Hot flashes

Zhou Heng was lifted out of the haystack.

It was just dawn, and he was dreaming that he was lying on a luxurious bed with a latex mattress, with warm water and freshly changed gauze on the bedside table.

Then a rough, large hand slapped his face, not hard, but enough to wake him up instantly.

"Zhou Heng?" A stranger, dressed in neat leather armor and with a straight sword at his waist, stood in front of him.

Zhou Heng nodded blankly, his heart pounding with shock. The pain in his leg had lessened somewhat after his ordeal last night, but the swelling hadn't gone down.

"Come with me." The guard said succinctly, then turned and left.

Zhou Heng hurriedly got up and limped after him, his mind racing: What happened? Was he caught stealing hot water last night? Is he going to be court-martialed? Or... has Zhang Tiezhu's injury worsened? Did Li Gou'er get into trouble?

He followed his personal guards nervously through the camp, which was still awakening in the morning mist.

On the way, they encountered several soldiers from the same camp who had gotten up early, and they all cast surprised and slightly awe-inspiring glances at them—being taken away by the Marquis's personal guards, whether it was a blessing or a curse, was no ordinary matter.

They weren't heading towards the drill ground or the military court, but towards the center of the camp, an area that was clearly heavily guarded and where the tents and houses looked much more orderly.

Zhou Heng's heart sank little by little; this didn't seem like the route that would lead to a beating.

Finally, they stopped in front of a small but exceptionally clean brick house.

Two armored soldiers with halberds stood guard at the door. Their eyes swept over Zhou Heng like lightning. Seeing his disheveled appearance, they frowned slightly but did not stop him.

"The Marquis is inside. Once inside, keep your head down and answer any questions asked. Do not look up or stare directly at him," the guard whispered, before opening the door.

A faint scent, a blend of ink and a crisp pine aroma, wafted out, a stark contrast to the pervasive stench of sweat and horse manure in the camp. Zhou Heng's mind went blank.

The Marquis? Marquis Xiao Jue of Zhenbei? You want to see him?

Why?

He was pushed through the door, his mind blank.

The room was small and simply furnished, with a large desk, a few chairs, a weapons rack, and a huge, finely drawn map hanging on the wall.

Behind the desk, a person was looking down at the documents in his hands. Hearing the noise, he looked up.

Following the instructions of his personal guard, Zhou Heng immediately lowered his head, only to see a pair of black boots and the hem of a dark robe.

Even so, an invisible, heavy pressure had already descended upon him, making it difficult for him to breathe.

"You are Zhou Heng?" The voice rang out, not loud, but clear and steady, carrying the indifference of someone who has long held a high position and an unmistakable penetrating power.

"Yes...yes, this humble one is Zhou Heng." Zhou Heng heard his own dry, lifeless voice.

"Raise your head."

Zhou Heng slowly raised his head slightly, his gaze cautiously lingering on the other person's chest and below. He wore a dark-colored casual robe, a leather belt around his waist, and stood tall and straight like a pine tree. He dared not look any further upwards.

"I heard that you figured out the key to the bandits' rolling stone ditch on the battlefield yesterday?" Xiao Jue's tone was unreadable, as if he were asking about the weather today.

Zhou Heng's palms began to sweat: "Replying to Your Excellency, I... was just guessing."

Seeing how smoothly the stone rolled, I wondered if the ditch was too slippery. If something got stuck in it, it might not roll as fast…” His voice trailed off as he spoke, realizing how childish and ridiculous his reasoning was.

"Just because the stone rolls smoothly?" Xiao Jue repeated, then suddenly asked, "Have you been to school? Have you studied geomancy or construction techniques?"

"Ah? No, no!" Zhou Heng quickly denied. "I... know a few characters, but I haven't studied them properly." This was the truth. He studied financial management and marketing, which had nothing to do with ancient craftsmanship.

"Then why would you think that?" Xiao Jue's voice remained calm, but Zhou Heng felt that gaze was as if it were real and falling on him. "Ordinary soldiers, when they see rolling stones coming, will either dodge or block them. Few people will bother to look closely at the way they came, let alone think of disrupting their path."

Zhou Heng was speechless. Why? Because he was afraid of heights and dared not look at the mountain stream beside him, so he could only stare ahead? Because he had played with toy tracks before and seen golf course designs? Could he say that?

"I...I was scared at the time and didn't dare to look ahead, so I just stared at that rock...After looking at it for a while, I felt...that ditch seemed particularly important." He managed to come up with a reason that even he found far-fetched, his back already soaked with sweat.

The room fell silent for a moment. Zhou Heng could hear his own heart pounding.

"How's the injury on your leg?" Xiao Jue suddenly changed the subject.

Zhou Heng was taken aback, and subconsciously moved his left leg: "Reporting to the Marquis, I'm much better, thank you for your concern."

"How was it handled?" Xiao Jue asked casually, as if it were just a casual question.

Alarm bells were ringing in Zhou Heng's mind. Sure enough! It was because of the hot water he stole last night!

He stammered, "I... washed it clean, applied the medicine, and bandaged it up."

"What did you use to wash it?"

"...stream".

"Is the cloth used to bandage the wound clean?"

Zhou Heng broke out in a cold sweat. He felt like he was being roasted on a fire. "It's...it's alright...it's a clean cloth."

"Oh?" A hint of amusement seemed to creep into Xiao Jue's voice. "How come I heard that last night in the wounded soldiers' camp, someone argued with a medical apprentice over a ladle of hot water, and even... secretly took the hot water to wash his wounds and dry his bandages?"

Zhou Heng's legs went weak, and he almost knelt down. It's over, he knows everything.

His mind raced through images of various military punishments: flogging? Solitary confinement? Or... like those dried-up human heads on the edge of the camp?

"My lord, spare my life!" His voice trembled. "I...I was just afraid that the dirty cloth wrapped around my wound would...would fester, would cause a fever...I was afraid of dying, I was confused for a moment! I had absolutely no intention of disrespecting the physician! That hot water...I know I was wrong!"

He apologized incoherently, his head bowed even lower, almost burying itself in his chest.

Another silence fell. This silence was even more agonizing for Zhou Heng than a direct reprimand.

"Afraid of death?" Xiao Jue repeated the two words slowly, his tone somewhat strange. "Afraid of death, so you have to be even more meticulous in treating your wounds?"

Zhou Heng didn't know how to answer. He felt that the Marquis's train of thought was a bit off. Was there a connection between being afraid of death and being particular about wounds? It seemed so, yet it also seemed not.

"I just feel that the treatment would be faster," he said cautiously.

"What do you think?" Xiao Jue pressed. "Do whatever you think is best, who taught you that?"

"No...nobody taught me." Zhou Heng forced a smile. "I just...thought it myself. I used to cut my hand like this, and it healed faster." This wasn't entirely a lie. He used to have a first-aid kit at home, and he was much more particular about treating minor wounds than he was here.