The youth lying on the bed remained silent for too long—long enough for everyone to realize something was wrong.
The several people gathered at the bedside gradually quieted, exchanging glances.
Feng Ke looked at Lian Shenwei’s eyes, calm without the slightest ripple, and an ominous premonition suddenly surged in his heart. He asked quietly: “What’s wrong?”
Only three words—the mouth shape was easy to distinguish.
Lian Shenwei blinked lightly. The first syllable from his throat came out low, hoarse, and strange. “I…”
He paused: “I think I can’t hear anymore.”
As if afraid they’d worry, the youth struggled to produce a reassuring but utterly pale smile.
Feng Ke’s heart kept sinking.
The situation he most feared had still occurred.
***
Apart from the initial moment of shock, Lian Shenwei quickly accepted the fact that he couldn’t hear.
He adapted faster than anyone thought possible, and his words became very few.
Qiu Che ultimately learned everything. When Feng Ke wouldn’t tell him, he forced it out at sword point—the two almost came to blows.
“Now you know everything. He insisted on fighting you like this—what could I do? Invite Uncle Lian and his sister back to pull his ears?!” Feng Ke had a pile of medicinal materials on his table, his tone extremely irritable.
He barely controlled his emotions.
“I’ve said everything, what should and shouldn’t be said. Ask him the rest yourself. Old Qiu, if you feel guilty or distressed, there’s really no need. I saw how happy and carefree he was sparring with you.”
“Honestly, these ten years, I’ve watched him gradually change from Lian Yubai to Lian Shenwei, his body slowly deteriorating. As a childhood friend, saying I’m not distressed would be a lie.”
Feng Ke rambled on, his tone growing dejected.
“The time he can truly be happy is too little.”
Lian Shenwei deeply hated others’ pity, but in Feng Ke’s view, he was truly pitiable.
A forced-to-grow-up, lonely adult.
Qiu Che was quiet for a long while before saying: “I understand him.”
“If it were me, I’d make the same choice.”
They weren’t merely friends, but also rivals.
Having crossed blades countless times, the thought of defeating the other had long been carved into their bones. Once they drew their swords, there was no room for holding back.
This was the pride in their bones.
[…I’m no longer a swordsman.]
This was what Ximian had said to him when they reunited in Jinling—he’d always remembered.
Whether able to draw his sword again or not, in his heart, Ximian had always been a swordsman.
Qiu Che: “Feng Ke, you must cure him.”
“I’ll hold onto him,” when saying this, Feng Ke was no longer as certain as before. “His pulse is too strange. I can only be thankful that deafness appeared first, not coughing blood—meaning it’s not rotting from within. There’s still hope.”
“When you go to the frontier this time, if possible, bring back some medicinal materials for me.”
“He was captured and turned into a medicine person before, so now many materials can’t be used. Central Plains has very few medicines he can use left. Perhaps there are some at the frontier.”
Qiu Che committed it to memory. “I understand.”
“Wait,” Feng Ke stopped him. “On your way, have someone send these small potted plants to his bedroom. I don’t know why, but plants in his room die far too quickly.”
Qiu Che nodded: “Alright.”
He picked up his sword to bid farewell to Lian Shenwei.
***
A rocking chair had been placed in Lanyue Pavilion with thick velvet blankets spread over it, bamboo screens placed on all sides to block the wind.
Lian Shenwei lay reclined inside covered by a cloak, half-asleep.
Though treatment had been timely this time, he hurt even more than last time. But hurting continuously, he stopped feeling it. He’d actually just woken one day ago—bed rest would be better—but unable to hear sounds, he didn’t want to stay in his room at all.
As soon as his spirits improved slightly, he had someone move the rocking chair over to Lanyue Pavilion.
The mild, nourishing food on the table remained completely untouched.
That sickly bird they’d picked up—
No, the gyrfalcon.
Also called spear falcon, a genuine emperor of the skies.
Feng Ke had confirmed its gender—male. Reportedly the night gender was confirmed, this bird was so angry it nearly went into isolation on the spot.
Lian Shenwei gave it a name: Azi.
Born with deficiencies, later stolen by bird traders and abused, its wings were badly injured—could only flutter a bit. Its legs limped, and it didn’t have much plumage.
