Chapter 58: Punishment (I)

Sangkun and Jamuka, determined to strike in this campaign with a single decisive blow, had mobilized nearly all their main forces, gathering them outside the camp. Except for the outer ring of sentinels on patrol, only a handful of scattered soldiers and women were left behind to watch over the livestock and treasures. As Cheng Lingsu and her companions were in a remote part of the camp, hardly anyone paid attention to their situation.

Cheng Lingsu frowned slightly, a trace of suspicion rising in her heart. If Jamuka truly intended to use Tolui as his final trump card, how could he have arranged only two soldiers to guard him?

Ouyang Ke seemed to have guessed her thoughts. “With me guarding here, what need is there for anyone else?”

It was, in fact, a fair point. Guarding hostages did not necessarily improve with numbers. Moreover, assigning more men to watch hostages meant fewer men on the battlefield. For a martial artist like Ouyang Ke, though his skills might not sway the outcome of a great battle, to guard a hostage or two—given his abilities—even if he dozed off, unless the rescuer was a peerless master, it would be nigh impossible for anyone to steal the hostages from under his nose.

Last night, when he recognized Tolui as the one speaking to Cheng Lingsu outside the tent, he anticipated she would try to devise a rescue. Thus, he had volunteered to guard the hostages, then found an excuse to send the remaining soldiers away, luring Cheng Lingsu into the open.

But Cheng Lingsu heard something else in his words. “You are one of Wanyan Honglie’s men?”

Ouyang Ke was momentarily startled, then broke into hearty laughter, lightly shaking his folding fan. “Miss, you are indeed clever—quick to understand. I was handsomely recruited by the Sixth Prince of the Jin Empire. When I first traveled east from the western regions, I expected to find only wild barbarism, but on my very first day, I encountered such an intelligent and graceful young lady. Truly, this journey is worth it.”

Once again, he steered the conversation back to Cheng Lingsu, showering her with compliments and praise, but she merely pressed her lips together and did not respond.

“Well? Now that you’ve run into me, do you still have Mei Chaofeng to help you?” Ouyang Ke, as if oblivious to Tolui standing between them, strolled a few steps to the side, hinting at something. “Or perhaps, I can offer you some advice?”

“You want me to become your disciple again?” Cheng Lingsu sneered coldly, her eyes full of disdain. In her previous life she had apprenticed under the Poison-Hand Medicine King, whom she respected deeply for his patient teaching and for raising her. Even now, inexplicably reborn, she still regarded herself as his disciple. Her birth had changed, her appearance had changed, but her allegiance to her master would not waver. Besides, Ouyang Ke’s frivolous manner and wanton conduct clearly betrayed his ulterior motives; this talk of apprenticeship was far from innocent.

“What’s so bad about taking me as your master? Follow me, and you’ll have fine clothes and good food; on White Camel Mountain, whatever you desire will be at your fingertips. Isn’t that far better than braving the desert winds out here?”

Cheng Lingsu’s expression darkened; she refused to bandy words with him any longer. She patted Tolui’s shoulder and stepped out from behind him, her eyes fixed in silence.

Since coming of age, Ouyang Ke had countless concubines in his chambers. Besides teaching them martial arts for their own safety in the jianghu, he relished being both their young master and their teacher—a term his concubines invented in their idle amusement, calling him both “master” and “young lord” to please him.

He himself was highly skilled, handsome, and elegant, adept at reading women’s hearts. Coupled with his status as the young lord of White Camel Mountain, over the years, even women who were initially abducted to the western regions would eventually be captivated by his charm and fall for him willingly. He was accustomed to women trying every trick to win his favor, yet he had never met a girl so young, so aloof as Cheng Lingsu. Rarer still, this distant, icy girl was also a master of poisons! Thus, Ouyang Ke’s habitual pride and self-confidence were now tinged with a competitive urge—he was all the more determined to take this girl back to White Camel Mountain.

Now, seeing Cheng Lingsu so clearly ready to fight despite knowing she was no match, Ouyang Ke quickly shook his head with a smile. “I, Ouyang Ke, never like to use force. If you don’t wish to be my disciple, so be it. Let’s make a trade, shall we?”

“What sort of trade?” Cheng Lingsu was secretly wary.

“We’ve known each other for some time, yet I still don’t know your name.” Ouyang Ke closed his fan, took a step closer, and pointed at Tolui. “Tell me your name, and I’ll pretend I never saw him.”

“My name?” Cheng Lingsu was taken aback.

