"Sir—"
Of the two soldiers Zhai Huan had assigned, one was driving the carriage while the other was tending Captain Yang's wounds inside. When he looked up and saw Qi Shan vomiting blood, he was so frightened his soul nearly flew out of his body. Everyone was injured, and there wasn't a single capable person left to hold things together...
How were they supposed to escape?
Qi Shan's face was faintly blue. The young man had already looked somewhat frail, and now he seemed all the more heartbreakingly fragile. He raised a hand to wave the soldier off, then took a white handkerchief from his sleeve and, slowly but firmly, wiped the foul blood from the corner of his mouth and his palm.
He quietly took a breath.
He suppressed the pain that came with breathing.
In a calm voice, he said, "It's nothing, just a minor injury."
The soldier hesitated, wanting to speak.
He was injured badly enough to turn blue and cough up blood...
How could that possibly be called a "minor injury"?
He was wondering whether he ought to urge him to rest when the young gentleman reminded him, "Don't mention my injury to anyone. Things are precarious right now; telling people would only make them worry..."
The soldier was an honest man, steady and taciturn.
"Yes, I know. I definitely won't tell anyone!"
Qi Shan gave a weak nod, somewhat reassured.
He was just about to lean against the carriage wall and rest with his eyes closed when something started stirring inside his sleeve. It turned out that his large movements had woken Su Shang, who was sleeping in the inner pocket sewn into his sleeve. The little thing let out a timid, quiet meow, wriggling and burrowing around in the sleeve as it tried to