Le Luoluo shouted, "Get a healer!"
Nearly half of Chen Qing Shan's clothing was soaked in blood. Dark red stains mingled with dust, seemingly already caked into clumps. Mud clung to her hair, which stuck in disarray to her sweat-damp temples and cheeks. Her face was filthy; only her eyes shone with a stubborn brightness in the firelight.
She looked at Le Luoluo, her back straight as a solitary pine, as though all her pain and exhaustion had become invisible armor. Her words struck the ground with ringing force:
"No need. Just answer me: does your word still stand, or not?"
"Of course it stands! You found the Yidu Tribe? Is the Young Master all right? How did you see him?"
"Yes, I found them. The Young Master is well. The Yidu Tribe's Divine Envoy is treating him as an honored guest. His movements are restricted, but he is being shown every courtesy. I slipped in after dark and saw him, but I was discovered on the way out and had to fight."
Chen Qing Shan knew she lacked Wang Yang's talent for making things up at the drop of a hat. She had rehearsed these words over and over, carefully considering their content. After hearing the barbarian soldiers talk about the braziers, she had suspected Wang Yang might be the Divine Envoy, but the idea seemed too far-fetched. Surely the Yidu Tribe would never make an outsider their Divine Envoy. So she had invented the story that the Divine Envoy was treating Wang Yang as an honored guest.
As for the other details-why he was an honored guest, how she had slipped into the barbarian stockade, how she had seen him-she had come up with rough explanations, but they were riddled with holes. She could not construct a convincing