Chapter 193: Let’s Run, Fox (IX)

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Chapter 193: Let’s Run, Fox (IX)

Through the haze, Shang Ke felt a searing pain across his back, as though someone were smearing something over the wound. Mutu’s scent lingered close beside him, and a large hand gently stroked his hair.

The application of medicine stopped, and an old voice said, “I’ve treated the wound. What happens next depends on him.”

Shang Ke recognized the speaker as Qiaohuo, the lions’ shaman-healer, but the man’s words sounded suspiciously fatalistic. Shang Ke knew his own condition very well. His injuries were serious, but they were mostly external. With proper medicine, rest, and protection against infection, a beastfolk’s constitution should have been more than capable of healing.

“Qiaohuo, you will heal him.” Mutu’s voice was hard with command.

Qiaohuo replied coldly, “Chief, I’m only a shaman-healer. I don’t have the power to contend with the God of Fate.”

Mutu said nothing, but Shang Ke could practically feel the anger radiating from him.

The pain in Shang Ke’s back intensified until he could no longer endure it, and he slipped back into unconsciousness.

Over the next several days, Shang Ke regained consciousness intermittently, but each waking period was shorter than the last. Instead of improving, his wounds continued to worsen and had apparently begun to fester.

Only then did Shang Ke realize that something might be wrong with Qiaohuo’s medicine. He had seen the shaman-healer treat other beastfolk before. Qiaohuo might not possess extraordinary medical skill, but he was experienced with external wounds. There was no reason the injury should be worsening under his care.

When it was time to change the dressing again, Shang Ke desperately wanted to stop them. But his body was weak, his thoughts were clouded, and he could not speak. He could only endure while the shaman-healer spread the medicine over his back. Agonizing pain tore through the wound as though another layer of flesh were being scraped away, and Shang Ke began to tremble.

“Yanu, does it hurt?” Mutu’s anxious voice sounded beside his ear.

Shang Ke forced his heavy eyelids open, but could make out only a blurred face. His ears rang, and Mutu’s furious shouting at the shaman-healer pounded against his skull like drums, dragging his consciousness farther into a haze.

No. He had to find some way to tell Mutu that the medicine was wrong. He had already completed his Main Mission—there was no way he was willing to die because someone had plotted against him!

Not long afterward, Shang Ke was left alone in the room. Summoning what little strength he had, he slowly dragged one finger to the edge of the stone bed and felt around until he found a sharp corner. He rubbed the finger against it, rested, then rubbed again. He repeated the agonizing process until he had ground the skin open and blood began to flow.

The process took more than half an hour.

Shang Ke lifted his mangled, blood-covered finger and shakily drew the outline of a medicinal herb on the stone bed. Those few simple strokes nearly exhausted every last bit of his strength.

He had barely finished when Mutu came back into the room.

Relief surged through Shang Ke. Mutu—look down!

But Mutu could not hear his silent plea. He noticed only Shang Ke’s bleeding finger, then sat down on the edge of the stone bed—smearing the still-wet drawing beneath him.

Tears welled in Shang Ke’s eyes. More than half an hour of desperate effort had been ruined in an instant. That drawing might have been his last hope. If the medicine was not changed, he might not live to see tomorrow.

“Chief, we need to go.” There were shouts of beastfolk from outside.

Mutu wiped the tears from the corners of Shang Ke’s eyes, his brows tightly drawn and his gaze full of worry and restless fury.

Only when the voices outside urged him again did Mutu finally release Shang Ke’s hand after stopping the bleeding. He bent down, kissed his cheek, and murmured, “Wait for me.” Then he rose slowly and walked toward the door with heavy steps, looking back again and again.

He did not want to leave, but he had no choice. The Avani had burned half the tribe’s stored food, and they had to replenish it as quickly as possible. Otherwise, there was no telling how many tribesmen would starve during the cold season.

Lying on the bed, Shang Ke felt Mutu’s presence receding and cried out silently for help. Mutu, don’t go. Don’t go…

Mutu’s steps faltered. He looked back at Shang Ke once more as a powerful unease rose inside him—the terrible feeling that if he left now, he might never see his fox alive again.

In the end, however, his responsibilities as Lion King forced him to leave Shang Ke’s room and join the other warriors in securing the tribe’s survival.

Shang Ke weakly closed his eyes. With Mutu’s departure, his last thread of hope snapped completely…

Mutu led the tribe’s warriors in search of prey, but with the cold season already arriving, most animals had retreated into their dens. After an entire morning, they had caught only one wild boar and three rabbits, along with a small quantity of nuts.

“Chief, are you hurt?” one beastfolk suddenly asked while they were resting.

“What?” Mutu looked over in confusion.

The beastfolk pointed at his trousers. “There’s blood on them.”

Mutu tugged the fabric around and indeed found a patch of dried blood on the back of his right trouser leg.

He paid it little mind. “I must have brushed against something. I’m not injured.”

Just as he was about to let the matter drop, something struck him. He pulled the fabric closer again. The bloodstain had an oddly deliberate shape; it did not look accidental.

After a moment’s thought, Mutu simply drew his knife, cut away the stained patch of cloth, and examined it closely.

The other beastfolk stared at him speechlessly. Was it really necessary to cut a hole in his trousers over one little bloodstain…?

