劍問蒼天 - 第175章 禪室 - 清風書屋

Thunder, lightning, fierce wind, torrential rain—it seemed they had been howling ceaselessly at his ear all along, and his mind was so muddled, so benumbed, that he could no longer tell who he even was. Only in the midst of searing pain did he feel gust after gust of wind and rain sweeping past him, bearing on toward some unknown place.

Someone seemed to be speaking beside him, a voice rather unfamiliar, carrying a note of anxiety; faintly he heard: "Something's wrong with him—look, quick!"

A cold hand moved over his body, probing, and after a moment a startled voice said: "How did he get hurt this badly?"

The other snapped angrily: "What do you think, he was under the Slaying Immortals sword—do you suppose..."

He did not catch what followed, for just then a wave of dizziness broke over his head and nearly knocked him senseless; through the haze he could only vaguely sense that the sky was still rumbling, peal after peal of thunder.

The one beside him seemed startled and hurried to examine him; the chill of that hand cleared his head a little, and he heard the man say urgently: "This is bad—his forehead's burning hot, I fear it's a high fever..."

So he had a fever too?

That was Ming Li's last thought; after it, he blacked out again and knew nothing more.

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A burst of rumbling roused him from unconsciousness, and his first thought was that it was still the thunder pealing across the sky. Yet somehow, though his mind had cleared a little, all before him remained pitch-black; he fought to open his eyes and look about, only to discover with a shock that his lids were still shut fast—he could not open them.

Then a sharp pain came, not from the grievous wound in his chest but from his throat; instinctively he moved his mouth and rasped out, hoarse and faint:

"Water..."

There seemed to be no one around, only himself lying helpless and alone on the ground, the thirst in his throat growing worse and worse, like a fire burning. His lips moved slightly, and strength he did not know he had stirred his body a little; the awareness in his mind seemed to sharpen somewhat as well.

"Ah!" Suddenly a voice came from nearby—unlike the usual run of voices, yet one he seemed to have heard before, faintly familiar—and with a note of delight it cried: "He's awake, senior brother, come quick, he's awake..."

All at once the surroundings fell quiet; a moment later footsteps hurried near and came to a stop before Ming Li. Ming Li struggled to open his eyes once more, but somehow this time all the strength in his body had utterly gone; he could only dimly make out two figures crouched at his side, and behind them what seemed several more dark shapes. As for their faces, he could not make out a single one.

"Water..." he said again, low.

This time those around him understood:

"Quick, fetch water, hurry."

Feet pattered to and fro; in a moment someone came running, and a cool hand gently lifted his head while the rim of something like a bowl was pressed to his lips.

Cool water touched his cracked lips; the muscles of Ming Li's face twitched, and with an effort he opened his mouth and drank, mouthful by mouthful. The clear water went down his throat like sweet spring rain on parched earth, easing at once that burning agony.

Ming Li's heart eased, and at once a wave of weariness came over him—and he sank once more into a deep sleep.

Those beside him were startled; someone came at once to feel his pulse, and after a moment let out a breath: "Nothing to fear. His wounds are too severe, and with the fever besides, his strength is utterly spent—but there is no danger to his life now."

At these words the figures around him seemed to breathe easier; then someone, gazing at Ming Li, sighed softly.

********