Hot flashes

Zhou Heng mentioned a few simple things: thick old clothes, dry rations to stave off hunger, and basic medicine for injuries.

"I'll wait for you at the temple," Zhou Heng said. "Be careful, don't tell anyone there's someone here."

The boy nodded, carefully put the silver buckle away, picked up the bamboo basket, and ran off.

The temple fell silent again. Zhou Heng leaned against the wall, slowly chewing the remaining half of the wet cake.

After eating, he finally felt a little warmer. He checked his wounds; the bleeding from his head had stopped, but a large bump had formed. The abrasions on his back, soaked in the river water, had turned white and were burning with pain.

He needs medication, otherwise an infection could cause serious problems.

The wait was long. Zhou Heng forced himself to stay awake, but the pain and exhaustion still made him feel drowsy. In his half-dreaming, half-awake state, those fragments of memory returned—

This time the scene is clearer: by the mountain stream, the young Xiao Jue is squatting opposite him, holding a clean white cloth in his hand, clumsily trying to bandage the abrasions on his arm.

Sunlight filtered through the leaves, dancing on the boy's eyelashes. He heard himself say, "Gently, gently, it hurts..." It was his own voice.

The boy, flustered and blushing, stammered, "I...I've never done this before..."

Then the scene blurs and jumps to a dark cave. The two are huddled together, the boy leaning on his shoulder, breathing evenly, asleep.

These scenes were so realistic. So realistic that he could feel the coldness of the mountain stream and hear the faint chirping of insects outside the cave.

"What on earth happened..." He covered his forehead, his head throbbing even more.

In the afternoon, the boy returned. He was carrying a bundle in his arms, a hint of excitement on his face: "I got the money! I bought what you wanted!"

The bundle was unfolded, revealing a worn-out thick cotton-padded coat, a pair of trousers, several grain cakes, a small packet of wound medicine and clean strips of cloth, and a small piece of dried meat wrapped in oil paper.

"That's great, thank you," Zhou Heng said sincerely. He noticed that the boy also had two more pancakes in his own bamboo basket.

The boy scratched his head sheepishly: "I exchanged the silver coin for forty copper coins, spent twenty-three on shopping, and the rest I..." He was a little uneasy.

"We agreed that the rest would be yours," Zhou Heng said gently. "You saved my life."

The boy finally breathed a sigh of relief, took out a small cloth bag from his pocket, inside were a few pieces of malt candy. He handed one to Zhou Heng: "This... is for you."

Zhou Heng took it, carefully put it in his mouth, and the sweetness melted on his tongue. He then picked up a pancake and the piece of dried meat and handed them to the boy: "Take these."

The boy's eyes lit up, and he took it and carefully wrapped it up.

Zhou Heng changed into dry clothes. Although the cotton-padded jacket was old, it was thick and warm, instantly dispelling the chill.

He then used the water from a broken bowl in the boy's bamboo basket to apply the medicine to the wounds on his head and back, and bandaged them with clean strips of cloth. The pain in his left shoulder lessened somewhat after it was reset, but he still dared not move it too much.

"Young man, what's your name?" Zhou Heng asked.

"Ah Cao," the boy said, "my mother said that a humble name makes a child easier to raise."

"Ah Cao." Zhou Heng noted the name down. "I'm heading south. Be careful, you're alone."

Ah Cao nodded, hesitated for a moment, and said, "There are a lot of strangers in town now, and some of them are carrying knives and look fierce. You...you should be careful too."

Someone with a knife? Zhou Heng's heart tightened. He had to leave immediately.

"I understand, thank you for reminding me." Zhou Heng carefully wrapped up the remaining cakes and medicine, then hid the token close to his body. The jade pendant remained warm.

He stood up, and the pain in his left shoulder made him gasp.

"I'm leaving," he said to Ah Cao. "Take care."

Ah Cao stood at the temple gate and waved to him.

Zhou Heng nodded and turned to walk into the twilight. He didn't take the path directly, but instead went around to the other side of the bamboo forest, observed for a while, and made sure no one was following him before heading towards the fork in the road that A Cao had mentioned.

As darkness fell, there were no pedestrians on the road. Zhou Heng endured his pain and exhaustion, and walked forward step by step.

On the shore of Poyang Lake, at the Jingbei Army Camp.

The central command tent was brightly lit, yet so quiet that the crackling of the burning torches could be heard.

Xiao Jue sat behind his desk, the arrow wound on his shoulder had just been dressed, and blood was faintly visible under the white bandage.

His face was horribly pale, his lips were bloodless, and only his eyes were as dark as an abyss, churning with something on the verge of exploding.

Standing beneath the tent were Zhao Ting, Wang Ben, Shen Yu, and several other core generals, all bowing their heads and holding their breath, not daring to utter a word.

On the table lay a secret report, delivered by Chen Shen via hawk half an hour earlier. The handwriting was hasty and messy, stained with someone's blood:

"The young master's entourage was ambushed at Black Stone Post Station, and the guards fought to the death. Chang An was seriously injured, and the young master's whereabouts are unknown; his body was not found at the scene. There is suspected leakage of information, as the route is known only to a few people. I have sealed off the news and am conducting a full-scale search."

Each word was like a red-hot nail, driven into Xiao Jue's eyes.

The whereabouts are unknown.

The body was not found.

Internal leakage.

He stared at those few lines of text for so long that the generals in the tent began to exchange uneasy glances.

"Your Highness?" Shen Yu asked tentatively, his voice hoarse.

Xiao Jue slowly raised his head.

In that instant, the temperature inside the tent plummeted. It wasn't an illusion; it was a real chill—a kind of tangible, blood-tinged killing intent emanating from him.

"Black Stone Post Station," Xiao Jue began, his voice hoarse like sandpaper scraping against metal, "Who else knows that route besides Chen Shen and Chang An?"

Shen Yu's forehead was covered in cold sweat: "The route was planned by Chen Shen himself. Apart from the two of them, there is only... only this old man and Your Highness."

"Anything else?" Xiao Jue's voice was very soft, so soft it sent chills down one's spine.

Zhao Ting forced himself to say, "This humble general...this humble general knows the general direction, but not the specific route."

"Wang Ben?"

"This humble general was unaware!" Wang Ben knelt on one knee. "This humble general has been busy with preparations at the vanguard camp these past few days and has not inquired about your whereabouts, young master!"