Chapter 453 Owes Me a Drink

Chapter 453: A Drink You Owe Me

Cheng Ge didn't pay him any mind. Wuliji reached out and grasped his wrist.

That hand was ice-cold, but the grip was still shockingly strong. "Yu... Li."

Cheng Ge looked up. Wuliji gazed at him, those eyes burning bright in the dim hall.

Firelight slipped through the cracks in the door, throwing the simple, honest expression beneath the blood on his face into sharp relief.

"You don't look so good," he said.

Cheng Ge went still for a second. Wuliji reached out and touched his face with those blood-soaked fingers.

The hand was cold, but the fingertips were scorching hot. Cheng Ge swallowed hard.

He wanted to say no, to say it was nothing, to say he was talking nonsense.

But looking into Wuliji's eyes, he couldn't get a word out.

Those eyes were too bright—so bright they seemed to see right through him.

The pounding on the hall doors grew more frantic.

"BANG—!" Another deafening crash. The cracks in the door split wider.

Cheng Ge shut his eyes for a moment. He let go and stood up.

"You lot," he called to the brocade guards nearby.

They came over.

Cheng Ge pointed toward the rear of the hall. "Go out the back. Get him to safety. Find a chance to leave the palace—there are people waiting outside."

Wuliji levered himself up with his blade.

That heavy-bladed saber was slick with blood, but he still held it, gripping it tight.

"To... gether."

Cheng Ge turned and walked to him, standing before Wuliji.

That face was a mess of blood and grime, but those eyes were the same—like they were trying to carve his image into bone.

A smile flickered across Cheng Ge's face.

It was a small smile, full of tenderness and resignation.

"Fool," he said.

Cheng Ge turned and walked to the low table in the middle of the hall. A pot of tea and a few cups happened to be sitting there.

He poured two cups and brought them back, crouching in front of Wuliji.

"Sharing one meal, drinking from one cup," he said in a low voice. "In Great Zhou wedding customs, a couple drinks the nuptial cup together."

He held out one cup.

"Too bad there's no wine here." He looked up at Wuliji. "Today I'll use tea instead of wine and complete this rite with you."

Wuliji looked down at the cup, staring at it for a long time.

"If I drink this," he said hoarsely, "we're married?"

Cheng Ge nodded. "Mm-hmm."

Wuliji took the cup. His hand was shaking slightly, and a few drops of tea spilled onto Cheng Ge's hand.

Cheng Ge raised his cup to his lips and took a sip.

He set it down and reached for the cup in Wuliji's hand.

Wuliji handed it over. Cheng Ge took it and passed him his own cup.

Wuliji looked from the tea in his hand to Cheng Ge.

Cheng Ge was already drinking from his cup.

Wuliji lowered his head and downed the rest of the tea in one go.

The tea was a little bitter going down. He set the cup down and looked at Cheng Ge, who was watching him.

The pounding on the hall doors got louder.

Wood splinters were starting to fall. Firelight pushed through the cracks in the door, throwing long shadows across the floor.

Cheng Ge suddenly reached out and took Wuliji's face in his hands.

That face was still a mess of blood and grime, and those eyes were still the same—like they were trying to burn his image into bone.

Cheng Ge leaned in and kissed his forehead.

It was feather-light, like a dragonfly skimming the water.

Wuliji went still.

Cheng Ge pulled back a little, his thumb brushing the corner of Wuliji's mouth.

"Having drunk this cup of tea," Cheng Ge said, "from the highest heavens to the deepest underworld, you're mine."

Light and shadow flickered and wove between them. The smell of blood hung in the air.

Wuliji stared at him, his lips moving, but only a muffled noise came out.

Three breaths.

Five.

Wuliji's eyelids started to droop.

He blinked hard, trying to stay awake, but sleepiness washed over him like a tide, impossible to fight.

He looked at Cheng Ge, his eyes full of confusion and bewilderment.

"You..."

Cheng Ge knelt there before him, holding his face, watching the light fade from his eyes little by little, watching his body slowly tilt forward.

Cheng Ge caught him as he fell.

