Chapter 389 Good Morning

Chapter 389: Good Morning

However, Cheng Ge learned extremely quickly. After a few failed attempts, he seemed to have gotten the hang of it.

His movements were still clumsy and unsteady, but the shape of his mimicry slowly started coming together.

Especially his search for the point of force application and his adjustment of bodily coordination showed an almost instinctive sharpness.

He even unconsciously adjusted his grip on the hammer, shifting toward the grip Wuliji had shown him—stable but with room to adjust.

A flicker of surprise, so faint it was almost invisible, crossed Wuliji's eyes.

For a drunk man like Cheng Ge to nail the key points after just one demo and even instinctively tweak his form? That was rare.

This wasn't just smarts—it was an instinct for combat and strength that ran bone-deep.

Cheng Ge got more and more into it. Sweat quickly plastered his hair to his forehead, and his cheeks flushed redder from the effort.

Wuliji watched him for a bit, then turned and headed to the copper stove in the far corner of the tent.

He grabbed the kettle, found it almost empty, and carrying it out, lifted the felt flap and stepped outside to get hot water from the big stove.

When Wuliji came back with the copper kettle full of hot water, Cheng Ge was curled up on the edge of the bed, wrapped in his thick robe, hugging the training hammer to his chest, dead asleep.

The flush on his cheeks hadn't faded, and his damp bangs stuck to his smooth skin.

His long lashes cast a faint shadow beneath his eyes, and his lips were slightly parted. He looked completely defenseless, almost childlike.

Wuliji set the kettle down, walked over, and crouched beside him.

He reached out, meaning to take the hammer from his arms, but even asleep, Cheng Ge held it tight, fingers curled without thinking.

Wuliji didn't force it. Instead, he gently slid one arm under his back and the other under his knees, lifting him up entirely.

Cheng Ge mumbled something in his sleep, nuzzling into Wuliji's neck to get more comfortable, but still didn't let go of the hammer.

Wuliji carefully laid him down and pulled the blanket over him.

This time, Cheng Ge didn't fight it. He was as docile as a kid who'd played too hard and worn himself out.

Wuliji sat on the edge of the bed, watching him, his eyes landing on his damp bangs and slightly furrowed brow.

Almost without thinking, he reached out. His fingertips carried the night's chill and the calluses from years of gripping weapons. Gently, slowly, he brushed across Cheng Ge's damp brow and eyes.

The skin beneath his fingertips was warm and smooth—nothing like cold iron or rough leather. Wuliji's hand froze, then pulled back.

He stood, took one last look at the sleeping Cheng Ge, then glanced at the hammer still clutched in his arms. He turned and walked out of the tent without a sound.

………

Daylight poured in, sunlight streaming through the gaps in the felt curtain and casting bright beams across the tent.

Cheng Ge lay sprawled out on the bed, blanket kicked halfway off, sleeping with zero dignity.

He shifted in his sleep, and his foot kicked something hard at the foot of the bed.

A dull thud—the hammer rolled onto the floor.

Cheng Ge frowned. His eyelids felt glued shut, and he managed to pry them open just a sliver.

His vision stayed blurry for a while before slowly sharpening.

He blinked, propped himself up like a zombie, and looked around in a daze.

The tent was quiet. The stove fire crackled, clearly stoked with fresh charcoal not long ago.

The bedding beside him was flat and cold, no sign anyone had slept there. Wuliji was gone.

He looked down and saw he was still wrapped in his thick robe, though it was a wrinkled mess, with the front hanging open.

At his feet, a hammer lay on the ground—the very culprit he'd just kicked.

Just then, the felt curtain pushed aside, and a Northern Di woman came in carrying a wooden tray.

Seeing he was awake, she smiled and greeted him in broken Great Zhou speech: "Guest, awake? Eat, food."

Cheng Ge, seeing that, felt too awkward to keep lying in bed.

Though his body still felt light, he struggled to his feet, unsteady as he hit the ground.

He picked up the training hammer from the floor, set it by the bed, and walked over to sit at the low table.

The Northern Di were hearty eaters, big on beef and mutton, with pretty rough cooking methods.

But Wuliji, worried he wouldn't be used to it, made sure every meal had both meat and veggies, prepared with a lot more care.

Holding his still-dizzy head, he thanked the woman.

