Hot flashes

The excruciating pain, like a leech clinging to my bone, spread from the back of my right shoulder. Every time my hazy consciousness tried to coalesce, it was shattered by an even stronger dizziness and dull ache.

Zhou Heng felt as if he were floating on a cold, dark seabed, occasionally hearing distant and distorted sounds—the sharp clang of metal clashing, the neighing of warhorses, the agonizing screams of dying people, and the endless howling of wind and snow.

After an unknown amount of time, a relatively smooth, bumpy feeling replaced the fall. What lay beneath me was no longer the cold, blood-stained snow, but a support that undulated rhythmically, carrying body heat and the smell of leather.

A heavy, pungent smell, a mixture of blood, sweat, and rust, lingered around my nose, along with... a unique, crisp, and intensely oppressive odor belonging to a particular person.

He struggled to lift his eyelids slightly, his vision blurry and swaying. What came into view was a swaying dark fabric, thick in texture, embroidered with subtle patterns, and... a jawline with cold, hard lines.

He was being tightly wrapped in a cloak and held horizontally in front of someone's chest, bouncing with the galloping of the warhorse.

The person holding him had arms as steady as a rock, a hard chest, but an unusually heavy and rapid heartbeat that pounded against his eardrums through the armor and clothing.

It's Xiao Jue.

This realization brought a moment of clarity to Zhou Heng's muddled mind.

He wanted to move and speak, but the slightest movement brought a tearing pain to his right shoulder, causing him to groan and cold sweat to instantly bead on his forehead.

"Don't move." Xiao Jue's voice came from above, deeper and hoarser than usual, as if squeezed from the depths of his throat, with a tension that Zhou Heng had never heard before.

Zhou Heng obediently dared not move again, his consciousness becoming somewhat scattered. He could feel the speed at which Xiao Ze was galloping. The wind and snow seemed to have lessened a bit, but they had not stopped, and the icy air brushed against his cheeks.

There seemed to be a lot of hoofbeats following closely, along with suppressed breathing and occasional short commands.

Are they... still on the battlefield? Or have they already broken through? What about King Qi? Did he win the battle?

Countless questions swirled in his mind, but he lacked the strength to ask them. The chill from blood loss and excruciating pain spread from the wound to every part of his body; he felt colder and colder, and his teeth began to chatter uncontrollably.

Seemingly noticing his trembling, Xiao Jue tightened his arms around him, almost wrapping him completely in his cloak, trying to transfer some warmth.

The movement was forceful, yet it also revealed a hint of...clumsy eagerness.

"Hold on." Xiao Jue's voice rang out again, this time very close to his ear, almost whispering, "We're almost there."

Where are we almost? Zhou Heng wondered groggily. Back to the Northern Liang camp? That's so far... Can he hold out until then?

The bumpy ride and the cold continued to torment him.

Just as he thought he was about to lose consciousness again, the warhorse slowed down, and the surrounding sounds became noisy and familiar—the shouts of the Northern Liang soldiers, the groans of the wounded, the cries of the army doctor, and the familiar scent of the camp.

Have they made it back to safety?

Zhou Heng was carefully lifted off the horse. The movement aggravated his wounds, causing another sharp pain and his vision to go black. He felt himself being quickly transferred to a relatively stable stretcher and then carried into a relatively warm tent filled with the smell of herbs.

"Medic!" Xiao Jue's voice rang out from inside the tent, carrying an undeniable authority and a hint of barely concealed anxiety.

Soon, several military doctors wearing blood-stained leather robes surrounded Zhou Heng and deftly cut open the clothes on his shoulders and back that were frozen to the blood.

The cold air stung the wound, and Zhou Heng couldn't help but hiss.

"The arrowhead is embedded in the bone, and it has barbs." An old military doctor's voice rang out gravely. "It needs to be removed as soon as possible, but... its location is precarious, close to the collarbone. The slightest mistake could..."

"I don't care about the danger," Xiao Jue's voice cut him off, cold as ice, "He must be saved. With the best medicine and the safest method."

"Yes, my lord!" The military doctors dared not say another word and immediately began preparations. Hot water, strong liquor, daggers, pliers, needles and thread, wound medicine... one by one, they were quickly brought over.

Zhou Heng was turned over and placed face down on a simple bed covered with thick mattresses. He felt someone vigorously wiping around his wounds with a cloth soaked in strong liquor; the burning pain made his body tense.

"Hold him down." Xiao Jue's voice rang out from above.

Several hands immediately pressed firmly against his shoulders and arms.

