Literary Scholars had much bigger appetites than ordinary people to begin with, and Cui Xiao had gone two solid days without food. Hunger burned through his guts, turning his eyes green. He swept away the food that was brought to him with the force of wind sweeping away fallen clouds, swallowing it after barely chewing twice—a complete reversal from his usual leisurely dining habits.
He was afraid that if his chopsticks moved any slower, he would miss out on the dishes.
Qi Shan and the others watched silently as he polished off two buckets of wheat rice.
"Are you really that hungry?"
"Your old man nearly starved to death. What do you think?"
Cui Xiao nearly suffered a heart attack at Qi Shan's question.
Did this fellow have any idea what he had been through these past few days?
He had dragged his injured body through half a day of unconsciousness on the battlefield.
He would wake up, fall unconscious, wake up again, then fall unconscious once more.
The soldiers cleaning up the battlefield had somehow failed to notice his existence, while heartless people like Qi Yuanliang had forgotten that he was even there.
Cui Xiao had lain in the ruins, waiting and waiting, but no one came looking for him. With no other choice, he had gritted his teeth against the excruciating pain in his meridians, refined Heaven and Earth Qi, then used the refined literary qi to heal his vital injuries and regain his ability to move. During those first two days, he had screamed himself hoarse without anyone answering. Whenever he reached out to grab someone, his hands passed straight through them as he watched helplessly. Fortunately, he could still touch inanimate objects, so he had rummaged through the wounded camp for bandages and medicine to treat