As the sun sank behind the western hills, Zhang Dabing laid Yan Xiaoya back on the straw mat inside the dilapidated hut and silently looked at Yan Xiaoyi beside him.
Yan Xiaoyi's eyes were filled with grief and self-reproach. The blood soaking his little sister's trousers red seemed unbearably glaring.
He had once been a timid boy who was frightened even by the slaughter of a chicken, let alone killing someone and seeing blood.
Yet not long ago, he had personally butchered Third Master Tu, the enemy worse than a beast who had harmed his sister, along with the household servants who had helped him.
But it was all too late. Even if he killed every last one of them, he could not bring back Xiaoya, who had lost too much blood in her desperate resistance.
Like the sun sinking beneath the mountains, his heart plunged into utter darkness.
After a long silence, Zhang Dabing finally went outside to fetch a wet towel. Carefully avoiding the wound where her forehead had been split open, he wiped Xiaoya's face clean.
By then, Xiaoya had stopped breathing altogether.
Zhang Dabing spoke in anguish. "Xiaoyi, don't bottle it up anymore. Cry if you want to. Xiaoya was always frail and sickly, and after those beasts... this was a release for her instead."
Yan Xiaoyi clenched his fists tightly and remained silent.
Late that night, Zhang Dabing and Yan Xiaoyi hastily roasted a few sweet potatoes and gulped them down. Still only half full, they could do nothing but lie on a large rock outside the courtyard and chat.
Hoping to distract Yan Xiaoyi, Zhang Dabing said, "Xiaoyi, do you know what I meant earlier when I said I'd look out for you?"
"What was it, Brother Dabing?"
Zhang Dabing said, "This Warrior dharma