Los bandidos de montaña están en movimiento

Capítulo 47

"That's hard to say." He frowned slightly. If they were slow, they might be caught by the assassins. Two of the five people didn't know martial arts, and he was injured. Mo Yan's limited skills were barely enough to protect herself, leaving only Wu Zichu alone. Just as he was worrying, he looked up and saw that Mo Yan had finished his bowl in a few bites. Unusually, she didn't go to get more. Looking at him, she asked, "Do you want some more?"

"This girl really doesn't seem to have any worries at all," Zhan Zhao thought to himself, but what he said aloud was, "Why don't you eat more?"

Mo Yan smiled sweetly at him: "I've already eaten some in the back."

"You actually stole some food?" Ning Jin exclaimed.

"You have to taste the food to check the seasoning before cooking."

Ning Jin was stunned: "You cooked this porridge?"

"If it wasn't me, could it be you?" Mo Yan took Zhan Zhao's bowl, filled it again, and handed it to him.

Remembering that he had just praised her cooking skills, Ning Jin wished he could bite his tongue off. Since he couldn't bite his tongue off now, he could only eat two more bowls of porridge.

After finishing their meal, it was already dark. Wu Zichu and Mo Yan agreed to take turns keeping watch for the first and second halves of the night, and then everyone went to sleep.

The boat bobbed and swayed in the water. Zhan Zhao, who was usually a light sleeper, found it even harder to sleep deeply due to his injury, and his mind was in a state between sleep and wakefulness. He could hear the murmuring of the water outside, distant yet familiar, as if he had returned to the lotus pond that night, floating and sinking in the water.

The lotus stems swayed gently around him, and he couldn't tell if the light before him was from stars or from that person's eyes. The person leaned down towards him, the soft touch of their lips, a small stream of clear, spring-like breath flowing into his body…

Zhan Zhao suddenly woke up.

All around was silent, with only the sound of waves lapping against the side of the boat. Ning Jin, wrapped in a robe, was probably not used to it and was trying to sleep with a frown on his face; Bai Yingyu was already asleep on the narrow couch at the other end; and Mo Yan was half-reclined less than a foot away from him, her arms crossed, sleeping lightly.

He had always thought of her as a child, but for some reason, looking at her sleeping face that night, his mind was unusually chaotic. The way she looked when she was asleep seemed different from when she was awake; there was a faint sadness between her brows, an expression that reminded Zhan Zhao of the night she was afraid of the cicadas chirping.

A few strands of hair fell from her temples, gently brushing against her lips. Zhan Zhao reached out and gently brushed them away. The bloodstains on her face had faded considerably, but there was a very faint crescent-shaped scar near her temple, almost imperceptible without close inspection. It was unclear when she had sustained those injuries. "She's a young lady, after all; how did she end up with so many injuries?" Zhan Zhao sighed softly, tucking the strands of hair behind her ear. This small touch startled Mo Yan awake. Thinking someone had attacked, she opened her eyes, saw it was Zhan Zhao, and then closed them again to sleep.

Zhan Zhao's hand was still hanging in mid-air when he realized his mistake. Recalling his dream, he became angry with himself. He put on his outer robe, slowly moved his injured leg, and stepped out of the cabin to get some fresh air.

Wu Zichu was sitting quietly on the bow of the boat keeping watch when he saw Zhan Zhao come out and said with a smile, "Can't sleep?"

Zhan Zhao nodded helplessly.

You need to rest more because of your injury.

Zhan Zhao nodded again, sat down beside him, and gazed silently at the misty river.

Knowing that he was not a man of many words, Wu Zichu did not provoke him to speak. Instead, he took out a clay xun from his pocket, brought it to his lips and tested the sound a few times, and then began to blow it, making soft, mournful sounds.

He was playing an ancient tune: "The reeds are green, the dew is white as frost."

The one I long for is on the other side of the water.

Going upstream, the road is difficult and long.

I followed the stream upstream, and it seemed to be right in the middle of the water.

...

