Chapter 268: Lemon Tree

A startled wind whips blades, staining bamboo with blood.

Chen Chen Chen Qingshan's spear moves like a coiling dragon, slaying another!

The assassins are few, but each is a master, every one a death-seeker! Whether bound by a death order or some other reason, after their leader fell, they did not break or retreat, nor did they care for formation or ambush roles anymore; each focused solely on Wang Yang, charging forward with desperate fury!

At this point, corpses litter the bamboo grove, both sides suffering heavy losses; Wang Yang's side is numerically superior, and the enemy's tactics are chaotic—so long as they hold firm, victory is nearly assured. But the assassins target only "decapitation," their skills exceptional, now utterly disregarding their own openings, like rabid dogs fighting over scraps, like tigers unleashed from cages! They broke through twice, reaching Wang Yang's side—both times blocked by Chen Chen Chen Qingshan's desperate defense!

The long spear drains strength; Chen Chen Chen Qingshan, by now, is nearly spent. Amid chaos, she shields Wang Yang, fighting as she retreats, withdrawing eastward. When they reach a hollow depression, both are utterly exhausted—especially Chen Chen Chen Qingshan, who, after fierce combat and carrying her spear so far, is on the verge of collapse.

The ditch is strewn with jagged rocks, through which trickles a shallow stream; Wang Yang knows this is Dao Bo Gou. Further east, not far off, lies the sycamore grove.

He supports Chen Chen Chen Qingshan as they sit on a relatively dry sandstone ledge beside the ditch. The moment her back touches the rock, her vision blacks out and she collapses backward—

Wang Yang snatches her up, preventing her from striking the rock.

"I… I'm fine. Let's rest… just a moment… then go on."

Chen Chen Chen Qingshan's lips tremble; her voice is weak and hollow. Strands of hair cling to her paper-white cheeks. Her fingers shake, yet she clutches the Duanxia Spear with unyielding grip.

"No rush. Our people have blocked them—they haven't caught up. Rest properly. When Zhao Fei and the others finish off the assassins, they'll join us."

Wang Yang silently glances at Chen Chen Chen Qingshan's bloodied arm, calming her tense nerves as his left hand reaches into his sleeve, pulls out a small silk pouch, takes out two sesame candies, and feeds them to her.

Chen Chen Chen Qingshan has no appetite; she shakes her head.

Wang Yang says: "You've expended too much. Replenish your energy—don't let your blood sugar drop."

Chen Chen Chen Qingshan doesn't understand what Wang Yang means, but obediently eats the sesame candies. When he tucks the pouch away, he pulls out two salted plum candies as if by magic:

"Hold them in your mouth a while before swallowing—they restore electrolytes. I'll get water and clean your wound. Wait here."

Chen Chen Chen Qingshan startles, forcing herself upright: "You're injured! Where?"

Wang Yang quickly says: "I'm not hurt—you are. Look at your left arm!"

Chen Chen Chen Qingshan relaxes, glances at her arm, and shakes her head:

"It's nothing… I have wound ointment. Huh? Where did it go?"

As the daughter of a military family who has roamed the Jianghu for years, she always carries such medicine—but when she pats herself down, she finds nothing. Whether she dropped it or simply couldn't feel it in her weakness, she doesn't know. Wang Yang, as the old sixth, carries candy on his person; the salted plums contain salt and potassium for emergencies—of course he wouldn't leave behind medicine.

"I have it. Lean here. I'll be right back."

Wang Yang helps Chen Chen Chen Qingshan slowly lean against the rock wall, his arm always cushioned between her back and the stone. Only when he's certain she's secure does he slowly withdraw. Chen Chen Chen Qingshan feels an inexplicable panic and instinctively grabs his sleeve. Wang Yang smiles, pointing behind him: "Just a few steps. I'll be quick."

Chen Chen Chen Qingshan fears for Wang Yang's safety, uses the spear's butt to push herself up: "I… I'll come with you."

Wang Yang quickly stops her. Seeing her body still taut, still trapped in the aftermath of battle, he says: "I'll just wash my handkerchief and return. Here's the deal—I'll sing while I wash. I won't shout; you'll hear me clearly. By the time I've sung halfway, I'll be back."

Without waiting for her reply, Wang Yang begins to sing:

"I'm sitting here in the boring room. It's just another rainy Sunday afternoon......"

