Chapter 309: Duel of Sorcery (4)

Zhou Wenchang's last-ditch resistance once again triggered a sizable mudslide.

By the time Zhi Jie and his companions reached the foot of the mountain, they saw a huge fan-shaped swath of earth collapse and slide down. Little Lian Mountain, which had still been mostly intact, was now unrecognizable, the sound of rocks tumbling down unceasing.

At the sight, Wen Huan's legs went weak and he slumped to the ground, his hands bracing against the earth, his whole body shaking.

He crawled forward on his knees a couple of steps: "Brother... eldest brother..."

He had barely crawled two steps when someone yanked him up by the scruff of his neck.

Ru Feng was the one who grabbed him; Zhi Jie was the one who gave the order.

"Help Provincial Graduate Zhou up." Zhi Jie's voice was low, yet carried an unmistakable icy authority. "Keep an eye on him."

Ru Feng had noticed early on that this man had been on edge the whole way, clearly up to something. He answered with a "yes, sir," then saw Zhi Jie take off his outer robe.

He was startled and blurted out: "Master, where are you going?"

Zhi Jie headed toward Little Lian Mountain, now a ruin: "To rescue them."

Ru Feng said urgently: "Master, it's dangerous here—who knows if it could slide again? Don't be hasty—wait here for now..."

Before the words were out of his mouth, from the rubble not far away, a mud-covered hand struggled its way out.

The man wasn't buried deep, and no heavy logs or boulders were pinning him down.

Zhi Jie reached out, firmly gripping that hand reaching out for life, and said without turning his head: "That's an order."

Hearing this, Ru Feng didn't argue further.

While keeping a death grip on Wen Huan, he barked at the dumbstruck yamen runners and attendants: "You all hear me?! Save them! You, you, and the five of you—set up a cordon right away near that crooked tree over there!" He pointed to an area about twice the size of the affected zone. "The barricades are already set up; if that's not enough, space them out and tie ropes between them at intervals—make sure the line is clear! Don't let any civilians get close!"

"Keep your eyes peeled and ears open—the second you hear water, spot new cracks in the mountain, or see trees leaning badly, get the hell out of there!"

Ru Feng's motor mouth, in a situation like this, turned out to be just right.

By the time he finished giving orders, Zhi Jie had already dug the man—who wasn't buried deep—out of the mud.

The man was still conscious, clearly scared out of his mind, coughing and wheezing. In the terror of having just cheated death, he screamed almost on pure instinct: "Help! Help! Zhou Wenchang is trying to kill us!"

Wen Huan snapped out of it, furious and livid, wishing he could kick the man right back into the mud: "You're spewing nonsense! This is clearly an act of nature—what's that got to do with Magistrate Zhou?!"

Only then did the soldier realize Wen Huan was there too. His mind went fuzzy, and he figured these strangers were Wen Huan's lackeys—that he'd walked right into a den of wolves. He shut up immediately, scared stiff.

Zhi Jie wiped the mud off the man's mouth and nose.

He had to keep busy to momentarily push down the searing pain and fear churning in his chest: "Calm down. That censor Wen Ren from the capital—where is he?"

The soldier stole a nervous glance at Wen Huan's face, then spoke in a soft, groveling tone, trying to suck up to Wen Huan so he wouldn't fly into a rage and cost him the life he'd barely managed to keep: "He went up the mountain... I'm afraid... I'm afraid he's done for—it doesn't look good..."

Zhi Jie dumped him to the side.

Bad news. He didn't want to hear that.

The guy had survived, sure, but he was scraped up all over and his shoulder was dislocated.

Zhi Jie acted like he couldn't hear the man's constant cries and wails.

Staring at the wrecked Little Lian Mountain, he said softly, in a dreamy voice: "He's up there. Then I'm going up there."

Ru Feng wanted to say something, but the words caught in his throat. He bit his tongue hard and swallowed the words down with the blood.

"Master, go on ahead without worry—I've got things down here. Be careful!"

...

Zhi Jie picked his way through the muddy woods.

He hiked up his shirt and clamped it between his teeth, letting the pouring rain wash out his wound.

He was really unlucky—he slipped not long after heading up the mountain.

After the disaster, Little Lian Mountain's rocks had broken apart, and sharp rock shards lurked under the mud like fangs.

A sharp rock had sliced a long gash across his belly.

It must've been pretty deep—the blood kept flowing, and it was making him lightheaded.

After walking for a good while, Zhi Jie noticed the bleeding didn't seem right. He lowered his head, with no expression on his face, reached in with his fingers and pried the wound open a little to pull out a piece of rock.

He casually tossed the shard, slick with warm blood, aside.

It clattered and bounced all the way down into the ravine.

Sure enough, the bleeding slowed a bit.

Zhi Jie picked up the pace.

Along the way, he spotted half a hand sticking out of the mud, fingers curled like claws, clawing uselessly at nothing, as if trying to grab one last lifeline.

Zhi Jie crouched down, looked at the two fingers sticking out of the ground, and breathed a small sigh of relief.

Not his teacher.

This guy apparently knew a thing or two about surviving disasters—knowing that if you can't outrun a mudslide, your best bet is to run up the slopes on either side of the flow.

But his legs weren't fast enough. Whether he was a step too slow or got hit by a falling rock, he didn't make it and got swallowed up.

Still, a life is a life.

Zhi Jie bent down and, following the man's stiff arm, dug out his head and face from the mud.