She smiled and shook her head, pushing the soup bowl toward him, signaling for him to eat while it was hot.

Cheng Ge took small sips of the hot soup. The warm liquid slid down his throat, soothing his empty stomach and easing some of the hangover fog.

He slowly "came back to life," and his head didn't hurt as much.

As he drank his soup, his gaze drifted across the empty tent and the training hammer by the bed.

He looked up at the Northern Di woman, who was about to leave, and asked offhandedly, "Uh... Wuliji... where'd he go?"

The woman stopped at the sound of his voice, turned around, and gave him a kind but puzzled smile.

She clearly hadn't understood much, looking at Cheng Ge with a confused expression.

Seeing that, Cheng Ge slowed down, speaking almost word by word, gesturing with his hands and pointing outside the tent.

"Wu—li—ji, that is... your... Chief. He... went... where?"

This time, a look of sudden realization crossed the woman's face: "...Chief!"

This time, a look of realization crossed her face, mixed with Northern Di words Cheng Ge couldn't understand, as she gestured and said:

"Chief... gone, last night... in the night... left. Went... to fight..."

Cheng Ge's hand, holding the soup spoon, paused almost imperceptibly, the stirring coming to a halt.

He lowered his head, picked up the spoon again, and let out a soft "Oh," his voice flat, giving nothing away.

He scooped up a spoonful of soup but didn't bring it to his mouth. Instead, he stared at the rippling oil on the surface and asked, even softer, as if offhand: "Wasn't he... still hurt? Why'd he go fight again?"

The woman's face broke into a helpless smile, one tinged with the familiarity of long habit.

She shook her head and tried to explain in her stiff, broken Great Zhou speech: "This... wound, it's nothing. The Chief, he's had worse before."

She gestured vaguely at herself, indicating where she'd been hurt worse in the past.

"And... if I don't go, no choice. The Khan will be angry. In summer, no good pasture... the tribe's cattle and sheep will go hungry."

Cheng Ge listened quietly, saying nothing more, only slowly sipping the now-lukewarm soup from his bowl.

Sunlight streamed through the gap in the felt curtain, falling upon his lowered eyelashes, casting a faint shadow beneath them.

Seeing that he remained silent, the woman thought he was still worried, so she smiled reassuringly again and said in an even more halting tone:

"Don't worry... the Chief is strong... he'll be back soon."

With that, she picked up the empty tray and slipped out quietly.

The tent fell silent again, and Cheng Ge finished the last of the lukewarm soup.

With nothing to do, he decided to step outside for a stroll, let the cold wind hit him, maybe clear his head.

Having made up his mind, Cheng Ge stood up, straightened his sleep-rumpled outer robe, fastened his sash, and bent down to pull on his boots.

Just as he straightened and was about to head toward the tent flap, a familiar, iron-tinged warmth suddenly flooded his nose.

"Here we go again..." Cheng Ge muttered under his breath, his brow furrowing as he quickly pinched the bridge of his nose out of practiced reflex.

Fortunately, this time it wasn't too severe. He dealt with it quickly and soon stopped the bleeding.

He stepped out of the tent, glanced at the sky—such good sunlight shouldn't be wasted.

He caught a passing Beidi patrol guard and, using simple words and gestures, asked where Zhou Ming was staying.

The young man recognized him, and though they couldn't communicate verbally, he gestured a few times and pointed toward a tent.

Cheng Ge thanked him and strode off toward that tent, chest out, full of swagger.

He hadn't been inside long.

From that crude tent at the edge of the camp came a startled, flustered cry: "A Ge? You..."

Before the words even faded, they were abruptly cut off by a piercing, strangled scream of agony!

"AAAAH—!!!"

The scream was short and sharp, filled with sudden, unbearable pain and shock, instantly shattering the relative calm of the camp's edge.

It startled several nearby tethered horses, making them snort nervously and stamp their hooves.

Then came the dull, rhythmic thuds of flesh being struck—"thump, thump."

Mixed with muffled cries of pain and pleas for mercy, intermittent, suppressed, and pitiful, as if someone had a hand over their mouth or was in too much pain to form coherent words.

The tent's felt flap remained tightly shut, with only the violent flickering of shadows visible within.

The commotion lasted a while, leaving the curious Beidi onlookers exchanging bewildered glances.

