Chapter 225 — The Wound
The Sword Questions the Heavens · Page 4 of 6
Ming Li had still not woken. By the pale blue glow of Tianxuan, his face could be seen to be ghastly white, like a dead man's, and his expression was one of unalloyed agony; but for the faint rise and fall of his chest, it might almost have been an illusion. At that moment he was cradled in Lu Xueling's arms, and Tianxuan gave off its light quietly, propping open a small, narrow space around the two of them, its invisible power fending off the raindrops.
And not far in front of them, the monkey Xiao Hui had lost its usual liveliness and sat quietly on the ground. The rain falling from the sky soaked its fur, and now and then drops ran down its face and body and dripped to the earth. A cold gust of wind came, and all three of Xiao Hui's eyes blinked; as though feeling the chill, it edged quietly a little closer to Ming Li's body.
Lu Xueling raised her head in silence and glanced at Xiao Hui, then reached out and gently lifted it into the halo of Tianxuan's light, letting it lie upon Ming Li's body. Xiao Hui looked at Lu Xueling and gave a soft "cheep cheep cheep cheep," then its head drooped slowly again and came to rest against Ming Li's chest. Its head turned to one side, its eyes fixed on the spot not far ahead, on the quiet body of Tian Buhui.
A dream? A vision!
It had seemed a distant, drawn-out dream, yet there was not a trace of joy in it, for when one reached the end, one found it had been a nightmare all along.
Ming Li's body stirred, and the grief on his pale face seemed to deepen a little. A moment later, with a groan of pain, he slowly came to.
There was light before his eyes, a pale blue radiance drifting and curling gently around him.
There were sounds all around, the sounds of wind and rain—wind blowing, rain beating, wind and rain sighing.
Xiao Hui, leaning against Ming Li's chest, suddenly sat up straight and looked at him.
Once more the cold wind blew past.
Ming Li trembled slightly. Then he saw Lu Xueling's gaze, that face as pale as his own—the only one keeping him company on this night of wind and rain.
The corner of Ming Li's mouth quivered faintly.
The pain in his chest had eased a great deal. Ming Li glanced down at it and saw seven or eight strips of white cloth of varying widths wrapped around his chest, plainly torn hastily from clothing. His mind was clearing by degrees now, and he soon realized that the broken bones at the wound on his chest had all been set one by one. Only, the force of that palm strike from Tian Buhui had been truly extraordinary; the meridians throughout his body had been shaken and injured, and even with Lu Xueling's ministrations afterward, he would likely need many days of convalescence before he recovered.
At that thought, he turned his eyes instinctively, and very soon he saw the master who had raised him to manhood. Ming Li did not speak; it seemed he had not even the strength to speak. In the wind and rain, Tian Buhui's face was spattered with droplets, lying silently in the filthy mud.
Who could have known it would come to this after his death?
A low, hoarse cry rose in his throat. Ming Li rolled out of Lu Xueling's arms and fell into the mud, then struggled to crawl toward Tian Buhui's body. Lu Xueling was startled and instinctively reached out to hold him back, but as her hand touched his body she heard Ming Li say softly, "Don't pull me."
Lu Xueling stood woodenly where she was and slowly drew back her outstretched hand. Her eyes rested on Ming Li and followed him without cease as he left the halo of Tianxuan's light and crawled, step by painful step, toward Tian Buhui's body. The wind and rain came on without mercy, bitter and biting, and soon soaked him through; along the way the muddy slush splashed all over his body.