She had not expected Ouyang Ke, faced with the perfect opportunity for extortion, to set such an easy condition. But Ouyang Ke, long experienced in the ways of love, knew well the art of feigned indifference. If he pressed for too much, he would only arouse stubborn resistance in her; better to lure her slowly, like a frog in warming water, so she would unwittingly lower her guard.

“What do you think of my offer?” Ouyang Ke winked at her.

Cheng Lingsu raised her brows and replied in Mongolian, “Huazheng.”

Ouyang Ke understood not a word of Mongolian, but he had heard Tolui call that name outside Cheng Lingsu’s tent, so he assumed it was truly hers. He repeated the syllables, mimicking her accent, over and over. “Huazheng... Huazheng...” For the first time, he spoke Mongolian, his pronunciation surprisingly accurate, each sound in perfect order. The faint smile lingering on his lips faded from its prior insolence. Chewing over the name with care, there was not a trace of disrespect, his handsome features solemn, as if a devout herdsman reciting a prayer to the gods.

Even though Cheng Lingsu had deliberately used a Mongolian name that was not truly hers, after bearing it for ten years, she could not help but blush ever so slightly.

Tolui was utterly bewildered. Not understanding Han Chinese, he had no idea what Cheng Lingsu and Ouyang Ke were saying, only that this cunning Han had somehow been persuaded to start speaking Mongolian, repeating “Huazheng” over and over. As for Cheng Lingsu speaking Chinese, he paused in surprise, but quickly remembered his sister’s close childhood friendship with Guo Jing, and so assumed she had learned the language from him.

His mind still preoccupied with the plot against Temujin, Tolui caught sight of several soldier-like figures glancing their way from a distance. Not wishing to delay longer, he bent to snatch up the saber from the unconscious guard, pulled Cheng Lingsu by the hand, and shook her arm firmly. “I’ll hold him off—you go first. Tell Father not to go to Wang Khan’s camp no matter what.”

“He wants you to leave?” Ouyang Ke, though he didn’t understand Tolui’s words, quickly deduced his intent from his actions. His gaze lingered on Tolui’s hand grasping Cheng Lingsu’s, his smile turning frosty, his eyes regaining that touch of insolence. In a flash, Tolui felt a blur before his eyes, then something struck the back of his saber. A tremendous force surged up the blade, making it impossible to hold. His grip failed, and the saber flew from his hand with a whoosh.

The saber flashed coldly in the rising sunlight, spinning through the air before burying itself slantwise at their feet. The hilt quivered, the blade shuddered, gleaming with a chilling light. Tolui’s right hand, which had held the saber, was torn at the webbing, blood flowing freely. Almost simultaneously, a numbness struck his other shoulder, forcing him to release Cheng Lingsu’s hand.

Though Cheng Lingsu had been on guard against Ouyang Ke, she had not expected his move to be so swift. All she saw was a blur of white, and it was too late to intervene. She could only flick her wrist, the silver needle she’d used to disable the guards now pressed against her own wrist.

After disarming Tolui with his fan, Ouyang Ke had intended to seize Cheng Lingsu’s wrist and pull her into his arms. But she anticipated him, placing the silver needle against her own skin; had he grabbed her, he would have driven his palm straight onto the needle’s tip.

With his skill, Ouyang Ke hardly needed trickery to detain the siblings. But he prided himself on his romantic artistry, savoring the thrill of the chase and the tease, like a wicked cat toying with a mouse—capturing, releasing, and capturing again for his own amusement. Just as his fingers were about to touch her wrist, he felt a sharp prick and glimpsed a faint flash of silver at the corner of his eye. Only then did he notice the needle.

Luckily, he had meant only to tease, not to harm. His grip was not full force; he hastily withdrew, lightly tapping his toe to the ground and floating back.

“Is this what you call pretending you never saw him?” Cheng Lingsu caught hold of Tolui, who was about to charge forward again. Her clear voice trembled with anger, and her fair, delicate face was suffused with a rosy flush, as if carved from fine red jade.

Even when facing Ouyang Ke, Cheng Lingsu’s anger was usually as delicate and reserved as her manner. Ouyang Ke had met aloof and indifferent women before, but though he had not known her long, there was something about Cheng Lingsu that set her apart—as if nothing in the world could touch her heart. It was not the calm that came from courage or skill, but a kind of innate detachment.

Ouyang Ke thought it her nature; he never expected, in this moment of outrage, to see her so vividly alive, as though a monochrome painting had suddenly burst into color. Her eyes flashed with cold light, and though she was still so young, her rebuke carried undeniable authority.

In truth, not only Ouyang Ke, but even Tolui, who had grown up with her, had never seen her like this. Startled, he stood rooted to the spot, the urge to fight Ouyang Ke forgotten somewhere far away...