Feng Ke tried his best treating it, but couldn’t say how long this bird could live.
Azi nestled on the cloak covering him.
One person and one bird, both sickly, miraculously somewhat similar.
Looking strangely harmonious.
When Qiu Che arrived, this was the scene he saw. He watched quietly for a moment, then took out a folded paper and gently placed it on the table by Lian Shenwei’s hand.
Even at such close distance, Lian Shenwei still had no awareness whatsoever.
Only Azi, eyes squinting, glanced over.
Qiu Che had a bundle on his back—an extremely long sword case—while carrying the Wuliang Sword in hand.
“Ximian, I’m leaving.”
He cupped his fists: “Take care.”
Qiu Che’s tall, slender figure strode away with large steps, quickly disappearing from sight.
Azi suddenly cried out, wings fluttering against Lian Shenwei’s chin, mouth open toward him.
“…Hungry?” Lian Shenwei coughed dully and reached for a pastry from the table. “Hm?”
His gaze fell on the folded paper. He paused for a moment, then reached over and picked it up. His pale fingertips, like spring snow, created an illusion of nearly vanishing in the sunlight.
Familiar handwriting came into view.
[Upon reading this letter, Ximian personally:
I know everything about your situation. Don’t blame Feng Ke—I forced him at sword point.
I understand your choice. If it were me, I’d make the same decision. Ximian, your sword intent tells me you’re very tired. Since you’re tired, don’t worry about so many things.
I’ll go to the frontier. I’ve taken the Snow-Bearing Sword. As you requested, I’ll find a suitable opportunity to give it to your disciple Li Ningfeng.
A bet is a bet—I’ll become his sword at the frontier.
Like Boya and Ziqi, true confidants are hard to find. After our last exchange, the Wuliang Sword’s edge was damaged. I don’t plan to repair it—there’s no need.
You’re the only opponent I’ve acknowledged in this life. The Wuliang Sword, since I met you at Phoenix Pavilion that year and lost to you, has only been drawn for you.
Hereafter, like the Cangshan Sword, it will never leave its sheath again.
With one exception.
I, Qiu Che, am a crude and common man. If someday the court does something wrong to you and I learn of it, the Wuliang Sword’s edge will definitely point at all officials and kill its way into the Golden Throne Hall.
Qiu Che.]
This was the first time Qiu Che had written him such a long letter.
Lian Shenwei read it carefully through. After finishing, he stared blankly for a while, then folded it. At such close distance when Qiu Che left this letter, he hadn’t noticed at all.
The youth raised his hand hesitantly and touched his ear.
He’d been lost in thought too long. Azi was dissatisfied and called out several times, but Lian Shenwei still didn’t respond.
Azi flapped its wings—flapping twice in succession nearly exhausted it. Just as it was about to collapse from fatigue, Lian Shenwei finally noticed.
He took a pastry from the plate.
Holding it in his palm: “Eat.”
Azi shuffled forward two feeble steps, then fiercely, using all its strength, pecked at the pastry, pecking until Lian Shenwei’s palm hurt.
The youth didn’t withdraw his hand, just watched like this, his eyes utterly quiet.
***
Qiu Che went directly to Loyal Righteousness Marquis Manor, saying he’d heard of the frontier warfare and came specifically to lend the court assistance, requesting the Marquis introduce him.
The Loyal Righteousness Marquis already had favorable feelings toward jianghu knights. After long consideration, he agreed.
Qiu Che had met the young emperor when he was still heir apparent during the southern tour. In Ying Jingjue’s eyes, he was a friend of his savior Ximian—naturally reducing wariness by thirty percent.
Trust those you employ, don’t employ those you doubt. After investigating and finding Qiu Che’s ancestors had military experience, Ying Jingjue forcefully suppressed the court’s chaotic voices and made the decision—have him and Li Ningfeng depart immediately for the frontier.
Very soon.
The army was ready to depart.
Li Ningfeng was protected in a carriage at the center. The carriage had been modified and was very stable. Qiu Che didn’t wear armor, still in casual knight attire, sword in arms, riding horseback, guarding one side of the carriage.
