Chapter 364 You’re Not Yuli?

Chapter 364: You're Not Yuli?

This is worse than torture! A real man would rather die than be humiliated! Especially this way of humiliating someone!

"N-No, no need!" He nearly shouted it, but his voice was weak, sounding more like a desperate shriek, "I'll do it myself! I... I can still move a little!"

Wuliji's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly, clearly not buying it.

He had just watched this man slide off the couch like a pile of mud, unable to even hold his own head up.

"You, sick. Moving, no good." He stuck to his judgment, believing he was just following the shaman's orders.

Just as that big hand was about to pull back the furs again, Cheng Ge, in a flash of desperation (or maybe just running his mouth), squeezed his eyes shut and yelled, "I-I suddenly don't have to anymore! I held it in!"

Wuliji froze again. He looked down at Cheng Ge—eyes squeezed shut, lashes fluttering, cheeks flushed an unnatural red—and a deeper confusion flickered in his eyes.

How could a person just... hold their pee in on command like that? Even the horses and sheep out on the grassland couldn't do that.

But he seemed to accept that. Without a word, he pulled his hand back, picked up the leather pot and soft hide from the floor, and put them back in the corner.

Then he came back, picked up the bowl of mare's milk, stirred it with a wooden spoon, scooped up a spoonful, and held it to Cheng Ge's lips.

"Drink." Same simple word, but the tone was even more insistent than before.

As if to say: You can hold your pee for now, but you've gotta eat.

Cheng Ge cracked one eye open, looking at the wooden spoon right in front of his face and the milky white liquid in it, then at Wuliji's blank face. He knew there was no getting out of this one.

Fine, he'd drink. Even if it was poison, so be it—anything was better than that kind of "help" from before.

He opened his mouth a crack, resigned to his fate. Warm mare's milk, thick with a heavy, gamey stench, slid down his throat. Cheng Ge was starving and parched, and his body instinctively urged him to swallow.

But the second that taste hit his mouth, a weird, indescribable sensation shot straight to his brain.

"Ugh—!" He jerked his head to the side, and the little bit he'd just swallowed came right back up, mixed with the sour stomach acid churning in his gut.

He threw up so suddenly he couldn't even get out of the way in time.

A broad hand reached out just in time to catch the mess under his chin, steady and sure.

Wuliji's face stayed blank as he watched Cheng Ge's heaving back, saying nothing.

Cheng Ge threw up until tears streamed down his face, his throat burning raw, his stomach cramping in waves.

That taste lingered in his mouth and nose, ten times more brutal than Beijing's fermented soybean drink.

He thought: Just give me the poison already, or chop my head off—no need to torture me like this.

His hands lay limp on his stomach, his eyes vacant as he stared at the tent's ceiling, his chest barely rising and falling.

His face wore an expression of near-transcendent serenity, like a man who had already passed on some time ago.

Wuliji walked in with a fresh bowl of milk. The nauseating gamey stench in the tent seemed to have been deliberately cleared out, much fainter now.

But the steam rising from the new bowl still made Cheng Ge's stomach clench on reflex.

The second he saw that bowl of milk, his heart lurched, and a wave of despair crashed over him.

Again?! This Northern Di barbarian wasn't going to stop until he killed him! He didn't even have the strength to bite his own tongue off right now, and his odds of success were basically zero.

Was he really going to be tortured to death by this weird-tasting milk? What a pathetic way to go!

Almost on pure instinct, before Wuliji could get near the couch, Cheng Ge quickly turned his face away and squeezed his eyes shut.

He curled deeper into the thick furs, leaving only a sliver of pale profile visible, every pore radiating fierce resistance—"I'd rather die than give in" and "Don't you dare touch me."

Wuliji stood by the couch, looking down at this man who seemed hell-bent on burying himself in the furs.

He held the bowl out, bringing it almost to the tip of Cheng Ge's turned-away nose, and said in his flat tone, very seriously: "This one, tastes good."

The eyes beneath Cheng Ge's lids moved. He sneered inwardly: Like hell I'd believe you!

Not only did he not open his eyes, he buried his face even deeper, even letting out a small, stubborn whimper.

Wuliji didn't seem surprised by his resistance. He stood there in silence for a moment.

Then Cheng Ge heard a rustling sound, like the bowl being set down on the low table.

