In a few more passes, Wu Ying found himself pressed back as Yin Xue slowly picked up the speed and fluidity of his attacks. Wu Ying’s eyes widened slightly as he struggled to keep up, his grip on his sword tightening in fear as he realized that Yin Xue had been holding back. Each motion seemed faster than the last, each attack coming closer and closer to hitting him. Wu Ying’s breathing sped up, his heart rate skyrocketing. From outside the duelling ring, it would be impossible to tell, but every few attacks, Yin Xue would suddenly shift his trajectory, going for a blow that would do more than touch but kill.
“Willow strikes the swallow,” Yin Xue said softly.
Wu Ying jerked his sword up to guard, his body too tired to stop its automatic reaction. Too late, Wu Ying realized that it was a trick. Yin Xue twisted the sword, dipping the blade around his own block and letting the point plunge directly into the lower right of Wu Ying’s abdomen. A slight twist as the blade came out opened the wound further.
Wu Ying felt the strength in his legs give out, and he dropped to a knee. A second later, the pain hit and his breathing grew erratic.
“What is going on here!” Too late, the sergeant noticed the danger and stalked over.
As the sergeant berated Yin Xue for injuring him, Wu Ying had a hand pressed to his side to stem the bleeding.
Eventually, the sergeant turned away and looked at Wu Ying before sniffing. “Fool. Practicing with real swords. You there! You were the village doctor’s son?” A murmured agreement. “Then bandage him up.”
More muttered protests, but Wu Ying paid no attention to them until insistent hands had him lying down, a bandage pressed against his body. Wu Ying hissed as more pressure came down on the wound. When he focused, he saw a worried-looking Fa Hui and a thin young boy hovering over him.
“The wound is wide and open. I’ll need to stich you closed and put a paste on it. It will hurt,” the boy said. “I need to boil some water and clean my instruments first.”
“Thank. You,” Wu Ying said.
“Don’t. Idiot,” the healer said with a snort and scurried out of Wu Ying’s sight, Fa Hui taking over the job of keeping pressure on Wu Ying’s side.
“I will kill Yin Xue,” Fa Hui growled softly.
“Stop it. It was your big mouth that started this,” Wu Ying said with a snarl. “I will be fine. Just avoid him.”
“Wu Ying—”
“Just stop it,” Wu Ying said. “Swear to me. You’ll not do anything.”
“I—”
“You owe me this. Swear,” Wu Ying snarled.
“I swear. So long as you live, I won’t touch Yin Xue!” Fa Hui said, his voice soft and urgent.
“Good.”
“You, out of the way,” the boy-healer said as he came back with his instruments. Pushing Fa Hui aside, he quickly threaded the silk thread through his bamboo needle. “Get some light.” The healer then turned to Wu Ying, his voice growing softer and more comforting. “Now, this is going to hurt.”
Wu Ying could only nod dumbly and take the cloth-wrapped piece of bamboo into his mouth. As the boy poured a handful of alcohol on his wound to cleanse it, Wu Ying bit down hard and screamed into the gag. When darkness rose to claim him as he felt the first stitch go in, he could only promise himself that he would get his own revenge on Yin Xue.
Chapter 3
Step. Another step. Then another. Pain radiated from his abdomen with each step. Even as he marched alongside the conscripts, Wu Ying felt the bandage around his side grow damper as blood squeezed out. The wound might have been stitched closed, but all this walking had probably torn at least one of those stitches. Sun An—the boyish-looking healer—had done his best to stitch everything together, but the wound had been deep.
“Drink,” Fa Hui said, offering Wu Ying a waterskin.
Wu Ying took the waterskin without protest, popped open the cap, and took a mouthful of the foul-tasting drink. Sun An had woken early to boil the herbs for this drink, a tonic that was meant to help with the pain and reduce the chance of inflammation. Of course, Sun An had grumbled about the lack of proper medical supplies while doing so.
“Thank you,” Wu Ying said, returning the waterskin.
“Can you last? The next village can’t be that far,” Fa Hui said softly as the group continued their walk.
Other than Yin Xue swinging by an hour ago to “kindly” inquire about Wu Ying’s status, not even the sergeant had paid attention to Wu Ying. It seemed that Wu Ying either had to march or… well, the other options were unthinkable. The army was not known for their kind and understanding ways, after all.
“Can you?” Wu Ying said. Fa Hui had taken his gear in the morning, an act that Wu Ying had not protested. It was the least his friend could do. Quite literally.
“This? This is nothing!” Fa Hui said, hefting the pair of bags with a smile. “This is so much easier than working the fields. I can even stand upright!”
Wu Ying chuckled and regretted it, stumbling slightly. The sergeant was immediately at their sides, yelling at the pair until they caught the tempo of the march again. Once again, no mention was made of Wu Ying’s obvious injury.
“Don’t make me laugh,” Wu Ying said once they were clear to talk once more. He had to admit though that Fa Hui had a point. Spring meant being on their hands and knees all day long, planting the rice stalks in the water-clogged fields. Marching was, for all intents and purposes, easy compared to that.
“Just a little longer. Then we’ll be at the next village,” Fa Hui reiterated.
Wu Ying grunted, looking at the sky and the fast looming clouds. Rain. Of course it would rain. Bending his head, Wu Ying focused on putting one foot in front of the other, riding the waves of pain with each step.
“Eat.” Fa Hui pushed the warm bowl of porridge toward Wu Ying later that evening.
Wu Ying looked up, smiling wanly at his friend and taking the bowl before a spasm almost made him drop it. Small tarps were strung between the trees, helping to keep off the light shower, but that did little to stop his body from shivering from his damp clothing.
“Damn it,” Wu Ying cursed. He had marched through the rain, soaked like everyone else, and now his body was shivering from the cold and lost blood.
“Wu Ying…” Fa Hui said worriedly, helping Wu Ying hold the bowl. “Are you okay?”
“Fine. Just pain,” Wu Ying said.
Fa Hui frowned, but Wu Ying turned back to his food, head down as he slowly spooned the rice porridge into his mouth. The porridge was cold now, tasteless in his mouth. The army was stingy with their rations, barely giving them enough meat to even flavor the porridge.
“Time to change your bandages,” Sun An ordered Wu Ying when he had finally finished his meal.
Moving gingerly, Wu Ying placed the bowl aside and raised his arms slightly to allow Sun An to unwrap the bandages around his body.
Sun An frowned, noting the blood and the torn stitches, as well as the newly reddened, inflamed flesh. “You have been drinking the herbs?’
“Yes,” Fa Hui replied for Wu Ying, concern in his eyes. “Will he be okay?”
“It’s inflamed. Possibly infected,” Sun An said, running his fingers along the wound, his fingers displacing dried blood. “I can’t stitch it again, not with him moving so much. And I doubt it would do any good. I’ll put a salve on it, try to reduce the inflammation a bit. But he should be resting, not marching.”
“I’m right here,” Wu Ying said, glaring at the pair.
Sun An smiled slightly, waving in apology as he moved away to start on the salve. Fa Hui sat down next to Wu Ying, a clean bowl of water and a new bandage in hand.