Li Ningfeng lifted the curtain. His body improved day by day. He’d lost weight, the light in his eyes more restrained and steady—like a treasured sword that had been forged and hid its edge in its sheath.
“Thank you for your assistance, Master Qiu.”
“The army is about to depart. You seem to be waiting for someone?”
The jianghu greatly valued the disciple identity. He was half a successor to Ximian and Fudu Manor—Qiu Che’s attitude toward him was even better than toward Ying Jingjue.
He shook his head: “No, let’s go.”
He just really wanted to hear Ximian’s music.
***
Lian Shenwei always went out to stay at Lanyue Pavilion, avoiding Feng Ke. Adding up these past days, he’d only stayed outside for half a day total.
The last time he was discovered, he was immediately dragged into his room by Feng Ke on the spot.
Knowing Lian Shenwei couldn’t hear, he turned and scolded Tian Nan mercilessly: “If he himself has no sense, don’t you either?! Who! Who told you he could go out and be blown by wind now?!”
“Did I say so? Did I say it in a dream?”
“If your master is gone in one careless moment, are you responsible?!”
Tian Nan cowered: “Master Feng, I’m sorry…”
He just couldn’t bear seeing his master smile and talk to him, saying he wanted to go outside and look.
The curtains at Lanyue Pavilion were all lowered—basically no wind. Plus the master was covered by such a thick cloak. He thought it should be fine before agreeing.
Feng Ke sneered: “Fine?”
He glanced at Lian Shenwei leaning by the bed.
The instigator kept his head lowered the whole time, acting like he couldn’t hear and wasn’t managing anything, showing not the slightest remorse. Feng Ke wanted to scold but couldn’t bear to.
Lian Shenwei actually also felt he was fine—after all, it had been several times already.
But that very afternoon he developed a fever. This fever wasn’t as severe as before, but lasted a very long time, temperature never dropping.
Previously his fevers resolved on their own. This time with repeated burning, Feng Ke feared he’d truly be burned stupid. Racking his brains, he found several medicines Lian Shenwei could take and barely managed to create a fever-reducing effect.
The effect wasn’t obvious, but better than nothing.
Now nighttime, he carried medicine to deliver to Lian Shenwei.
After Lian Shenwei became deaf, he stopped knocking on his door—just opened it and entered directly.
Lian Shenwei wasn’t lying on the bed. Barefoot on the carpet, he sat casually on the footstool below the bed with a small basin of water before him.
A black handkerchief soaked in the water.
Feng Ke recognized it—Lian Shenwei had been using this color and style recently.
Strands of vivid red seeped from the handkerchief, dissolving in the water.
Feng Ke’s heart lurched heavily.
The youth in white sleeping clothes used another handkerchief to cover his lips, coughing very softly, very softly. He’d even carefully rolled up his sleeves, as if afraid of accidentally staining them.
After finishing coughing, his lips were also stained with scattered crimson, yet his complexion was extremely pale. Pale fingers gripped the black brocade handkerchief, protruding wrist bones so thin two fingers could circle them.
For an instant, he didn’t seem like someone in their twenties who’d clawed through seas of blood and schemes, but like a child curling up into himself.
Lian Shenwei lowered his eyes.
He’d coughed up more blood than before.
Previously after washing the handkerchief, the water remained clean, colorless. Now it didn’t work—after washing it turned an extremely pale red.
Fortunately, today the plants in his room that had been poisoned half-dead by his blood were all replaced with new ones. He could pick one and pour the water into it. He bathed once every other day. If it was a bathing day, he needn’t be so troublesome—he’d separate out some water, and with so much water, it wouldn’t show.
But ultimately it was still troublesome.
He should prepare more—that way he could directly burn them, burn them together with letter paper. That would be much more convenient.
Feng Ke’s nose was too sensitive. It was very possible he’d smell something. He often went to Lanyue Pavilion to ventilate his room—actually also worried Feng Ke would question him about it.
Just thinking this, the light ahead suddenly dimmed. He saw a section of blue robe hem, the hem swaying lightly, stopping before him.
“…”
Lian Shenwei was silent for a moment, then raised his head.
**
wannaberecluse On SRTT Chapter 50.1