Chapter Sixty-One: A Beauty’s Thoughts

When Qin Cheng’s lips finally touched the delicate leg of Miss Kong, had he eyes at the back of his head, he might have noticed that the flush on her cheeks was not born of shyness, but from another cause altogether.

At that moment, Qin Cheng was savoring the exquisite sensation of her smooth, jade-like limbs, while Miss Kong’s gaze was fixed intently upon him. Her right hand had already begun to inch surreptitiously toward the short dagger by her side. Qin Cheng’s movements were careful and measured; so too was the subtle shift of Miss Kong’s slender hand. Just as her fingers were about to close around the hilt, Qin Cheng suddenly raised his head. Startled, Miss Kong’s hand jerked back, her fingers retreating a few inches from the dagger. But when she saw that Qin Cheng merely turned aside to spit out a mouthful of clotted blood and then, as if nothing were amiss, drew close to her calf once more, the tension in her eyes faded. As the strange sensation returned to her leg, she drew a deep, silent breath, and a glimmer of intent passed through her eyes. This time, her hand moved more swiftly, and her fingers gripped the hilt in an instant. By her calculation, based on the time it took Qin Cheng to raise his head and spit blood the last time, only half that interval had now passed. If all went as expected, Qin Cheng should now be wholly absorbed in his task. Miss Kong’s color deepened, though whether from excitement or some other cause, she could not say. Her hand tightened on the dagger’s hilt, every nerve in her body taut with anticipation. Yet, at the very instant before she was to strike, Qin Cheng suddenly lifted his head again. Her eyes had never left him, and his abrupt movement startled her. Still, the resolve in her heart spurred her to draw the blade, certain she could take advantage of the moment when he spat blood at her feet.

With a barely perceptible tremor, her slender fingers shifted, the blade slid free an inch, and the steel sang softly as it left the sheath. But then, without warning, Qin Cheng turned to look at her. There was a faint smile in his eyes—seemingly harmless, though to Miss Kong it was enough to unsettle her heart. In that fleeting instant, a hesitation she ought not to have felt gripped her. The dagger, drawn an inch, hung motionless, neither advancing nor retreating. In the midst of her indecision, the smile in Qin Cheng’s eyes spread to his lips. His cheeks, slightly puffed from the mouthful of blood he had just spat, now bunched up comically as he grinned, making him look all the more guileless.

If this harmless smile of Qin Cheng’s had not already shattered Miss Kong’s last line of defense, his next act—spitting out another mouthful of blood—was the perfect excuse for her to let go of her plan. As Qin Cheng turned aside, she withdrew her hand and lowered her head in feigned bashfulness. In truth, it was not all pretense; to be approached so intimately by a stranger of the opposite sex, to say there was no embarrassment would be a lie.

Having spat out the blood, Qin Cheng looked up and addressed her: “That should do. The congestion in your leg is mostly gone… How do you feel now?”

Seeing his lips stained crimson with her blood, Miss Kong felt a strange sensation rise within her, her heartbeat growing erratic. She glanced at him, thinking to herself, What else could I possibly feel? But of course, she could not say so aloud. Instead, she replied, “Thank you, General Qin. I feel much better.”

Qin Cheng allowed himself a rather self-satisfied smile, as if very pleased with his own efforts. Then, picking up the sprig of red-flowered herb, he stripped off its leaves and tore stem and foliage into small pieces, which he tossed into his mouth. Noticing her look of surprise, he explained, his speech a little muffled by the chewing, “This red-flowered herb is also known as Spring’s Return. Its most remarkable property is not merely healing wounds, but preventing scars. Apply it to the injury and it will heal quickly, and within a month, any trace of a scar will vanish. The only catch is that the herb must be chewed and mixed with saliva to be most effective… As a lady, it is hardly proper for you to do this yourself, and I have suffered this inconvenience more than once already, so one more time makes little difference. I seldom do such good deeds—today is an exception.”

Amused by the sight of him talking while chewing, Miss Kong broke into a laugh, her jade hand covering her lips, her eyes shining with a unique charm. Halfway through her laughter, her gaze flickered thoughtfully, and she looked up. “General Qin, you have saved me and even stooped to tend my wounds. I am deeply grateful, yet ashamed at not knowing how to repay you.”

