Chapter 51: Feeding Medicine Part 1

Wei Tingxia frowned upon hearing this. “What does his illness have to do with me?”

Fu Chi had always admired this life creed that even if you poked a hole in the sky, it was someone else’s fault, and Wei Tingxia embodied it to the fullest extent.

But he dared not believe it and confirmed once more. “You really don’t know?”

The back-and-forth questions annoyed Wei Tingxia. He was already feeling unwell, and now he had to listen to this madman spout nonsense.

“Fu Chi, I’m about to die,” he said bluntly. “If I keep burning like this, even if I wake up next time with my life intact, I’m afraid my lifespan will be damaged. Can you stop wasting time here?”

With that, Wei Tingxia set the cup back on the table, placed his hands over his abdomen, and slowly raised his head, his gaze landing straight on Fu Chi.

It was night, and the candlelight in the tent was dim. Occasionally, wind blew in, making the flames flicker, casting swaying shadows that obscured facial features.

Fu Chi noticed Wei Tingxia’s gaze. Looking down from above, he could only make out a pair of flamboyant eyes with hidden glimmers amid the dark haze, like fine blades curving a crescent moon.

Wei Tingxia’s pupils were blacker than ink pellets. Under normal light, they seemed demonic, and just above his left eyebrow was a perfect break, as if a bodhisattva’s overly lowered brow had spawned a crack.

The association was sacred, yet it scratched an incessant itch in one’s heart.

Fu Chi clearly realized that Wei Tingxia was truly ill now, without the high spirits of two years ago. His speech and breathing carried a sickly fatigue, his eyelids slightly drooped, veiling occasional dazed, watery gazes.

Even the knife-cut broken brow took on a seductive charm that seemed within easy reach.

Unconsciously, Fu Chi reached out and pressed his thumb firmly on Wei Tingxia’s broken brow, rubbing it intentionally or not.

“When you weren’t awake, I wanted to throw you outside. Now that you’re awake, I feel it’s a bit of a pity to return you to Yan Xinfeng…”

Under someone’s control, Wei Tingxia showed no impatience in his brows or eyes; instead, he smiled.

“What do you mean ‘return’?” he asked. “Am I an object?”

Fu Chi shook his head meaningfully. “You’re worth more than an object.”

Unfortunately, Wei Tingxia was barely clinging to life with the medicinal soup and couldn’t withstand vigorous activity. Fu Chi didn’t want to stir up more trouble either. After a fond caress, he withdrew his hand, his eyes filled with regret.

“Tomorrow, the Profound North Army should send someone. Mr. Wei had better truly be that valuable, or else when I descend to the underworld, you’ll have to follow at my side.”

With that, Fu Chi turned and left briskly.

Once the tent flap closed, Wei Tingxia remained motionless for a moment. After three breaths, he slowly stood, walking to the bed with halting steps.

Without warning, he collapsed, his entire body going limp.

“Help me note it down,” he said with eyes closed, using his last strength to instruct System 0188. “I’m going to chop him up and feed him to the fish, into pieces the size of fingernail caps!”

[I noted it down,] System 0188’s voice rarely carried discernible panic. [Just close your eyes and don’t think anymore.]

The medicinal soup had revived his consciousness but destroyed his body even more. The original 168-hour repair time would likely extend. Moreover, if Wei Tingxia’s vital energy dispersed midway, no matter how effective the system program was, it would all be for naught.

These would probably be their most difficult days in this mission world.

…

The next day, the Profound North Army indeed sent someone—Pei Zhou.

Pei Zhou was the Marching Sima and vanguard commander of the Profound North Army, holding an extraordinary position in Yan Xinfeng’s heart. His personal arrival showed how much Yan Xinfeng valued this matter.

Fu Chi received him at the camp gate.

“General Pei, still as impressive as ever. Did you sleep well last night?”

Pei Zhou sneered. “Like hell I did!”

He hadn’t slept a wink, racking his brains on how to clean up this mess.

Pei Zhou didn’t want to waste words. He sat in a chair and got straight to the point. “Our army retreats thirty li. You return Wei Tingxia intact.”

He was direct, leaving no room for negotiation. Fu Chi’s eyes turned, but he didn’t agree immediately. “General is straightforward, but Mr. Wei can’t handle the bitter cold of the border and the fatigue of travel by carriage. His health isn’t great. Should we let him rest in our army for a few days?”

Rest? If he stayed here a few more days, the Profound North Army would retreat all the way to Chang’an.

That bastard Yan Xinfeng only cared about fighting and demanding people, ignoring negotiations entirely. He should be sent here to eat some sand.

“Rest can be anywhere, and I wasn’t finished earlier,” Pei Zhou continued. “Two months ago, you came to the border to stir trouble, forcing us to fight. We lost soldiers, horses, and grain—a complete disaster! As the instigator, you must compensate us with 500 warhorses.”

At these words, not only Fu Chi but even the generals guarding outside choked and coughed in shock.

Had Pei Zhou gone mad? That was 500 warhorses! Five hundred!

“You’ve seen our state. Where do I get that many warhorses?” Fu Chi’s brows furrowed. “Pei Zhou, don’t push your luck!”

“Push my luck?”

Pei Zhou sneered. “Who was it that traded one life for the entire army’s? Doesn’t your Shuo Kingdom produce warhorses? What’s 500?”

Fu Chi was so angry he nearly couldn’t breathe.