His face was purple and bloated, no breath left—he was beyond saving.

Zhi Jie got up quickly and didn't give him another thought, letting the loose mud slowly cover him back up.

He'd come back for the body later.

His teacher was the priority.

Zhi Jie came across seven or eight bodies along the way, most of them buried in the mud.

These were all people who had followed Zhou Wenchang up the mountain—some hated him so much they wanted to take him down with them even in death; others figured Zhou Wenchang wouldn't just roll over and die, so following him might be their ticket out. Too bad that in the panic they lost all sense of direction and every last one of them died here.

One body, in fact, Zhi Jie only found because he stepped on it and the feel under his foot was off.

Zhi Jie didn't have time to dig each one out to check, only identifying them by the body parts that were sticking out.

As long as it wasn't his teacher, he could toss them all aside.

But as the search for Le Wuya dragged on with still no sign of him, Zhi Jie grew more and more uneasy.

After a person died, did their face really change that much from when they were alive?

Years ago, when his teacher had died of illness in prison, he'd heard the dreadful news, vomited blood, and fallen sick, missing his last chance to see him.

He'd never seen his teacher's face in death—what if he got it wrong?

So he turned back, knelt down, and dug out each body one by one, ignoring the filth, leaning in to study their faces.

It was in this exact scene that Le Wuya, dragging a limp Zhou Wenchang behind him, came upon Zhi Jie, who was diligently digging up corpses with his back to him.

Through the blurry rain, Le Wuya narrowed his eyes slightly.

Either he, Le Wuya, was missing him too much, or Zhi Jie had gone crazy with longing for him.

He ruthlessly tossed the unconscious Zhou Wenchang aside, the impact making the man grunt even in his stupor.

Le Wuya crept toward the illusion in the rain.

The rain was loud, and with the relentless buzzing in his ears, Zhi Jie didn't hear the footsteps approaching from behind.

...It was really him.

Once he confirmed it, Le Wuya's tense shoulders suddenly relaxed.

He had been full of energy for days without sleep, rushing around, digging pits, laying plans, improvising as needed.

But in this instant, he was suddenly exhausted beyond belief.

He couldn't walk anymore—not one more step.

Pretending he hadn't just been hauling Zhou Wenchang down the mountain, Le Wuya let out a heavy breath, used the back of the kneeling Zhi Jie—who was still digging away—as a cushion, and flopped onto it: "Young master, what are you up to?"

A crow flapped over and landed on its perch, looking mighty entitled.

Zhi Jie's movements froze solid.

Le Wuya couldn't see his expression and cheerfully spouted nonsense: "Young master, I've traveled all the way here and I'm utterly spent. Please, carry me a ways. Your great kindness, I shall remember forever, and repay handsomely in the future."

In the storybooks, mountain ghosts and fox spirits who tricked travelers into carrying them always used this exact spiel.

Zhi Jie turned around, his tone seemingly normal but laced with a tremor: "Really? Any reward I want?"

Le Wuya nodded vigorously: "Really."

Zhi Jie suddenly twisted around, wrapped his arms around Le Wuya's waist, and pressed one hand against the back of his head. The two of them tumbled several times before Zhi Jie ended up on the bottom, shielding Le Wuya tightly against his chest.

He kissed his lips, almost trembling.

The touch was soft and cool, like the skin of a grape, hiding sweet flesh and juice within.

His teacher's taste was pure, clean, and intoxicating.

Le Wuya's lips grew sore from his clumsy, inexperienced kisses.

But he couldn't worry about that now.

Because he distinctly tasted a faint trace of blood in Zhi Jie's mouth.

His heart sank, and he grabbed Zhi Jie's chin, pulling them apart by force.

All around them, the rain thundered on.

Zhi Jie looked at him with pleading eyes, his lashes wet, and a single tear silently rolled down his left cheek.

He knew it was a tear because rain wouldn't burn like that.

Le Wuya's heart melted completely.

He turned his attention to the hem of Zhi Jie's clothes, slipping his fingers inside, moving over his cold yet firm abdomen until he felt the wet, sticky wound—his heart clenched, but he pretended not to notice.

Just from his eyes, Le Wuya knew the wound in his heart was deeper than the one on his body.

The priority now was to heal his heart.

His scorching fingertips circled around Zhi Jie's navel, sometimes light, sometimes heavy, making the skin there grow hot and contract bit by bit, before he asked with a teasing smile: "...Hey now, do you even know how to kiss?"

Zhi Jie leaned over to gaze at him, his breathing growing heavier, his heart screaming wildly in his chest.

Le Wuya stuck out his tongue a little, biting it with his white teeth until it flushed red, then grinned and coaxed him: "Kiss here, bite here, use some force—I like it that way."

Zhi Jie stubbornly resisted: "I can't bite. Teacher... it will hurt."

Le Wuya leaned in to his ear and asked: "Are you still a good boy or not?"

A loud boom rang out beside Zhi Jie's ear.

The tinnitus seemed even worse than before, and his heartbeat was pounding harder too.

He did his duty as a good student, and amid the torrential rain, obediently yet ferociously bit down on Le Wuya's tongue.

Le Wuya had never felt his own body so intensely.

His skin tightened in waves; the rain pouring over it felt like it was falling on a red-hot iron, or like countless fine needles pricking into his flesh, searing his nerves, sending him into an unstoppable dizziness.

A faint, broken moan finally escaped him, impossible to hold back: "Mm..."