The body was heavy, carrying the scent of blood and body heat. Cheng Ge held him, burying his face into his shoulder.

The pounding against the hall doors grew louder, but in that moment, it was quiet.

So quiet that only two heartbeats remained.

One beat. Then another.

Cheng Ge moved Wuliji to a corner at the back of the hall, where a few wooden crates were piled, covered in dust.

He propped Wuliji against the wall, then dragged several more crates over, concealing him completely.

Before he left, he paused and glanced back at the pile of crates.

Then he turned, walked to the window, and pushed it open a crack.

The night wind rushed in, carrying the scent of blood and burning.

He pulled a slip of paper from his chest, wrote something on it in blood, then tucked it into the leg band of the falcon Grey Cloud.

"Go." He patted Grey Cloud's wing, and the falcon launched into the air, vanishing into the night.

Cheng Ge watched it disappear, then turned and walked back to the center of the hall.

He picked up the blade from the ground, pulled a cloth from his chest, and wiped the blood off the blade slowly.

The pounding at the hall doors grew more urgent, splinters of wood raining down.

Cheng Ge looked up at the door about to give way, and tightened his grip on the blade.

...

The hall doors were pulled open, and firelight flooded in.

Outside, a tide of armored soldiers had already surrounded them.

Blades like a forest, torches like an ocean, sealing off the entire Wuji Hall completely.

Waves of heat rolled in with the stench of blood, choking and almost blinding.

"Kill—!" A figure in bright yellow robes roared, charging into that tide of men.

Blades clashed, blood sprayed three feet.

He slit the throat of the foremost man with one stroke, then spun and cut down another.

Around him, men fell one after another, and more stepped in. The guards grew fewer, the encirclement tighter.

His body was covered in countless wounds, blood streaming down his arms, every step leaving a bloody print.

The bright yellow dragon robe was soaked in blood, its original color unrecognizable.

Another soldier lunged at him.

He sidestepped, his blade slicing across the man's throat. Blood gushed out, splattering onto the black cloth, spreading into a dark stain.

Before that man even fell, he had already turned to the next one. He had lost count of how many he had killed.

His arms were no longer his own—moving mechanically, rising, falling, thrusting, withdrawing.

His palms were split, blood and the blade's grip fused together, flesh and iron indistinguishable.

"Surround him! Surround him!"

Someone was shouting, the voice distant, as if muffled by water.

He couldn't tell who was shouting, he could only see those dark figures surging forward again.

Cheng Ge gripped his blade tightly. Behind the black mask, the killing intent in his eyes had reached its peak.

He looked up at the night lit by flames ahead.

"Fall back to Zhongzheng Hall!"

He had to hold these men off, to buy Zhou Zhan and the others enough time.

The surviving soldiers behind him said nothing, only silently closing in, guarding his flanks.

They fought as they retreated.

Every step landed on a corpse, and with every step, someone fell.

Those dark armored soldiers surged like a tide, no matter how many he killed, more came.

Cheng Ge had already gone through three blades, each one drenched in blood.

His vision began to blur.

The poison's effects intensified, that sweet, metallic taste rising in his chest. He clenched his jaw and swallowed it back down.

Can't fall, not yet.

Another blade came slashing. He dodged to the side, thrusting his blade through the man's throat.

But in that instant, an arrow flew in from the side, straight for his chest.

He had no time to dodge. In that very moment—

A figure shot forward like lightning, throwing himself in front of Cheng Ge, arms spread wide.

In that instant, arrows fell like rain.

They came from every direction, piercing his chest, his shoulder, his abdomen.

Blood burst from his body, splattering onto Cheng Ge's chest, burning hot.

Cheng Ge instinctively caught him. The man lay in his arms, his eyes still open.

His lips moved, blood seeping from the corners of his mouth, his words muffled.

Cheng Ge looked at that face.

It was a young face, stained with dried blood, looked to be about sixteen or seventeen, still carrying an unweathered youthfulness.

He suddenly felt a flash of recognition, as if he had seen this face somewhere before.

"Sir... heh... you still owe me a drink..." The man's voice came out in broken fragments, "Do... do you still remember..."