“I can do that.”
“I—”
“I can do it,” Wu Ying said, taking the bandage and working the edges. When he saw the hurt look in his friend’s face, he added, “You don’t have a gentle touch.”
“I do!”
“That’s not what Xia Jin said,” Wu Ying added.
“That—” Fa Hui looked offended for a moment before he chuckled wryly. “She was my first kiss!”
“Well, practice more.”
“Like Mu Er on his sister…?”
Another day, another forced march. At least it wasn’t raining, though the muddy roads were a pain to march in. But at the end of the day, rather than a simple clearing, the group finally caught up with the main body of the army.
Too tired, cold, and achy to pay much attention, Wu Ying marched alongside his squad as they moved along the edges of the army encampment. Even so, he could not help but notice how ordered the lamps, tents, and cooking fires were. Every single tent looked the same, with only the addition of banners hung at the edges of each cooking fire indicating the different squads. There were few men in the camp itself, though in the distance, Wu Ying heard the tramp of booted feet.
The next few hours passed in a blur as their lieutenant reported in and the conscripts were broken into the various squads they would be added to. Once that was done, the newly formed squads were marched toward the nearest quartermaster to receive their gear.
“Eh? What is this?” The quartermaster stopped the man in charge of handing Wu Ying his clothing as he eyed the new conscript. His gaze swept down Wu Ying’s hunched figure, lips compressing.
“Sir?” Wu Ying asked, blinking blearily as sweat dripped into one of his eyes.
“Are you ill?”
“A little…” Wu Ying admitted.
“Idiot!” the quartermaster snarled and glared at the sergeant and lieutenant. “How dare you bring someone ill into camp!”
“But he’s just—” the lieutenant protested before the quartermaster squashed his protest and pointed toward the side.
“Shut up. You! Go report to the medics,” the quartermaster said, shaking his head. “Sending sick people to us! What useless garbage.”
As Wu Ying stumbled away, he saw the vicious glares sent to him by the lieutenant and the sergeant. But with his feet feeling like lead itself, Wu Ying could only focus on moving in the direction he had been sent. His vision blurred slightly with each step, his eyesight narrowing as the world closed in.
In time, he found the banners flapping white in the sky. The words written horizontally on them were clear. Medical Center.
“Sir, can we help you?”
“I was… I was sent here,” Wu Ying said.
He turned toward the voice, the too-fast motion making him sway further. And then shouted words as the world faded into blackness.
A thump. Something firm under him, his body on his back as a flash of pain shot through him, waking him briefly. Eyelids too heavy to open, Wu Ying listened.
“Fools. Sending an injured conscript here by himself.”
“What do you think it is?”
“Probably another training accident.”
“Har! More waste. Sending us ill-trained children. They should be at the training grounds, not here.”
“Shh…”
The voices faded again as darkness consumed him.
“Who is this?”
“A conscript. Put him in bed twenty-nine.”
“He’s quite handsome.”
“Don’t bother. The infection has spread to his body. He won’t last the week.”
Time passed for Wu Ying in fits and starts. When he was awake, he found himself trembling, waves of cold and heat surging through his weakened body. During those moments, time seemed to slow, leaving Wu Ying with an ache in his abdomen and joints, his teeth chattering while sweat gathered all over him. When he slept, it seemed like no time at all had passed before he woke once more, shivering.
Occasionally the healers would be there, feeding him broth and medicine in equal measure. He choked down what he could, slept and shivered the rest of the time. His purgatory of rest and wake was finally broken one day when he was roughly picked up and moved aside.
“What? What’s going on?” Wu Ying asked blearily as he was moved from his bed.
“The army is on its way to meet the enemy. We’re going to need the beds for the injured,” the attendant replied, helping Wu Ying out of the tent. Together, the pair moved toward where a small group of other patients sat on the hill.
“But I’m injured.”
“So are they. It’s fine. There is no rain. Here, you’ll be out of the way,” the attendant said, dropping Wu Ying at a clear spot. “Drink this. It will help you be a little more lucid for a bit.”
Wu Ying took the medicine and felt a rush of energy enter his body. For a moment, he wondered why they had not fed this to him before. Perhaps because such medicine was only a temporary tonic, good till it stopped working. By the time Wu Ying looked up to ask, the attendant was gone.
Seated on the ground, Wu Ying looked around slowly, blinking in the sunlight. He forced himself to focus, turning his head from side to side. From their viewpoint, near where the logistic arm of the army was, Wu Ying could see little about the imminent battle. With effort, he moved his body to angle to the side, getting the best view he could of the clear fields. Better than staring at the various men moving around. Few others near him bothered to do so, most too injured or unconscious.
Even that little movement made Wu Ying pant, and he found himself curled up slightly. Grimacing, Wu Ying shook his head gently and returned to waiting. Hours passed, an attendant coming out to provide the various patients a bowl of porridge and their herbal medicine before scurrying away. Occasionally a patrol would swing by, but they grew more infrequent as the day lengthened.
In time, the cries and sobs, the panting curses and screams of men in pain reached the patients as the wounded streamed in. Wu Ying winced, tilting his head upward, but could see nothing beyond the sides of the tent. Behind the imposing black of the military tent, soldiers wailed, bled, and died, but the black façade gave no hint of the men’s struggle.
Turning away, Wu Ying returned his drifting attention to the hills that spread out before the main encampment. He turned toward them to tune out the screams behind him, to remind him of the peace that existed in nature. Of the way the wind blew, the birds flew, and the sun glinted off the spearheads…
Spearheads?
Wu Ying sat up a bit more, clutching his side as it pained him again. Squinting, he stared at the same spot he had first seen the anomaly. At first, nothing. Then a glint.
“Spears.” When he looked around, he saw that none of his fellow “patients” had seen anything. He frowned, waving at the nearest patient and pointing. “Spears! The enemy.”
The patient could only squint at him, his long hair tussled behind him. Looking around, Wu Ying realized that none of the attendants were around either. Perhaps he was hallucinating? Once more, Wu Ying squinted, only to have his suspicions proven when the sun glinted off them again.
“I must. Must warn them.” Wu Ying pushed himself up only to sink to his knees when weakness robbed him of his gains. He groaned, pain shooting through his body, the fever pulsing and sending a headache through him. “No.”
Wu Ying stood with a push, screaming slightly in pain. His shrieks were lost in the shouts from the medical tent. One foot in front of the other, his teeth gritted, Wu Ying walked forward. Each step was burning pain, each motion made him cough and groan as a fire was lit in his body. Finally, finally, he made it into the tent and pushed open a flap to see a reenactment of one of the lower hells.
Bodies—mutilated, bleeding, screaming—lay everywhere. Some were strapped down, others drugged. Some clutched at open wounds, others had already been bandaged and were waiting for blessed unconsciousness. Through it all, attendants and doctors moved, doing their best in the organized chaos, stemming bleeding, sewing wounds, and planting acupuncture needles.