He let out a quiet sigh of relief, thinking the barbarian had finally given up.

The next second, a warm, rough hand reached straight into the furs, grabbed his chin with pinpoint accuracy, and turned his face back—the grip gentle but unyielding.

Cheng Ge: "?!?!"

Cheng Ge was forced to open his eyes and met Wuliji's mismatched eyes, inches away.

Those eyes still held no particular emotion, just a stubborn reflection of his own face.

"Not eating... will die." Wuliji said again, his tone just as flat as before.

Cheng Ge: Ha! You think I don't know that? I wanna die right now! Mind your own damn business!

Wuliji let go of his chin, picked up the bowl instead, and took a big gulp himself, right in front of Cheng Ge.

His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, then he looked at Cheng Ge. "Sweet."

Sweet? Cheng Ge looked at him suspiciously, then at the bowl.

The color seemed richer than the last bowl of mare's milk, with a faint yellowish tint.

As the steam rose, a subtly different aroma drifted over—nothing like the sharp, gamey stench from before.

But once bitten, twice shy. Cheng Ge kept his lips pressed tightly together, his eyes full of distrust.

Wuliji wasn't in a hurry. He took another small sip, then held the bowl to Cheng Ge's lips again, the rim brushing gently against his cracked lips.

Cheng Ge looked at the milky liquid swaying in the bowl, then at Wuliji's eyes, and couldn't help but swallow.

He hesitated, then, with the grim resolve of "might as well throw up again and die trying," he opened his mouth—super slowly, super reluctantly.

Warm liquid flowed in. Cheng Ge held his breath, every muscle tense, bracing for another round of flavor disaster.

But... the dreaded gamey stench never came.

What entered his mouth was a richer, smoother taste with a distinct sweetness.

It still carried that dairy flavor, but compared to the previous bowl, it was like night and day.

He swallowed, uncertain and wary, and his stomach didn't immediately rebel.

That warmth and sweetness, though, seemed to ease the stomach that had been hovering on the edge of cramping.

He blinked and looked at Wuliji.

Wuliji's face stayed blank as he scooped up another spoonful and held it out.

This time, Cheng Ge put up less of a fight.

He sipped slowly at first, but hunger made him speed up fast.

His body was screaming for fuel and water, and his brain knew he had to eat.

The bowl of milk slowly drained. Wuliji wiped the corner of his mouth with the soft leather—still not exactly gentle, but more careful than before.

"Goat milk and honey," he said, putting the bowl aside—a rare extra explanation. "The ewe just had a lamb. Best thing for you."

Cheng Ge licked his lips without thinking and nearly blurted, "Is there... more?"

Wuliji was about to turn and pick up the bowl and spoon, but stopped mid-step and looked back.

Then he gave a tiny nod, so small it was almost invisible.

Seeing that Cheng Ge was finally willing to eat and hadn't thrown it up, the worry that had been weighing on Wuliji quietly eased.

He silently went to the fire pit, scooped warm goat milk from the clay pot, carefully stirred in honey, and brought bowl after bowl over.

Cheng Ge was truly starving and parched.

The honeyed goat milk wasn't the best tasting, but it was warm, sweet, and easy on the stomach, quickly restoring his strength.

He drank with the desperate greed of someone who'd just survived something.

When one bowl was empty, Wuliji silently handed him the next.

One bowl, two bowls, three bowls...

When Cheng Ge finished the fourth and licked his lips with lingering satisfaction, he was about to ask, "Is there more?"

After all, milk was mostly water and didn't really fill you up—it would just go right through you.

But then he suddenly met Wuliji's grave gaze—

Before Cheng Ge could speak, Wuliji cut in first, with unusual seriousness: "Yuli, you can't drink any more... you'll make yourself sick."

"Cough, cough, cough—" The last bit of saliva Cheng Ge was about to swallow caught in his throat, sending him into a coughing fit.

He looked up, somewhat dazed, at Wuliji, wondering if blood loss, cold, and hunger were making him hallucinate.

"What... did you say?" Cheng Ge's voice was a bit muffled from coughing, and he tried to make sense of that weird interruption.

Seeing that Cheng Ge hadn't heard clearly or hadn't understood, Wuliji repeated more distinctly, his tone still flat: "Can't drink more. You'll make yourself sick."