"Zhou Heng," Xiao Jue's voice lowered, right next to his ear, "bear with it."

Zhou Heng gritted his teeth and nodded, his temples already soaked with cold sweat.

The old military doctor took a deep breath, heated the long, sharp dagger in his hand over the fire, and then poured strong liquor over it. Then, he firmly gripped the hilt of the dagger and looked at Xiao Jue.

Xiao Jue stood at the head of the bed, one hand on Zhou Heng's uninjured left shoulder, his gaze fixed on the military doctor's movements, his jawline taut.

The tip of the dagger carefully probed into the rolled-up flesh.

"Ugh—!" Zhou Heng suddenly tilted his head back, his neck veins bulging, his teeth sinking deep into his lower lip as he tasted the blood.

It was an indescribable, deep-seated pain, clearer and more persistent than the instantaneous impact of being shot with an arrow, as if something was churning inside the bones.

His body began to tremble violently and uncontrollably, and the hands holding him down tightened their grip.

Xiao Jue's hand on his shoulder tightened suddenly, his knuckles turning white.

The old military doctor had sweat on his forehead, but his movements were unusually steady and his eyes were focused.

He had to avoid vital tendons and blood vessels, peeling away the bits of flesh caught on the barbs bit by bit, searching for the angle at which the arrowhead would embed itself.

Time stretched out endlessly amidst the excruciating pain.

Zhou Heng's vision blurred, his ears rang, and he could barely hear anything around him except his own heavy, suppressed breathing and the chattering of his teeth. Cold sweat soaked through the mattress beneath him.

Just as he felt he was about to faint from the pain, the old army doctor suddenly stopped, then pulled outwards with extremely slow and steady movements—

"puff!"

With a soft click, the arrowhead, still covered in flesh and blood, finally detached from its bone, was picked up by pliers, and tossed into the copper dish beside it with a crisp "clang," still covered with bits of flesh and blood.

Zhou Heng's body suddenly relaxed, as if all his strength had been drained away. He collapsed, panting heavily, seeing stars before his eyes, and didn't even have the strength to cry out in pain.

"Quickly! Hemostatic powder! Wound medicine! Prepare the branding iron!" the old military doctor ordered urgently.

The scorching hot iron, smelling of burning, was brought close to stop the bleeding and prevent ulceration as quickly as possible, but the pain...

Zhou Heng closed his eyes, preparing to face the next round of torture.

However, the expected burning pain did not come immediately.

He felt a hand gently cover his sweaty forehead, the palm warm and calloused, the movement somewhat stiff, yet strangely soothing his extremely tense nerves.

It was Xiao Jue's hand.

"Use the best hemostatic powder and muscle-regenerating ointment to carefully bandage it," Xiao Jue's voice rang out, drowning out the army doctor's movement as he prepared the branding iron. "No need for the branding iron."

The military doctor paused for a moment, then said, "My lord, this wound is so deep that the bone is visible. If we don't use a branding iron or pour boiling oil on it, it risks festering and becoming infected. If it develops a high fever..."

"Do as I say." Xiao Jue's tone left no room for argument. "Use the best medicine, change the dressing three times a day, and observe him carefully. If anything happens to him," he paused, his voice turning cold, "you know the consequences."

The military doctors, trembling with fear, quickly agreed, rapidly and gently cleaning the wound, sprinkling it with a pungent hemostatic powder, applying a cool and sticky tissue-regenerating ointment, and finally wrapping it layer by layer with clean linen.

Throughout the entire process, Xiao Jue's hand never left Zhou Heng's forehead, only occasionally using his fingertips to gently wipe away the cold sweat that kept seeping from his forehead.

After the wound was bandaged, the old military doctor gave Zhou Heng a bowl of scalding hot, extremely bitter soup, saying it was to dispel wind and cold and prevent the wound from getting hot.

A warm current slid down his esophagus, bringing a touch of comfort, but also an even heavier drowsiness. Zhou Heng's eyelids grew heavier and heavier, and his consciousness began to blur again.

Just before he fell into a deep sleep, he vaguely heard Xiao Jue asking the military doctor something in a low voice. His tone was still cold and hard, but it revealed a hint of tension that was not easily detected.

Then there was the sound of Chen Zhen entering the tent to report, seemingly mentioning "the defeat of the King of Qi," "the capture of the central army's banner," and "the ongoing pursuit and annihilation of the remaining enemy forces"...

Won?

The thought flashed through Zhou Heng's mind, only to be swallowed up by the boundless darkness.

Before losing consciousness, the last thing I felt was that the hand on my forehead seemed to linger for a moment before slowly moving away.