Chapter 112 (1/2)

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Chapter 112

As Ning Que awakened, the world had disappeared.

Looking at the ants' dead bodies in front and the green leaves and ice gravel that were scattering and heaping together, he pulled himself up with difficulty after a short moment of absent-mindedness. He wondered how long he had been in coma. It might have been very long or very short, but he knew it was extremely dangerous to lie in the middle of the street. Hearing the distant sounds of bamboo flutes and hoofs, he bit his lower lip to gather his nerves, and then dragged his tired and injured body to run into a side alley.

The remaining blood had disappeared without a trace, as if the bluestones had been washed in the rain several times and dried up in the warm spring. He did not notice that the blood stains on his body were gone. He was so clean that it seemed he had taken a bucket bath for half a night in the House of Red Sleeves.

What had happened when he was unconscious? He had no memory of the magic fight between the Vermilion Bird portrait and the big black umbrella. Instead, only a vague impression stayed in his mind at that moment.

After walking into the side alley, he quickly took off his robe, which was full of sword cuts, and then noticed that no traces of blood were seen. He became slightly stunned and struggled to look down at his body to confirm that there was indeed not any blood left. And then strong doubts. .h.i.t his heart. But now he had no time to think it over as he was in an urgent situation where feudal officials had been disturbed. He directly tore a piece of cloth off and hung it on the branches, and threw his robe into a house behind the wall.

He still felt extreme pain in his chest, since the invisible spear coming from the sky still seemed to be inserted in his chest. Every step he took made him look paler. Even the weakest trembling would make him feel that the cut that was torn in his heart became larger.

He stretched out his trembling palm to hold a low fence, and leapt over it with the strength of his waist and abdomen. He quietly pa.s.sed by a sleeping resident to take a blue robe from some bamboo, and quickly put it on.

He carried some excellent medicine for incised wounds. Nevertheless, while putting on the clothes, he took a hasty glance at his body and found that those b.l.o.o.d.y wounds cut by the flying swords had been healed. This healing was not a real cure but more like something that had been forcibly scorched with fire. Although the cuts had stopped bleeding, Ning Que remained wounded.

Ning Que silently walked through the high streets and back lanes in Eastern City of Chang'an in the last of the darkness. He hid in trees and climbed onto the top of eaves from time to time to avoid those increasingly closer sounds of horseshoes and those sharper sounds of bamboo flutes.

When he finally succeeded in getting close to Lin 47th Street, he found himself unable to return to the Old Brush Pen Shop to heal the wounds. The local government runners of Chang'an had already begun to knock on the shop doors for inquiries with iron rulers and ropes in their hands.

Looking with a frown at those doors that had been knocked open, Ning Que raised his hands and covered his mouth to suppress the strong impulse of coughing. He returned to the shadows of the alley to lean on a wall and take two rapid gasps.

An ordinary horse carriage, whose shaft was printed with the logo of the Academy, appeared at the entrance to the alley.

Hiding in the darkness, Ning Que stared at the horse carriage that fetched him and sent him to the Academy every day, listening carefully to the sounds of opening doors from time to time and silently calculating the time in his mind.

He unleashed the final strength of his weak body with his tired right foot pedaling fiercely on the wall. He darted to sweep into the alley, opened the gate of the carriage with his right hand at lightning speed, and then got inside.

The local government runner, who was inquiring of the owner of the old antique shop, vaguely saw something. He was shocked and turned around but saw n.o.body in the alley, just a horse carriage that was quietly parked there.

”It is so early now, why is a carriage parked here?” The runner talked to himself and was ready to take a look there.

The antique shop owner in an unroped dress yawned and, taking a glimpse of the horse carriage, casually explained, ”The horse carriage is here to take Boss Xiaoning to the Academy. It's always waiting here at this time every day.”

Upon hearing the word ”Academy”, the runner stopped with an ironic smile and turned around, saying toward the owner with emotion, ”It's really rare that someone on this street could be admitted to the Academy.”

Sitting inside the carriage, Ning Que observed the conversation between the runner and the shop owner on the stone steps to confirm that nothing went wrong. Then he drew down the curtain, gently knocked on the window lattice, and said in a tired voice, ”Lao Duan, you can go now.”

The old carter was shocked, and looked back at Ning Que behind the curtain. ”Boss Ning? When did you get in the carriage? Why didn't I know? You are really early today,” he said in surprise.

Ning Que softly explained, ”I didn't review the lesson plan of Etiquette yesterday, so I hurry to the Academy to go over it.” With his facial expression changing slightly, he bent and coughed heavily with his sleeves covering his mouth.

Hearing the suppressed but piercing coughing in the carriage, the driver inquired with concern. ”Are you all right?”

Ning Que replied, ”Last night I engorged two bowls of ice and took a big shower with a few barrels of well water as it was too hot. I probably caught a cold.”

The driver turned back with one hand holding the reins and the other waving the whip. He said with a smile, ”Wind-heat is the most troublesome. But as you are young and full of energy, you'll be fine after drinking some herbal tea when you get back to the shop.”

When hearing those words full of energy, Ning Que wondered why a sense of palpitation arose in his heart. After a moment of startling, he bowed his head to look at his sleeves, on which two gobs of coughed-up blood were seen. He then clutched the sleeves tightly in his hands.