Rising Phoenix

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Translator: Aristophaneso 

Pain ripped through Niu Qi’s throat and he could only look down powerlessly at the black sword tip dripping with blood as it was slowly withdrawn by the tall, blind, pretty man.

He kicked Niu Qi into the latrine pit, and the last words he ever heard were: “Good dogs don’t block the way, move!”

Ning Yi returned the sword to Feng Zhiwei; reversing the switch that had happened in the brief moment she leaned on him right before.

With the first obstacle removed, they began discussing their next moves.

“Do you have poison?” Feng Zhiwei asked, patting herself looking for something deadly she could use; unfortunately, she had left Dijing in such a hurry she had only brought medicine for wounds, nothing else.

This group was also very vigilant and it would be incredibly difficult to poison them, but such a method was still the best chance they had.

Ning Yi shook his head; that Ning Cheng fellow loved to play with poison, but he had run off after getting some news and had still not caught up to them.

Feng Zhiwei’s face fell in disappointment, but then she was suddenly filled with whimsy and asked: “Are your tears poisonous?”

Ning Yi eyed her with a strange, blind gaze before replying: “I’d rather kill them one by one.”

Feng Zhiwei grit her teeth as she wondered how to make this crocodile cry; did she need to suddenly attack his belly for tears to come out? But Ning Yi had already cleverly stepped back three steps.

“Fine,” Feng Zhiwei unhappily replied, walking over to support him. “We’ll figure something out.”

Ning Yi murmured in agreement and reached out to grab onto her when Feng Zhiwei suddenly cried out and fell downwards, calling out in panic: “Niu Qi, you…”

Right as a shocked Ning Yi hurriedly bent to help her up, Feng Zhiwei whipped up her head and smashed her forehead right into his nose.

Ning Yi cried out in pain and clutched his nose as tears sprang from his eyes; to the side, Feng Zhiwei unashamedly fished out a gold leaf to keep his tears.

She sighed as she spoke: “Using gold to hold your tears; truly I have honored His Highness’s precious tear.”

Ning Yi clutched his pained nose and once again confirmed to himself that Feng Zhiwei was as vicious as a wolf.

The wolf eyed the nose clutching prince, his teary eyes glimmering like an autumn pond, so fragile and amusing, completely different from his normal profound, sharp gaze. In that moment he seemed a completely different person, and Feng Zhiwei’s conscience had a rare relapse, so she smiled gently and rubbed his nose, saying: “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

Her fingers brushed against Ning Yi’s face like soft spring wind, and her apologetic chuckle of a voice sounded like fine cotton. Ning Yi’s hand trembled and he grabbed onto her hand.

He tangled her fingers with his, and as Feng Zhiwei pulled back, he only grabbed on more tightly, refusing to let her go.

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His broad sleeve curtained down around the suddenly romantic moment and Ning Yi guided Feng Zhiwei back towards the Jiang Hu people. Feng Zhiwei carefully protected the tears so she did not dare struggle and could only let Ning Yi hold her; as she walked, she murmured: “Unfortunately there’s so little…”

When they reached the well in the yard, they passed a man fetching water; Feng Zhiwei called out in greeting: “Brother, can you give us some water as well and help us wash our hands?”

“Young masters are so troublesome!” The man complained to himself as he handed Feng Zhiwei the bucket. She drank directly from the water and poured some of it for her hands before thanking him; when the three returned to the main group, the leader noticed Niu Qi missing and asked: “Where’s Niu Qi?”

“That brother?” Feng Zhiwei covered her mouth and chuckled, “He said he ate too much beef and has some diarrhea.”

“That gluttonous dog!” The leader complained, accepting the answer. He told the man with the bucket to place it in the middle of the temple for everyone to drink from; Jianghu people were not terribly decorous and they all came over and drank out of the bucket.

Feng Zhiwei smiled from the side, attentively helping them fix their fire.

After eating and drinking, they all found a place to sleep; the Jiang Hu people tacitly surrounding Ning Yi and Feng Zhiwei, leaving a single man to guard the closed gate. Jianghu people would never let their guards down around anyone.

The flame in the ancient temple gradually died and light mist crept forward. Feng Zhiwei lay quietly beside Ning Yi, waiting for the poison to do its work; she had no idea how potent the tear was, especially after it was diluted in the bucket of water.

Ning Yi lay still, his eyes closed but his hand clutching hers the whole time. Feng Zhiwei could not force her way out of his grasp so she tickled his palm; Ning Yi’s hand shifted a little, and Feng Zhiwei thought for an excited moment that she could get free, so she tickled him even more intently. Unfortunately, Ning Yi was used to being tickled and soon stopped shifting. Feng Zhiwei could only sigh in frustration while a calm Ning Yi lay beside her, smiling at her antics, happiness in his heart.

The two of them fought with their fingers to ward off the weariness that besieged them; they had not had a chance to truly relax and rest their injured bodies since the previous night, and they were exhausted physically and mentally. As snores rose around them with the warmth of the fading fire, they had to be careful not to drift off into sleep.

Time passed, and just as Feng Zhiwei was losing the battle against her eyelids, Ning Yi pinched her palm.

Feng Zhiwei’s mind instantly cleared; a man near them was moaning quietly.

Had the poison worked?

Happiness filled Feng Zhiwei, but the other sect members were still quiet; the level of everyone’s kung fu was different, so it would take longer for the poison to work on some of them.

As soon as the man moaned, the night watch rushed over and quietly called to him: Fei Zi, what happened?”

But the only reply he got was a coldness in the center of his back.

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His heart cooled, and though he twitched and tried to turn his head, his head would never turn again.

Feng Zhiwei gently set to man down and pulled him into a meditative pose under the shadows of a pillar.

The poisoned man suddenly felt warmth on his face as a hot fluid dripped down on him; he opened his eyes to the heavy mist, and he could barely make out a gentle, smiling face nearing him, growing ferocious as it neared.

Half dazed, he reached for his sword, but his arm was sore and weak, and his chest filled with pain. His last memory was of something soaring through the air and falling down on his face, the same warm and fishy liquid as before.

The shuffle in the night woke a person sleeping nearby; they opened their eyes and grunted in surprise — why was the fire out? And the morning mist was so thick!