Hooves clopped and wheels rumbled over the flagstone road, damp with morning dew. The streets were empty; the bustling spectacle of thousands crowding together to watch the ceremony last night had vanished without a trace.
Wei Xun sat cross-legged inside the carriage, his eyes closed and his mind focused, forming hand seals and circulating his qi to purge the poison. Wisps of white vapor rose from his head, shoulders, and neck. Baozhu sat sideways opposite him, studying his face. A bluish cast shrouded his pale complexion, and he looked as haggard as he had during that grave illness when he had fallen unconscious. Even his lips and fingertips were blue.
It was hard to imagine that he had dragged a body in this condition through the entire bridal procession, drinking and fighting, racing east and west, leaping up and down, without a moment's rest for a full day and night.
A clang rang out as a poisoned dart shot from his back and buried itself deep in the carriage wall. A gush of black blood spilled from the wound. Baozhu craned her neck to look behind him, pressing a hand firmly over her mouth to stifle a cry, afraid any sound might break his concentration.
Within the time it took an incense stick to burn, all seven poisoned darts shot out one after another. Wei Xun kept his eyes closed, continuing his hand seals and circulating his qi, tightening his muscles to force the poison from his body. Thin streams of black blood trickled out, turning bright red a short while later. His clothes were soaked through across his back and shoulders, flecks of blood spattered the wall, and the carriage filled with its coppery reek.
Only after most of the numb itching deep in his back had faded did