“Pei Zhou, impossible!” he shouted. “Isn’t Yan Xinfeng all lovey-dovey with Wei Tingxia? Why does exchanging him come with warhorses?”

“Screw your lovey-dovey,” Pei Zhou cursed outright. “He defected on the battlefield, nearly getting Yan Xinfeng killed at Pancuo Pass. Oh right, you were commanding then. Neither of you is any good!”

Mentioning the events from two years ago pleased Fu Chi, but pleasure came at a cost.

Back then, he had severely wounded Yan Xinfeng, leaving the Profound North Army listless for half a year—one of Fu Chi’s greatest achievements. But actions had consequences, and now retribution had arrived.

Fu Chi glanced back at Pei Zhou, who awaited his response. After much hesitation, he said, “Two hundred horses. No more.”

“Fine, two hundred horses plus Wei Tingxia,” Pei Zhou slapped the table. “Sign it!”

Once both sides signed the contract and Pei Zhou pocketed his copy, he asked, “Where’s Wei Tingxia?”

“He’s sleeping,” Fu Chi said. “I’ll go have someone carry him out now.”

The implication was clear enough. Pei Zhou frowned. He had noticed Wei Tingxia’s poor state that day, but hadn’t realized it was this bad.

“Forget it,” he waved it off. “I’ll go see him myself.”

Fu Chi didn’t stop him.

…

…

System 0188 woke Wei Tingxia.

[Someone’s in front of you.]

“…What’s the benefit of speaking so startlingly?” Wei Tingxia asked with eyes closed.

System 0188: [Just wanted to make you more alert. Better than the medicinal soup?]

Not really, but occasional kindness deserved praise, so Wei Tingxia lied. “Very effective.”

Satisfied, System 0188 left. Wei Tingxia opened his eyes and, after a period of hazy daze, made out the visitor.

Pei Zhou.

The Profound North Army had indeed come.

After recognizing him, Wei Tingxia closed his eyes again. He was now like a red-hot coal ball with water dripping on it, liable to cool and shatter into pieces at any moment.

Thus, after a long silence, Pei Zhou spoke. “What does seeing me feel like?”

Wei Tingxia’s lips moved, his voice dry and hoarse like sandpaper scraping. “As expected.”

“You knew I’d come?” Pei Zhou’s tone carried scrutiny.

“More or less,” Wei Tingxia replied, still with eyes closed and weak breath. “Anyway… Yan Xinfeng won’t.”

The words stabbed like a thorn into the pent-up resentment in Pei Zhou’s heart. He couldn’t help leaning forward, his voice sharpening with sarcasm.

“What? You know you did something guilty and have no face to see him? He probably never wants to see your face again anyway?”

“Not at all,” Wei Tingxia denied flatly. “If he came, Fu Chi would see profit in it and wouldn’t agree to retreat thirty li.”

“How did you know about the thirty li retreat?”

“A guess.”

He really was uncanny, guessing everything.

Pei Zhou stood and approached the bed, scrutinizing him before reaching out to grasp Wei Tingxia’s wrist and check his pulse.

A moment later, he withdrew his hand and brought up yesterday’s matter.

“That shout of yours was quite something—scared off the Profound North Army and saved a life.” He seemed to sigh, but the sarcasm was unmistakable. “Who taught you that?”

“No one. With a knife to my neck, I did what I could to survive,” Wei Tingxia said indifferently. “And look, it brought you here.”

As if Pei Zhou were his slave.

“Fine,” he nodded, knowing further talk was pointless, and stepped back. “Get up. Taking you back to the Profound North.”

Wei Tingxia didn’t move, wary. “What happens after we go back?”

“What happens?” Pei Zhou snapped irritably. “You defected on the battlefield and committed such a grave wrong. Back there, we’ll deep-fry you in oil.”

That sounded bad.

Wei Tingxia said nothing more, slowly sitting up. He draped on a robe and followed Pei Zhou outside with unsteady steps.

He burned all over, dizzy and seeing stars, but Pei Zhou’s strides were huge, not waiting at all. The distance between them grew. By the time Pei Zhou reached the camp gate and looked back, Wei Tingxia was just a small figure.

Walking that slowly?

Pei Zhou stopped to wait, and only after a long time did Wei Tingxia arrive.

He panted with head lowered, trying to steady his heartbeat. Warhorses neighed behind him. Fu Chi hadn’t appeared. To him, it was all humiliation—his life mere dust floating off a knife’s edge, lowly and degrading.

When Wei Tingxia raised his head again, the horses had been led over. Pei Zhou stood there, eyes mocking. “Can you mount up?”

No.

A scorching heat wave surged from his spine to his head. His vision twisted as if splashed with boiling oil. His heavy skull felt filled with molten iron; every slight movement tugged sharp agony.

The walk from the tent to the gate had drained all his strength. Now, even opening his eyes or breathing was an effort.

To others, his alertness might suggest he wasn’t that ill, but Wei Tingxia knew this clarity was abnormal—and that abnormality meant his damage exceeded normal sickness.

The world spun and tilted. Cold sweat dripped from his temple. He moved his lips soundlessly.

At this point, Pei Zhou finally sensed something wrong and hurried to his side. Then he heard Wei Tingxia say, “You… said you’d deep-fry me in oil… right?”

Pei Zhou’s voice tensed suddenly, laced with faint shock and doubt. “What do you mean?”

Wei Tingxia shook his head ever so slightly, as if the motion would exhaust his remaining life force.