The sound of the xun was ethereal, simple, and exceptionally clear. The melody was gentle and melodious, lingering and repeating, captivating the listener's soul. Zhan Zhao listened intently, momentarily lost in a daze, as if he had returned to a dream.

Chapter Thirty-Six

The next day, the weather changed. At noon, the sun was still partially obscured by thin clouds, but by the afternoon, the sky was overcast and a strong wind was blowing.

Inside the cabin, everyone could only hear the creaking of the mast, and they were all uneasy. Before long, the boatman came in and apologized, informing them that a major storm was approaching, and that it would be dangerous to continue sailing, so they had to dock and asked them to go ashore to find lodging.

Although unwilling, they had no choice but to obey the boatman's orders as the weather turned against them. The small boat quickly found a spot nearby to dock, and everyone went ashore.

The sky was overcast, and the wind whipped up reeds, lashing at us relentlessly. In the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, the rain began to pour down. Standing on a high hill, looking out through the overwhelming rain, the place was desolate. Although there were a few houses, they were all ruins. There was no place to rest, let alone seek shelter from the rain.

The group had no choice but to continue their search in the rain. After walking about half a mile, they finally saw a thatched hut ahead, with wisps of smoke rising from it, indicating that someone lived there. Overjoyed, they rushed forward and knocked on the door.

The person who answered the door was an elderly woman who was blind. Hearing their kind tone and seeing that they were soaking wet, she welcomed them into the house. Without waiting for Ning Jin to give any instructions, Wu Zichu stepped forward and gave the old woman some loose silver coins, asking her to boil some hot water for them to warm up.

The old woman weighed the silver in her hand, knowing it was a considerable amount, and was quite alarmed. After hesitating for a while, she took out several large pieces of ginger from the basket and said, "The rain is cold, so I'll make some ginger soup for you gentlemen and ladies."

Although everyone's clothes were soaked, fortunately, the lining of their bundles was made of oilcloth, so their spare clothes remained dry. Mo Yan and Bai Yingyu went into the inner room to change before coming out. Zhan Zhao and the others had already changed in the outer room, and Wu Zichu reapplied the dressing to Zhan Zhao's wound.

"How bad are his injuries?" Mo Yan asked Wu Zichu, worried that Zhan Zhao getting wet in the rain would worsen his wounds.

"It's already starting to close up, there's nothing to worry about."

In a short while, the old woman brought out ginger soup, which everyone drank. She then placed a brazier inside the house. The small room was cramped, so everyone simply sat on the floor around the brazier, and gradually felt warmer.

The firelight flickered, and Zhan Zhao noticed that Mo Yan's brows were furrowed and her complexion was not good. He couldn't help but ask, "Are you feeling unwell?"

"My head hurts a little."

He was taken aback by her words, assuming she had caught a fever from the rain. Before he could think further, he placed his hand on her forehead... Mo Yan neither flinched nor flinched, obediently remaining still. Ning Jin, who was standing nearby, caught this scene in his eye, paused for a moment, and then turned his face away.

He felt a slight sense of relief when he touched the cold forehead and lowered his hand: "No fever, you're probably just tired from walking around all night... Is it very painful?"

She frowned and nodded. Ever since she got ashore, her head had been aching, and the pain had been getting worse and worse.

Seeing her pained expression, Zhan Zhao had no choice but to gently massage her temples with his thumbs.

"It hurts..." Mo Yan cried out after only a few rubs, glaring at him pitifully.

"I'll be gentler." Zhan Zhao had no choice but to lighten his pressure even further.

In this situation, not only Ning Jin, but even Wu Zichu and Bai Yingyu were taken aback. Since meeting Zhan Zhao, Wu Zichu had never seen him treat a woman like this. After a moment's thought, a faint smile appeared on his lips.

The old woman brought out a fire poker, which Wu Zichu took and poked at the charcoal ash in the brazier. The flickering firelight cast an eerie glow on everyone's faces.

"Auntie, why are you living alone in this desolate place?" Ning Jin asked.