After a good while, the teeth-grating sounds of beating and pained whimpers gradually subsided.

The flap was pushed open from within by a hand with prominent knuckles, slightly reddened from the effort.

Cheng Ge stepped out slowly, hands clasped behind his back, looking positively cheerful.

The winter sunlight fell upon him, bathing his face—pale from the previous night's drinking—in a thin layer of gold.

His lips curled up unconsciously into a relaxed, contented smile.

He nodded amiably at the nearby Beidi onlookers, offering a genuinely warm smile.

"Morning, everyone! Had breakfast yet?"

Seeing his harmless, innocent smile, the crowd instinctively shuffled back half a step.

They hastily placed their right hands over their chests, bowed slightly, and lowered their heads even more.

Cheng Ge paid their reaction no mind, and in high spirits, was about to head off and explore elsewhere.

Just then—

"Screech—!" A sharp, piercing cry suddenly rang out from high above, cutting through the frigid winter air, ringing out clearly in everyone's ears.

Cheng Ge paused mid-step and instinctively looked up.

Against the azure sky, a small gray silhouette was circling at breakneck speed, carving smooth, powerful arcs through the air.

A falcon.

The bird was clearly well-trained; after circling a few times, it suddenly changed direction and folded its wings.

Like a gray arrow released from a bowstring, it dove straight toward where Cheng Ge stood!

It moved incredibly fast, cutting through the wind, its sharp talons glinting in the sunlight.

Cheng Ge's pupils contracted, his body tensing instantly, his hand reflexively reaching for the dagger in his sleeve.

Yet, just as the falcon was about to strike his head, it suddenly beat its wings hard, abruptly slowing its dive, the gust from its wings ruffling the stray hairs on Cheng Ge's forehead.

Then, under Cheng Ge's wary and astonished gaze, it flapped its wings a few times, slowing down, and landed steadily on his left shoulder.

Cheng Ge: "...?"

His body froze, and he turned his head slightly to find himself staring directly at the magnificent falcon perched on his shoulder.

The falcon was sizable and had real weight to it, its talons clenched, gripping his thick outer robe firmly but without digging in painfully.

It tilted its head, its sharp, amber eyes studying Cheng Ge.

There was no aggression in its gaze, but rather a peculiar scrutiny—or perhaps, recognition?

It clicked its beak, letting out two low, almost purring sounds.

Then it gently pecked at the fabric on Cheng Ge's shoulder, as if greeting him.

The nearby Beidi onlookers, seeing this, were momentarily stunned, then their faces lit up with sudden understanding.

Cheng Ge's body was rigid with tension, momentarily at a loss as to what was happening.

He thought to himself, what does this big bird want? Did it mistake me for someone else? It can't be some "aerial surveillance" sent by Wuliji, can it?

As if sensing his confusion and stiffness, the falcon shifted its talons slightly on his thick robe, adjusting its position, as if seeking a more comfortable perch.

Then it lifted a claw and held it out in front of Cheng Ge.

Only then did Cheng Ge notice something tied to the edge of the claw's leather sheath with a very fine leather cord.

He squinted and saw it was a small, tightly rolled scrap of parchment.

The falcon let out two low "coo-coo" sounds at him, urgent and insistent, its amber eyes locked on him as if to say, "Take it."

Cheng Ge glanced down, a flicker of unease stirring in his chest.

Instinctively, he reached out, untied the thin leather cord, and took the parchment roll.

Only then did the falcon, satisfied, pull its claw back, settle on his shoulder again, and even preen its chest feathers with its beak.

Cheng Ge held the small roll, feeling the rough texture of the paper against his fingertips.

Turning his back to the Beidi people, who were still craning their necks in curiosity, he gently broke the wax seal and unrolled the paper.

The handwriting on it... was honestly hard to compliment.

The strokes were crooked, the pressure uneven, and characters were missing parts, so he had to guess to make them out.

The paper had only a few words, written with obvious effort: "Grey Cloud follows you. Betrothal gift — Wuliji."

Cheng Ge's fingers twitched almost imperceptibly, the edges of the note turning white under his grip.

Follow him? A betrothal gift?!

When he'd told Wuliji he wanted this bird as a betrothal gift, he was just stalling for time—making up some random excuse.

This dummy! He actually took it seriously! And sent this big bird to follow him?