Chapter 225 — The Wound
The Sword Questions the Heavens · Page 4 of 5
Lu Xueling raised her head in silence and glanced at Xiaohui, then reached out and gently lifted it into the halo of Tianxuan, letting it lie upon Ming Li's body. Xiaohui looked at Lu Xueling and gave a soft "chitter-chitter," then slowly lowered its head again and rested it against Ming Li's chest. Its head tipped to one side, its eyes fixed on something not far ahead—the quiet body of Tian Buhui.
Like a dream? Like an illusion!
It had seemed a long and lingering dream, yet there was no joy in it at all; for when it reached its end, one found it had been a nightmare all along.
Ming Li's body stirred. On his pale face the grief seemed to deepen; a moment later, with a groan of pain, he slowly came to.
There was light before his eyes—a pale blue radiance, drifting gently around him.
There were sounds about him—the sounds of wind and rain, wind driving the rain, rain and wind sighing.
Xiaohui, lying against Ming Li's chest, suddenly sat up straight and looked at him.
The cold wind blew past once more.
Ming Li trembled slightly, and then he saw Lu Xueling's gaze—that face as pale as his own, the only one to keep him company on this night of wind and rain.
The corner of Ming Li's mouth quivered faintly.
The pain in his chest had eased greatly. Ming Li glanced down at it and saw it bound with seven or eight strips of white cloth of varying width, plainly torn in haste from garments. His mind was clearing now, and he soon realized that the broken bones in his chest had all been set one by one. Yet Tian Buhui's palm strike had been truly formidable; his whole network of energy channels had been shaken and wounded, and though Lu Xueling had tended him afterward, he would likely need many days to recover.
At that thought he turned instinctively, and soon saw the master who had raised him to manhood. Ming Li did not speak; he seemed to lack even the strength for speech. In the wind and rain, Tian Buhui's face, spattered with water, lay silently in the filthy mud.
Who could have known it would come to this after his death?
With a low, hoarse cry in his throat, Ming Li rolled from Lu Xueling's arms into the mud, then struggled to crawl toward Tian Buhui's body. Lu Xueling started and instinctively reached out to hold him back, but as her hand touched him she heard Ming Li say softly, "Don't pull me."
Lu Xueling stood woodenly, slowly drawing back her outstretched hand. Her eyes followed Ming Li as he left the halo of Tianxuan and crawled, step by painful step, toward Tian Buhui's body. The wind and rain came on without mercy, soon soaking him through, and along the way the muddy mire splashed over his body.
The monkey Xiaohui followed at Ming Li's side. Seeing its master in such a state, it seemed anxious; now and then it leaped close and stretched out both hands to pull him along, but Ming Li was far too large for Xiaohui, and the little monkey could not manage it. In its worry it gave several "chitter-chitter" cries.
At last Ming Li reached Tian Buhui's side; what he touched was already cold. His teeth clenched tight, his body trembling faintly, he gazed at Tian Buhui before him as though a wanderer returning home after many years found nothing at the end but despair.
Drops of water fell from his face onto Tian Buhui's stiffened cheek.
The wind and rain grew fiercer.
His gaze came slowly to rest on Tian Buhui's chest. The garments had been straightened at some point, yet the huge, dreadful wound was still shocking to behold. Ming Li felt as though his whole body had been pierced; he went rigid.
Then he slowly turned and looked back.
Behind him was Lu Xueling's lone, desolate figure. In the wind and rain she silently met his gaze, her face pale and bloodless, her hands clenched into fists within her sleeves, her nails driven deep into her own flesh.
What bitterness lay in that one exchanged glance?