Qin Cheng spat the chewed herb into his left hand, then carefully applied it to the wound on her calf. “There’s no need for such concerns. Could I, a grown man, stand by and see you lost in the wilderness without helping? Having saved you, I may as well see it through. If I did not, it would be as though I had done nothing at all. If you feel uneasy, there’s no need—though I am no saint, I am not a villain. I will not ask you for repayment, nor expect you to offer yourself. You need not question my motives. We are both children of the Han; that alone is reason enough for me to do this willingly.”

As he finished speaking, Qin Cheng, head lowered as he dressed her wound, allowed a slight smile to curve his lips, as if he had chuckled softly.

At these words, Miss Kong let out a silent sigh of relief. The wary look in her eyes softened at last. Yet, at his final remark, a subtle, unreadable expression flickered across her face.

Qin Cheng finished applying the medicine, then used his dagger to cut a strip from his battle robe, which he used to bind her wound. Only then did he exhale in relief. Miss Kong braced herself against a nearby tree and rose, her injured leg touching the ground without much pain. This made her glance at Qin Cheng with genuine gratitude, her heart steadier than before. She attempted to walk, but as soon as her left leg bore her weight, a sharp, piercing pain forced her to grit her teeth.

“Your wound is deep. It will be ten days or half a month before you can walk normally again. If you force yourself now, you’ll undo all my efforts, and the injury may worsen. Finding this herb again would not be easy,” Qin Cheng said calmly.

“Is it really so?” Miss Kong’s voice trembled with dismay. She composed herself before continuing, “We are trapped in these rugged mountains, with no idea where the road leads or how far we must travel. With my leg in this state, what am I to do?”

Qin Cheng smiled slightly. “There is no need for alarm. Though I am hardly an expert, I know something of the land. Escaping these mountains is not so difficult. However—”

“However what?”

“However, I fear I must again overstep the bounds of propriety.”

A faint pallor crept over Miss Kong’s cheeks, followed by a blush, then a look of resignation—a spectrum of emotions flitted across her face before she finally said, “I must trouble you again, General Qin. I am truly embarrassed.”

Seeing that she was sensible enough not to argue, Qin Cheng replied, “Think nothing of it. Fate has brought us together; perhaps I will need your help someday. There’s no need for you to feel uneasy.”

“It is late,” he continued, “We should find shelter for the night. Otherwise, if wild beasts attack, we might end up as their supper. Earlier, I found a cave nearby—spacious, with fresh water. If you don’t mind, we can rest there tonight and make plans tomorrow.”

With dusk fast descending, Miss Kong had no objection; having a safe place to stay was all she could wish for. She nodded. “I will do as you say, General Qin.”

“Good. Follow me,” Qin Cheng said, turning to lead the way. After a few steps, he realized something was wrong and looked back. Miss Kong was still clutching the tree, unable to move, her situation painfully awkward as she looked at him helplessly.

Qin Cheng smiled inwardly. Clearly, Miss Kong had sense and knew when to advance and retreat—contradicting the old saying about women’s long hair and short wit.

“Ah, I forgot your leg is injured.” Qin Cheng slapped his forehead in mock annoyance and hurried back to her side. Without further ado, he offered her his arm. “Take it slow. Don’t strain your wound.”

Though separated by their garments, Qin Cheng could feel the faint tremor in her body as he helped her up. He silently marveled at her softness and vitality, but kept his expression unchanged, his gaze steady and honorable as he walked with her at a measured pace.

When they reached the cave, the firewood Qin Cheng had stacked earlier still smoldered. He settled Miss Kong on a relatively flat stone and went to gather more wood. When she sat, the chill and dampness of the stone made her shift uncomfortably. It was late autumn in the frontier; the weather was bleak, and the stone, cold and moist from years in the cave and proximity to the pool, sent a shock through her as she sat. Yet after the walk with Qin Cheng, her face was already flushed, her ears crimson as if they might bleed, her body feverishly warm. She was mortified to the core. Still, she thought it best not to mention it—better to endure a small discomfort than risk another awkward scene, lest she have to let Qin Cheng help her find another seat, which would mean even more intimate contact.

Miss Kong’s cheeks burned with embarrassment, yet when she glanced at Qin Cheng, she saw his expression was calm and composed, his manner proper, as if nothing at all were out of the ordinary. Her shame deepened, but so too did her quiet resentment.

Night had now fallen. Qin Cheng returned with an armful of dry branches, piled them beside the fire, and sat down before the flames. Breaking the wood into pieces, he fed them to the fire, which soon blazed up, driving away the chill that clung to the cave.