This time Cheng Ge heard it, but what made his heart jump wasn't the warning—it was that weird way he'd addressed him!

He locked eyes with Wuliji, his voice tightening: "What... what did you just call me?"

Wuliji seemed confused by how much the name rattled him, but he answered anyway, adding more detail: "Yuli. You... are called Lin Nanshu."

When he said "Lin Nanshu," his pronunciation was remarkably clear and precise, crisp and clear.

It even carried a trace of deliberate practice, a world away from his usual halting, broken Mandarin.

Cheng Ge: "..." The tent went dead silent.

Cheng Ge's mind went blank for over ten seconds, then his brain let out a screech!

What the hell?! How did he know his bro's name? And he was putting it on him?!

He looked up, staring at the Beidi man's face in front of him.

His senses, dulled by blood loss and exhaustion, snapped into focus, and with it came a strange sense of familiarity.

A song suddenly started playing in his head—"Have we met before? Do you remember?"

Just as that thought surfaced, a vivid image flashed through his mind.

The steep cliff at Wild Fox Valley, gravel tumbling, and a Beidi man he'd kicked off the edge!

Back then, it was chaos and the light was fading, so he hadn't gotten a good look. He'd figured the guy was a goner.

Now, up close, in the light, this face...

Cheng Ge's pupils contracted sharply, a chill racing up his spine, wiping out the warmth he'd just managed to get in his gut.

Shit. It was him!

The Beidi guy he'd stabbed and kicked off a cliff! He was alive?!

Not only was he alive, but he'd gone and saved Cheng Ge?! What kind of twisted fate was this—enemies crossing paths again, a ghost that wouldn't go away?!

Cheng Ge swallowed hard, his throat too dry to get a word out.

He tried to keep his face calm, but his fingers curled under the furs, giving away the storm inside.

He met Wuliji's calm gaze and could almost see his own death warrant.

He forced a strained smile, trying to sound casual: "So... what's your name, then?"

Wuliji caught the sudden shift in his face, a flicker of confusion passing through his eyes.

But he didn't push it, just answered slowly and clearly: "Wu... li... ji."

Wu—li—ji.

Three syllables, each one hitting Cheng Ge's scrambled but sharp mind like a thunderclap.

Wuliji!!!

Cheng Ge's brain went off like a bomb—like ice water hitting a red-hot iron—blank and burning.

Shit! Shit! Shit!

He hadn't just stabbed the guy and kicked him off a cliff... he'd also put an arrow through him with the Kaiyuan Bow.

So now it was old scores on top of new ones—grudge on top of grudge!

Cheng Ge's vision started to go dark. The four bowls of honeyed goat milk he'd just downed now felt like poison about to blow, sloshing around in his gut.

If he'd fallen into the hands of an ordinary Beidi soldier, he'd be a prisoner, a bargaining chip.

If I end up in Wuliji's hands... won't I get chopped into a QR code?!

Cheng Ge lay stiffly on the daybed, his breathing so light it was almost imperceptible. He wanted to run, but he couldn't move an inch.

Seeing his face go from pale to greenish, his lips trembling slightly, and even a fine layer of cold sweat seeping from his temples, Wuliji stepped forward with an even deeper frown: "You... are you feeling unwell?"

He wondered: was that bowl still too cold? Or did I add too much honey? Or... did he really overeat?

Cheng Ge stared at Wuliji's face so close to his own, feeling a chill shoot from the soles of his feet straight up to the top of his head.

He strained the corners of his mouth, trying to squeeze out a smile, and let out a few dry, forced laughs.

"Ha... haha... So it's General Wuliji after all..."

Cheng Ge's voice was airy and unsteady, laced with exaggerated politeness. "Truly... I've heard your name thunder in my ears..."

As he spoke, he subtly observed Wuliji's reaction.

Praise him, praise him to death! Nobody hits a smiling face—that's a universal truth, past and present!

Wuliji was taken aback by this sudden flattery and the strange laughter, his mismatched eyes clearly reflecting Cheng Ge's smile, which looked worse than a grimace.

Far from being flattered, he instead leaned even closer toward Cheng Ge, his gaze locking tightly onto his eyes, and asked, "You... remember me?"

Cheng Ge's heart skipped a beat, and the fake smile on his face nearly cracked.