“You forgot this.”
It was the silk band he had once used to cover his face…the one that had also been used to bind him.
Xie Lian wobbled down the mountain alone.
Day had already broken. The sun had come out, but Xie Lian didn’t feel warm at all when it shined on him.
On his way down the mountain, he saw a little trickling stream, clear and lively. He approached the stream’s banks. The water reflected his appearance. Xie Lian stared at his pale face.
The face was smooth and fair without a single cut to be seen. The neck was the same, which meant the chest and the abdomen and other places were all healed. He only looked for a while before he couldn’t bear the sight any longer. Lowering his head, he cupped some stream water in his hands to wash his face and drink a few mouthfuls. He drank and drank…until he happened to notice something nearby.
Slowly, he looked up. Not far upstream, there was a corpse lying on the shore, slumped next to a giant boulder. Judging by the clothes, it was the corpse of the buff street performer.
The man hadn’t descended the mountain—he’d died on the road. There was a particularly obvious bloodstain on the giant boulder—whether from pain or fear, it looked like he had smashed himself against it until he died. The corpse was already rotten and emitted a foul stench. Half of the body was soaking in the water of the stream. Although the body didn’t move, the little deformed faces growing on its half-rotten face were still squirming.
Xie Lian knelt by the stream and puked his guts out for over an hour, heaving until blood came up.
After descending the mountain, he walked through the city for a long time, aimlessly wandering the main streets without a destination in mind. Suddenly, a hand gripped his shoulder and yanked him into an alley. Xie Lian looked around and saw an incoming fist before he even glimpsed the other’s face.
“Where did you run off to for so long?!”
Behind the fist was Feng Xin’s furious expression, but by the time Xie Lian saw, he’d already been knocked to the ground by the punch.
Feng Xin hadn’t expected to knock him down so easily. Confused, he looked at his own fist, then at Xie Lian on the ground. Before he could think to help him up, Xie Lian had already crawled back up by himself. Feng Xin’s face changed, but in the end, his temper was still flaring.
“You’ve got such an attitude! Dropping only a word before running away and disappearing for two months! Do you know how worried Their Majesties have been?!”
Xie Lian wiped away the splattered blood on his face from his nosebleed. “I’m sorry.”
Seeing that he was making things worse by wiping, Feng Xin heaved a heavy sigh.
“Your Highness! Forget it with the apology, there’s no need between us. But you… What happened to you? Why were you gone for so long? Can’t you tell me?” He noticed the black sword hanging at Xie Lian’s waist. “And where did you get that sword?”
Xie Lian wanted to tell him. But then he remembered the argument he’d had with Feng Xin before he left, and the doubtful expression on Feng Xin’s face—and that brought to mind the experience he never wanted to think about again. So he just repeated, “I’m sorry.”
The two returned to the hideout, and when the queen saw Xie Lian, she hugged him and wept. The king looked like he’d aged quite a bit again—before, it was a matter of finding white hair among the black, but now it was a search for black strands among all the white. However, he wasn’t blowing his top for some reason, and he only spoke a few words before falling silent. The three of them were probably afraid that Xie Lian would run away for another two months if he was provoked again, so they were very careful with their words and gestures around him.
***
“Feng Xin.”
After a meal so simple it was crude, Xie Lian untied the black sword on his waist and passed it over.
“Take this sword. Pawn it.”
Feng Xin noticed that the hand holding the sword was shaking, but he couldn’t guess what was causing it. “Why?”
“Didn’t you ask for money before?” Xie Lian said.
A flash of hurt suddenly crossed Feng Xin’s face, and he shook his head soon after. “I don’t need it anymore.”
Xie Lian didn’t speak another word. He tossed the black sword to the side and stopped caring about it, then he flopped over and fell asleep.
When Xie Lian came back this time, he tried to act like nothing had happened in the hope that everything would return to normal as soon as possible—in the hope that he could return to the person he once was.
Soon, he and Feng Xin went out to perform in the street. Feng Xin was still worried at first and told him, “Forget it, just rest for a couple more days.”
“I’ve already rested for almost two months,” Xie Lian said. “If those street performers keep coming to cause trouble, it’ll be easier to handle it with two people.”
“They stopped coming a while ago,” Feng Xin explained.
It wasn’t because the buff street performer had died and there was no one to lead but because Feng Xin had been settled here for a while now. When he first arrived, everyone had regarded him as a novelty. But that novelty had worn away with the passage of time, and watching him was now no different from watching the other local buskers. Feng Xin had lost his competitive edge, and the other street performers stopped looking for trouble now that he wasn’t a threat. Since everyone made about the same amount of money, it was fine.
But now, no matter how hard Feng Xin shot his arrows, no matter how expert his skill, the audience, and the reward they paid for his efforts, was less than half of what it once was—in fact, it was less than ten percent. After working for over half the day, Feng Xin was exhausted and sweating profusely as he sat down on the roadside.
“Let me go up,” Xie Lian said.
“Nah, don’t worry about it,” Feng Xin replied.
However, Xie Lian didn’t bother listening to him. The passersby became interested again at the sight of a new face.
“And what special skills do you have, lad?”
Xie Lian didn’t respond. He picked up a branch and started to perform a swordplay routine. Though he wielded a mere branch, the technique was beautifully performed, and the sound of wind being cut carried the sharpness of the sword’s intent. A few audience members did him the honor and cheered. Feng Xin looked on from one side, his expression complicated. He only watched for a bit before he turned his gaze away.
Xie Lian didn’t feel shame at all, nor did he feel any burden. He just kept deliberately and gracefully swinging his branch.
Suddenly, someone in the crowd began to jeer. “It’s so boring! What a pathetic act! Who wants to watch you fucking poking around blindly with a tree branch?!”
Feng Xin immediately jumped to his feet and shouted, “You watch your language!”
Xie Lian faltered and looked over. There was a man in the crowd who was munching on a melon and spitting out the seeds—he was obviously there to watch a show.
“This ancestor’s here to watch a street performance! I’ll say whatever I wanna say. You’re here to earn our reward, so what do you care what I say?” the man yelled back at Feng Xin. “Switch to a real sword! Use a real one and granddaddy will consider granting you some seeds!”
As soon as he started yelling, others in the audience followed suit. Feng Xin was furious and just about to strike out when a white shadow flashed past.
Xie Lian was already standing next to the heckler. He grabbed the man and threw him high into the air.
The strength he exhibited was incredible, and the heckler’s melon rinds tumbled to the ground as he was thrown meters away. The crowd was left to gape in open-mouthed shock. The man landed with a heavy thud, bleeding from his orifices and screaming horribly.
However, Xie Lian wasn’t done, and he went over to seize the man once again. His voice was flat and emotionless. “There are no real swords here, but I can really take your life. Do you want to see that act?”
