instantly extinguishing the tense atmosphere and surging emotions between Sheng Xuan and Xiao Qiyun.
Sheng Xuan's burning, aggrieved "puppy eyes" suddenly froze. He looked at Su Zhelan's pale, tired face and listened to her hoarse, weak voice, especially the words "hadn't eaten or drunk anything," which pierced his heart like needles.
He unconsciously loosened his grip on Su Zhelan's wrist, and his pounding heart seemed to skip a beat. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but his throat felt blocked, leaving only worry in his eyes and a trace of... helplessness.
A flicker of emotion crossed Xiao Qiyun's deep eyes. His fingers, which were tightly gripping Su Zhelan's wrist, unconsciously loosened their grip slightly in the face of her deliberately revealed vulnerability and exhaustion.
Looking at Su Zhelan's lowered eyelashes and slightly trembling lips, and listening to her faint voice, the burning emotions and displeasure of being interrupted were instantly replaced by a stronger sense of pity and heartache.
He recalled Su Zhelan's profile as she focused on treating wounds in the military doctor's tent, her thin yet straight back... The exhaustion he felt at that moment was probably real.
Su Zhelan keenly noticed the loosening of their grip! He immediately seized this fleeting opportunity and gently pulled his wrist away—this time, neither Sheng Xuan nor Xiao Qiyun tightened their grip on him.
Su Zhelan quickly pulled her hands out of their grasp!
He immediately took a half step back, his back pressed against the cold door frame again, as if the coolness could dispel the lingering heat on his wrists.
He took a slight breath, lowered his head, avoided their gaze, and focused all his attention on the ceramic bowl, as if it were his only lifeline at that moment.
He carried his bowl and walked to the only small wooden stool in the corner of the tent—which he usually used as a stool—and sat down.
He lowered his head, scooped up the half-cooled, congealed paste with a spoon, and mechanically put it into his mouth in small sips.
The movements were slow, with a deliberately maintained calm, as if they had survived a disaster, and it was as if they were using the slow movements to buy time and think about their next move.
Silence fell once again inside the tent.
The flame of the oil lamp was still flickering uneasily.
Sheng Xuan and Xiao Qiyun stood there, watching Su Zhelan sit on a wooden stool in the corner, head down, silently eating the half-cold porridge. His thin back looked particularly fragile in the dim light, and the blood-stained gray cloth shirt outlined his slender shoulders.
Sheng Xuan's impulsive, reckless impulse completely dissipated, leaving him only with regret and worry. He scratched his hair in frustration, wanting to go over, but afraid of disturbing Su Zhelan again, so he could only stand there like a pillar, watching Su Zhelan's back with complicated eyes.
Xiao Qiyun stood quietly, his moon-white robe appearing particularly serene in the dim light. His deep gaze fell on Su Zhelan, filled with inquiry, pity, and a hint of thoughts that had been interrupted and were now regrouping. He didn't approach further, nor did he speak; his fingers, holding the book, unconsciously stroked its spine.
A subtle, anxious sense of anticipation filled the air.
Su Zhelan was stalling for time, while Sheng Xuan and Xiao Qiyun waited for him to "finish eating before we talk."
This brief calm, like the calm before a storm, concealed a much stronger undercurrent. Su Zhelan mechanically swallowed the porridge while her mind raced, trying to figure out how to deal with these two inescapable "troubles."
Su Zhelan lowered his head, mechanically scraping the rim of the bowl with his spoon, and put the last bit of congealed paste into his mouth. He deliberately swallowed quickly, his Adam's apple bobbing heavily, and he even let out a suppressed cough. His eyes reddened slightly, adding the final touch to the deliberately created image of "almost exhausted".
"Click".
The rough pottery bowl was gently placed on the wooden stump. The sound was not loud, but it was unusually clear in the deathly silent tent.
He slowly stood up, his movements noticeably sluggish, his back slightly hunched, as if the bowl of rice had exhausted his last bit of strength.
The deliberate vulnerability on his face vanished almost entirely the moment he stood up, replaced by an almost indifferent calm. He raised his eyes, his gaze devoid of any emotion, like a frozen lake, calmly sweeping over Sheng Xuan and Xiao Qiyun, who were still standing stiffly not far away.
His gaze shifted to Xiao Qiyun.
The voice was flat, carrying a precise and detached quality, like that of a formal document.
"Your Highness is compassionate towards the soldiers. Zelan thanks you on behalf of the wounded." He nodded slightly, his manners measured with a ruler, precise to the extreme, yet devoid of warmth.
“But this is not the Eastern Palace,” her tone shifted abruptly, each word like an icicle, “and I am not His Highness’s official.” This sentence was clean and concise, severing all unnecessary connections.
Finally, looking directly at Xiao Qiyun, he clearly and unequivocally declared his identity: "It is my duty to heal the wounded." This cold sense of duty formed the strongest barrier.
His gaze shifted to Sheng Xuan. His tone was less rigid towards the crown prince, more direct like that of someone dealing with a rash person, and even carried a hint of clear impatience:
"Second Young Master," the voice was low but the direction was clear, "if the armory needs manpower, General Sheng Chi can arrange it."
His gaze lingered on Sheng Xuan and his cumbersome sack for half a second before returning to Sheng Xuan's face, leaving no room for doubt:
"There is really no need for your 'helpful assistance,' young master." She saw through the pretense of "help" and refused decisively and thoroughly.
The most crucial step: laying the groundwork for the absolute need for rest. Su Zhelan no longer paid attention to the two's reactions, as if her verdict had already been delivered.
He dragged his heavy steps toward the medicine box in the corner of the tent, not to get something to take out, but to stop there with a clear purpose. With his back to the two men, he slowly bent over, his movements revealing an undisguised exhaustion, and squatted there in front of the medicine box, seemingly barely holding on.
"I've been busy all day," he said in a low voice, his voice dry and hoarse. The exhaustion was real, but it was magnified tenfold.
There was no excitement, only the heaviness of stating a fact. "Now..." he paused, as if it would take a lot of strength to say the next sentence, "...I just want to rest as soon as possible."
He remained crouched there, his back to them, head slightly bowed, his hair falling down to obscure his profile. He resembled a bow stretched to its limit, then broken by exhaustion. His shoulder blades appeared particularly gaunt beneath his blood-stained gray blouse.
“Here,” he added finally, his voice soft yet sharp like an icicle piercing the last breath of air in the tent, “every second is precious. Rest time… is a blessing.”
The phrase "rest time is a blessing" pushes the preciousness of rest time in the barracks to the extreme, highlighting his current exhaustion and desperate need for solitude.
Su Zhelan stood with her back to Sheng Xuan and Xiao Qiyun, crouching in front of the medicine box, like a stone statue frozen in exhaustion, silently radiating a strong signal of "refusal to talk, leave immediately".
He stopped speaking and moving, remaining in that position as if any unnecessary question or the slightest sound would be the last straw that broke the camel's back.
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