Cheng Chumo had been running across the grasslands for three full days. The warhorse beneath him gasped roughly, struggling through the snow. Occasionally stumbling, after crossing a small ridge, the horse knelt on the ground and refused to advance another step. Tears flowed from its enormous eyes. Cheng Chumo dismounted, shouldered his leather bag, and continued forward. He knew this warhorse was finished.
When he left the caravan, he’d brought three horses – this was the last one. The cold winds of the grasslands had split his cheeks into bloody cracks. Like his father, stubble covered his face, his eyes were blood-red, and the black veil that had covered his head was long gone. He knelt in the snow, grabbed a handful of snow and stuffed it into his purple-blue lips, arduously sucking the moisture from it. He rubbed two more snowballs and pressed them against his eyes. His swollen eyeballs finally felt somewhat better.
He remembered the method Yun Ye taught him – cut a piece of hide from his fur coat, made two slits in it, and tied it over his eyes. Looking up at the blazingly bright sun in the sky, he felt not the slightest warmth. The guards had scattered yesterday. Cheng Chumo knew the way back to camp, but he didn’t want to return – at least not before finding Yun Ye. His leather bag still contained some food, including very tightly wrapped biscuits. He could smell their enticing fragrance even through the bag.
He’d taken them out several times, only to put them back. He didn’t dare eat them, afraid that when he found his brother, his situation would be even worse than his own. These biscuits were life-saving provisions.
Over these three days, he’d practically covered every inch of this ten-li radius. Yun Ye had no trace whatsoever, so he’d entered this hilly terrain. He was very calm, not anxious. He believed Yun Ye was struggling right now – just didn’t know where.
Thinking of this, he gripped his horse spear and stood up, shouldered his leather bag, and continued forward. At the mountain pass stood a wolf, staring at Cheng Chumo. Cheng Chumo stared back at it. The wolf didn’t yield, nor would Cheng Chumo, so they quickly fought. The wolf was no match for Cheng Chumo. Its throat pierced by the horse spear spouted hot blood. Cheng Chumo crawled over and gulped down the still-warm liquid. He hadn’t eaten hot food in three days. This damned grassland – meat wasn’t lacking, the only shortage was fuel. The wolf’s corpse quickly turned ice-cold. Cheng Chumo had no way to carry the wolf away. The cold wind wouldn’t need much time to freeze it harder than brick.
The sun slanted westward and the wind began blowing again. First, snow particles on the ground slowly rolled, then they became white snow dragons. Thousands, tens of thousands of snow dragons gathered together, becoming a sky full of white-haired wind. Cheng Chumo hurriedly found a sheltered place – otherwise he’d be frozen into an ice sculpture by the white-haired wind.
Turning around the mountain’s base, he saw a pavilion. The surroundings were completely silent, not a single person. On a flat piece of ground, a pavilion had appeared abruptly. He lay prone in the snow observing for a long time – indeed not a single person, only hearing the wind’s sharp whistle as it swept past ropes.
The pavilion was supported by enormous pillars with no stairs, standing a full zhang above the ground. Cheng Chumo circled the pavilion once, unable to find a way up. He removed his leather bag, ran a few quick steps across the flat ground, leaped up, and grasped the platform. With a forceful push of his waist and abdomen, he mounted the pavilion. Using his horizontal blade to push open the door bolt, he saw a very large room – empty except for several layers of drapes. Lifting the drapes, he saw Yun Ye sleeping extremely sweetly, his whole body sunk into thick furs. He even seemed to be snoring. In another corner lay Xu Jingzong and Old Zhuang. They didn’t have such good treatment – covered with a few broken hides, shivering there.
Checking their breathing and confirming they were sleeping, Cheng Chumo couldn’t wake them no matter what. He even kicked Xu Jingzong’s backside several times – that fellow still slept like a dead pig.
Cheng Chumo didn’t care at all about the eerie environment before him. His brother was fine – just couldn’t wake up, that’s all. With Sun Simiao there, this was a small problem. He used wood from inside the room to light a fire on the flat ground outside. When the fire blazed strongly, he pressed some snow on it. Immediately a thick smoke rose with the wind. Though it couldn’t rise high and was blown away by wind before leaving the valley, it didn’t matter – Sun Simiao and the others would find it.
Returning to the pavilion and looking at the soundly sleeping Yun Ye, Cheng Chumo felt tremendous unfairness. He’d run all over the mountains more miserably than a dog – why could Yun Ye lie in a pile of furs sleeping soundly waiting for rescue? Was there any justice?
No way – he was nearly frozen to death. He should also sleep for a while. Lifting the furs on Yun Ye’s body, his resentment grew even stronger. There was even a woman! That woman tightly embraced Yun Ye, hiding her head under Yun Ye’s arm, sleeping with a face full of peach blossoms.
Cheng Chumo really cried. Tears flowing to the cracked places hurt so much his face twitched. He quickly wiped them clean. Damn it, even crying wasn’t allowed. Never mind – he lay on Yun Ye’s other side, wrapped in the warm furs, gave a big yawn. Three days of worry dissipated in an instant. As he entered dreamland, he heard He Shao’s loud voice. His heart relaxed and he too fell asleep…
Thousand Day Drunkenness, that’s all – for Sun Simiao, it wasn’t anything serious. Pungent dogwood ground into powder, dabbed a bit under each person’s nose – after several fierce sneezes, people would wake up. But whose hands actually still held such rare medicine? He himself was researching Mafeisan and lacked one of the main ingredients. Searching the entire imperial palace yielded nothing, yet unexpectedly, in this desolate wilderness, he’d seen such medicine. This filled Sun Simiao with worry for Yun Ye’s future path.