Mutu rubbed his thumb over the stain. The lines had been blurred, but the overall shape was still recognizable: a plant leaf. He suddenly remembered the fox’s bleeding finger and the marks on the stone bed. He had not thought anything of them at the time, but now… perhaps they had not been random bloodstains at all. Perhaps the fox had deliberately left him a message. If so, Shang Ke had injured his own finger simply to draw that pattern.

Mutu’s expression turned terrible. His fox could not speak and had been forced to communicate this way, even hurting himself to do it—yet Mutu had completely failed to notice.

Those tears had not been caused by the wound. They had been caused by Mutu’s own carelessness.

Mutu shot to his feet. “I’m going back to the tribe. Keep hunting!”

The words had barely left his mouth before he sprinted toward the settlement at full speed without stopping once.

“Was that the chief who just ran past?” one beastfolk asked, staring after the rapidly disappearing figure.

“Looked like him. Why is he back so early?”

“Maybe he found a huge herd and came back for more people.”

The beastfolk discussed it while continuing to repair the damaged houses.

Mutu burst into Shang Ke’s room and hurried to the bedside. “Fox, I’m back. What were you trying to tell me?”

The blood on the stone bed had been smeared into an indistinct mess, even less legible than the mark transferred to his trousers. But even with the cloth in hand, Mutu still could not understand what the pattern meant.

Shang Ke’s eyelashes fluttered weakly, but his eyes did not open.

Mutu gently clasped his hand. “Yanu, what were you trying to tell me?”

Shang Ke no longer had the strength to respond. His life was draining away by the moment.

Feeling how cold Shang Ke’s body had become, Mutu was seized by panic. He spread out the scrap of cloth again and stared at the pattern as though his life depended on it.

One thing was certain: it was a leaf. But why would the fox draw a leaf? What use could that particular plant have?

Then Mutu caught sight of the green medicinal paste spread across Shang Ke’s back, and understanding struck like lightning. Medicine! The fox had drawn a medicinal herb!

He remembered the time he had been injured and the fox had personally treated him. Mutu had recovered so quickly that he had assumed the injury simply had not been severe. Now he realized the medicine Shang Ke had prepared might have been exceptionally effective.

The herb he remembered did indeed resemble the leaf on the cloth. The fox wanted him to change the medicine!

Qiaohuo had been treating Shang Ke for days, yet the injury had only worsened. Clearly, there was something wrong with the medicine. Mutu had failed to notice until now, delaying the correct treatment. He finally understood what the fox had been trying to tell him—but Shang Ke was already at death’s door.

Cursing his own stupidity, Mutu charged out of the room with murder in his eyes.

But Mutu did not rush out to settle accounts with the shaman-healer. He went to find the herb Shang Ke had shown him.

Fox, you’re going to be all right!

Shang Ke’s consciousness drifted in and out, untethered from any sense of where he was.

Then a laughing voice suddenly sounded beside his ear. 【Shou Mo, you’re my dual-cultivation partner. Don’t be so lazy. How can you keep losing to your junior disciple?】

【Winning or losing doesn’t matter. As long as I’m happy, that’s enough.】

【Winning or losing doesn’t matter, but I don’t want you getting hurt. If I ever find so much as a scratch on you, I’ll peel a layer of skin off whoever did it.】

【You’re too vicious. What happened to turning over a new leaf?】

【I’ve been extremely upright. Ever since meeting you, I haven’t taken a single life. So don’t give me a reason to break that rule. Let me keep pretending to be a respectable gentleman.】

【Hahaha! You have the nerve to call yourself a “respectable gentleman”? “Well-dressed beast” suits you much better. Hahaha…】

【Stop laughing. Remember this: you’re not allowed to get hurt!】

【All right, all right…】

The voices gradually faded into the distance while Shang Ke’s own consciousness slowly became clearer.

He slowly opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was the fur blanket beside his face, followed by a head of tousled golden hair.

Mutu was sitting with his back against the bed, head drooping as he snored away contentedly.

He was still alive? Surprise and delight surged through Shang Ke. It seemed Mutu had recognized the herb in the end and saved him from being literally treated to death by the shaman-healer.

His back felt pleasantly cool now, the previous burning agony gone. Shang Ke felt almost weightless with relief. An injury like this might have been torment for most people, but he had long since grown accustomed to illness and pain. Even the slightest reduction in suffering felt like a tremendous blessing.

Mutu sensed movement beside him and snapped awake. The instant he saw Shang Ke’s open eyes, his face lit up. “You’re awake!”

Realizing he had spoken too loudly, Mutu immediately lowered his voice. “How do you feel? Does anything hurt? I prepared a tray of fine sand for you. If you want to tell me something, you can draw it there.”

Shang Ke gave a tiny shake of his head, his eyes curving as he smiled at Mutu with the radiance of someone newly returned to life. Crystal light shimmered in his gaze.

Something tightened painfully in Mutu’s chest. He gathered a lock of Shang Ke’s long hair, raised it to his lips, and pressed a gentle, almost reverent kiss to it.

【Additional Mission 1—Make sure no one starves in the lion tribe this winter.】

Omake:

Mutu: Fox, why are you staring at my ass? Think it’s especially sexy?

Shang Ke: That ass wiped out my message written in blood and nearly made me die with a grievance unsatisfied.

Mutu: …I know I was wrong.

Shang Ke: Knowing you were wrong isn’t enough. Starting today, slim down that ass!

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