Gu Chi was certain he wasn't injured.
Then where had all this blood come from?
He and Kang Shi both looked toward Qi Shan, whose face was colorless and whose brow was beaded with a thin sheen of sweat. Kang Shi grabbed the hand Qi Shan had let fall against Gu Chi's sleeve and was astonished to find a gash running across his palm from one side to the other. The flesh was split open, and blood streamed from it.
Kang Shi asked, "When did you get hurt?"
Judging from the color of the blood, it was a fresh wound.
Gu Chi said, "He wasn't hurt when we broke camp."
There had been no other trouble between the army's departure and their encounter with King Zhi's Rebel Army, led by Gongxi Chou, let alone anything that could have injured Qi Shan, a Literary Scholar. Literary Scholars might not be good at much else, but they were definitely practiced at running away and dodging.
Looking at the wound's position, a scene flashed through Kang Shi's mind. An absurd theory came to him. To test his guess, he pressed a hand against Qi Shan's chest, shoulders, and back. Even through the fabric, he could feel a few odd spots.
He didn't press hard, yet Qi Shan still winced.
Gu Chi was a sharp sort. At first he didn't understand why Kang Shi was doing that, but soon he caught on. His eyes suddenly widened, and he turned to look at the battlefield, where powerful explosions kept erupting.
He silently mouthed something to Kang Shi, who nodded.
Gu Chi: "..."
With his absurd guess confirmed, Gu Chi couldn't help wondering whether the sun had risen in the west. The "evil strategist" Qi Shan, who was always condemned as a "master killer," actually had