Yun Ye woke up, his face full of smiles, as if truly waking from sleep. He checked Xu Jingzong and Old Zhuang’s conditions – those two were sick, caught a chill, running fevers, minds unclear. After feeding them a large bowl of thin congee, they slept again.
Cheng Chumo fiercely dug at his nose. The dogwood powder made him extremely uncomfortable. “Daoist Sun, this youngster wasn’t hit by Thousand Day Drunkenness. Why did you dab dogwood on me too? My nose is unbearably uncomfortable.”
“You came to find someone. Having found them, instead of guarding on the side, you slept like a pig. This time it’s dogwood – next time this old Daoist will use Heartbreak Powder.” Sun Simiao answered irritably.
As soon as he climbed the pavilion, he saw several people sleeping unconscious. His heart jumped in alarm. After checking their pulses, he discovered they’d fallen asleep from smelling Thousand Day Drunkenness. This substance was generally used to treat insomnia and excessive dreaming – also a treasure for cultivating the mind and nourishing life. Ordinary Thousand Day Drunkenness just let people sleep well and they’d naturally wake in a day. Unexpectedly, the Thousand Day Drunkenness here was so domineering in potency it could last three days. Truly shocking.
“Marquis Yun, do you know who the opponent is?” What He Shao worried about most was this. Enemies in the open weren’t frightening – unknown enemies were frightening.
“Have any of you heard of someone named Yetuo? He’s the one who lured us out of Shuofang City.” Yun Ye asked those garrison soldiers who often served in the Shuofang area.
“Reporting to the marquis, this subordinate knows.” An older garrison soldier reported to Yun Ye.
“You know? Quickly tell us.”
“Marquis, this subordinate also heard from Western Region merchant caravans. This Yetuo is a bandit who commits all manner of evil. He’s dominated this Western Region land for ten years already. Legend says he’s three zhang tall, rides a huge white camel, eats a calf for every meal. He has twenty brothers under him, each one a demon. After robbing and killing people, they dig out the merchants’ hearts and livers and roast them to eat.”
“There’s another version saying he’s a prince of Kangguo. When the old king saw he could speak from birth, fearing he was a demon, he threw him into the mountains for wild beasts to eat. Unexpectedly, not only did the beasts not eat him, they even nursed him. After growing up, he threw his father into the wilderness to feed wild beasts, then made his younger brother the new king. Actually, he’s Kangguo’s real power holder. This subordinate only knows this much.”
From these boring legends, Yun Ye at least learned one thing – Yetuo was someone who committed all manner of evil, also someone very capable. Otherwise he couldn’t have become a bandit chief or Kangguo’s supreme ruler – the kind with real power. Both identities required powerful backing.
Fortunately, he was about to die. When Yun Ye last saw Yetuo, death’s shadow already shrouded him. Without anyone else acting, he would kill himself. Thinking of those poisonous pills he swallowed, the hair on Yun Ye’s back stood up.
Gongshu Jia was organizing the crossbow carts, not participating in Yun Ye’s conversation. Ever since Yun Ye mentioned Yetuo, he’d been silent. He must know more – Yun Ye secretly guessed.
After the caravan had been busy on the grasslands for several days, naturally they needed good rest. Cheng Chumo’s feet were frostbitten. Sun Simiao carefully wiped those blackened toes with medicinal water, used a silver needle to pierce the skin on top. Yellow pus flowed out. He hadn’t even known his shoe had a big hole until washing his feet before bed at night, when he discovered three toes had turned black.
Seeing Yun Ye somewhat saddened, he said: “It’s no problem. Daoist Sun said after ten days or half a month’s care it’ll be fine. At most the nails will all fall off. Right now it’s numb, doesn’t hurt at all.”
Before Yun Ye could speak, Old Sun chuckled and said: “Doesn’t hurt now, but tonight it’ll itch you to death – like several hundred ants tearing and biting in your flesh. Think of that feeling – this old Daoist is afraid.”
Cheng Chumo wasn’t afraid of pain – he feared tickling. His iron body, once someone grabbed his ribs, he didn’t dare struggle, afraid others would tickle him. Once tickled, tears and snot would flow, soft as noodles.
Hearing Sun Simiao say this, his face changed dramatically. He grabbed Yun Ye’s hand and wouldn’t let go, wanting him to think of an anti-itch method.
The shepherd girl Na Rimu heard from the guards and ran out carrying a large handful of horse dung, wanting to wipe Cheng Chumo’s feet.
Sun Simiao scolded her out, told Cheng Chumo to endure it, said there was no good method to stop the itch.
Sure enough, as Old Sun said, before midnight, Cheng Chumo’s feet became unbearably itchy. He slapped the blanket on the bed and yelled, but couldn’t reach his feet to scratch. Sun Simiao had tied him to the bed board – he couldn’t move.
He swore and cursed, having guards help him chop off those three toes – he didn’t want them anymore. Yun Ye had no choice but to wash the affected area with salt water. Unexpectedly, it actually worked. Cheng Chumo stopped yelling and fell asleep in no time.