Wang Yang's voice is soft, as if afraid to disturb the forest wind, carrying an unusual languor and ease. Chen Chen Chen Qingshan freezes; her fingers gripping his sleeve slowly loosen.

Wang Yang keeps his word—the song never stops. Listening to it, Chen Chen Chen Qingshan knows he is very, very near. Her taut body gradually relaxes. Meanwhile, the flying bamboo splinters, the grotesque faces, the streaks of crimson—all fade slowly within this strange, pleasant little tune...

A cold cloth presses against her skin; Chen Chen Chen Qingshan inhales sharply.

To avoid infection, Wang Yang wipes only the blood around the wound, avoiding the center.

Chen Chen Chen Qingshan blushes, whispers: "What was that song you just sang?"

"A foreign tune."

"Same place as the one you sang before—'Bodhi Asking the Gate'?"

What?

Wang Yang pauses, then realizes she means "Pretty Woman."

Wang Yang dislikes bars—he finds them too noisy. He prefers singing along to music at home, dancing a little, feeling free and spirited. Since his transmigration, there's no sound system; cheap places don't suit his status, and expensive ones are costly—not because he can't afford them, but because… they're expensive.

Besides, time is limited. Reading, calligraphy, martial arts, horseback riding—all demand time. Occasionally, he picks up tunes during social visits, but going specifically to listen? No. KTV? Out of the question. So when the urge strikes, or his mood lifts, he hums. It's relaxation, and also a bond, an emotional anchor. He feels that as long as he still remembers these melodies, he hasn't fully severed ties with that former world. Sometimes, singing, he senses the boundary between past and present blurring.

"Sort of," Wang Yang says, returning to his thoughts, focusing on applying the ointment.

Chen Chen Chen Qingshan gazes into the distance, suddenly says: "Sometimes I feel you seem cheerful on the surface, but inside, you're deeply sorrowful."

Wang Yang freezes, glances at her, and laughs: "What's there to be sorrowful about..."

"I don't know. Maybe 'sorrowful' isn't the right word—perhaps you just carry too many burdens. Like… like the song you just sang. It sounds light, joyful, yet somehow… I feel a lingering melancholy. Are you homesick?"

Wang Yang's heart jolts.

He never expected Chen Chen Chen Qingshan to understand.

She certainly can't comprehend the English lyrics—but she sensed the emotional ebb and flow in the melody, caught the loneliness masked beneath deliberately accelerated rhythms.

The original song laments a lover; he laments an entire vanished world. The lyrics repeat: "I wonder how I wonder why." Wang Yang often wonders too—wonders at his transmigration, wonders at cause and effect. Beneath that confusion, especially after the ambush he just survived, he can't help but miss that Yesterday's blue blue sky—though, truthfully, that world's sky wasn't bluer than this one.

But that world's life was normal—what modern people live. Now, he struggles to survive, schemes to survive, teeters on the edge of death—is this normal? Who lives like this? Who takes ten steps and plans ahead for each? Not even three steps. Forget scheming power games—even those who understand workplace politics are rare. Isn't living comfortably better than scheming? Who doesn't fail? Who never missteps?

But he can't afford to. If he doesn't plan, he dies. If he missteps, he dies. Today, for safety, he avoided E Gong Zhang—but still encountered ambushers. Had he made no preparations, he'd be dead now. Yet even with extra precautions—deliberately lingering at Dazhuling to plant hidden men for a surprise strike—he imagined in a novel he'd give the order, the enemy would panic, and be surrounded and annihilated! But these assassins were too skilled, their will too fierce—and still, they nearly killed him and Xiao Shan.

He always tells himself: do a little better, do even better. But reality is full of surprises. Even Kongming himself couldn't guarantee perfection. Sometimes he has nightmares—dreaming his noble pretense is exposed, waking drenched in sweat. Then he obsessively reviews every recent action: any loopholes? Any mistakes? Re-examines others' words and deeds, analyzes every detail for hidden danger signals, then plots secretly until dawn.

He even speculated that Liu Dan pretended to rely on him to save his brother, only to betray him midway. After several tests, he finally understood Liu Dan's true intentions, and only then dared to use Liu family influence at critical moments instead of others. Others would help out of goodwill—but when life and death hang in the balance, their loyalty isn't guaranteed. The Liu family, however, needs him to save Liu Deng, so they must try their utmost. As for whether Lady Lady Lady Lady Lady Lady Xie family's four guards received secret orders unknown to Xiao Han, or how much he can trust Yu Yi—these are just a few of the countless questions that cross his mind. Some, after reasoning or verification, he can set aside. Others still require observation.

Sometimes, he's grateful his nature is optimistic, that he loves life. After transmigration, his mental pressure was crushing. Had he not relied on his cheerfulness, his occasional absurdity and wit, his rational efforts to regulate his psyche, his rock-solid emotional core and strong mental resilience—he'd have shattered long ago.

But he can't shatter. He must live! Not just live—but live vividly, colorfully! The only thing he can rely on is his own mind—

"And me," Chen Chen Chen Qingshan suddenly says.

Wang Yang is stunned.

Chen Chen Chen Qingshan looks at him. Though weary, smudged with sweat and grime, her phoenix eyes blaze with startling clarity:

"No matter what you worry about, no matter what you face—I'll stand with you. Until death, I won't turn away."

That's Chen Chen Chen Qingshan. She can't guess his hidden secrets, doesn't know how to comfort him, can't say clever words to cheer him—but she will fight—

Really fight.

A light breeze stirs, brushing her disheveled hair across her brows. Her expression doesn't change. Her gaze doesn't waver. Silent. Resolute.

Wang Yang has read many books, met many people, understands hidden depths, reads hearts well. He knows: this blood-stained girl before him, in the most clumsy way possible, has given him the hottest promise imaginable.

"I—"

"Someone!"

Chen Chen Chen Qingshan instantly tenses, swings her spear.

Wang Yang whips his head toward where she points—but sees only dense foliage, nothing else.

"Who? Where?" Wang Yang asks urgently.

Chen Chen Chen Qingshan squints, stares longer, then lowers her gaze:

"A barbarian. He fled when he saw me. Probably just a local savage. Only one person. No threat."

Wang Yang thinks two seconds, then decides instantly: "Go now!"

"One barbarian isn't worth fearing."

"One now. But if he returns, he might bring a dozen. For safety, we can't stay here. Can you walk? If not, I'll carry you!"

"I can walk!"

After resting, Chen Chen Chen Qingshan has regained some strength. Wang Yang helps her rise. "Which way?"

The assassins haven't caught up yet—they must be dealt with. Perhaps our people are coming to meet us. On the surface, turning back to meet them seems right. But Wang Yang isn't certain—and worse, the barbarian appeared directly along his own path. That's critical.

"Forward! To the sycamore grove!"

They hadn't gone far when a whistle echoes behind them!

Dozens of ragged, wild barbarians, wielding mismatched weapons, howl as they charge!

Chen Chen Chen Qingshan is startled: "What's this? Weren't there only scattered savages?"

"Feng Shu's stories are years out of date. Do you think they can't grow stronger?"

Ahead, the sycamore grove comes into view. Wang Yang grabs Chen Chen Chen Qingshan's hand and sprints toward it! But neither has fully recovered strength; Chen Chen Chen Qingshan carries her spear; the barbarians sprint with terrifying speed—the gap narrows rapidly!

"I… I'll hold them off…" Chen Chen Chen Qingshan can't run anymore.

"Drop the spear!"

"Quickly!"

Though reluctant, Chen Chen Chen Qingshan obeys Wang Yang. With pain, she discards the Duanxia. Wang Yang pulls the candy pouch and money bag from his sleeve, opens them, and scatters them into the air. Sesame candies and copper coins roll across the ground—but only a few barbarians pause to snatch the "loot." Most keep charging without stopping!

At dusk, the shrike flies; wind stirs the sycamore trees.

In August, the sycamore grove remains lush and green, only a few old leaves at the treetops gilded with gold.

Wang Yang and Chen Chen Chen Qingshan finally reach the trees—but the barbarians are nearly upon them!

Wang Yang shouts: "Life or death hangs by a thread—where are the heroes?"

Before his cry fades, dozens of masked men in blue robes emerge from behind the sycamores, bows drawn—

In an instant, longbows fire—arrows rain down!

——————

Note: After reading this chapter, listen again to Fool's Garden's "Lemon Tree." You'll better understand Wang Yang's bittersweet humor and the sorrow hidden beneath his wit and levity.