Chapter 372

Pain!

Pain!

Pain!

It was as if a bone‑shattering pain swept over his entire body, leaving Xuan Feixing unable to find peace even in his dreams.

He could only struggle wildly in the chaos until the darkness slowly receded and specks of light pierced his vision.

Xuan Feixing strained to lift his heavy eyelids; his vision spun, his head felt heavy and swollen, and his whole body felt as if his bones had been torn apart and ground again, every part suffused with a sore, dull ache.

He drew a shallow breath, waited a long while, and the dizziness before his eyes finally eased just enough for him to make out his surroundings—

He was not a corpse left in the wilderness; he was inside an exceptionally spacious military tent.

The tent fabric was thick and exquisite, with a fine weave, far from the crude shelter of an ordinary soldier.

Inside, the floor was covered with a smooth, soft, thick felt rug that shut out the chill of the wild.

Everything around was neat and orderly, with exquisite bronze candlesticks, tidy wooden tables and shelves; the furnishings were fine, the layout grand, and everywhere bore an air of distinction—clearly the tent of someone of extremely high rank in the army.

Xuan Feixing's mind was filled with doubt; he could not fathom how, after last night's desperate straits, he had managed to survive by luck and then been placed in such a lavish military tent.

Although everything here looked like the refined furnishings favored by Han people of the Southern Dynasties...

But given the peril he faced before losing consciousness last night, how could any Han have possibly snatched him from under the hooves of those northern barbarian heavy cavalry?!

He had no time to ponder the cause; the instinct to survive instantly took over his thoughts—

After eliminating all impossibilities, whatever remains, no matter how unexpected, must be the answer.

That answer told him...

This place is the barbarians' camp!

Strange! Strange!

Why would those northern barbarians save him?

Why would there be a Han military tent here?

Xuan Feixing could think of nothing else; his wounds all over seemed to hurt a bit more, so he gritted his teeth, bore the piercing pain in his back and chest, clenched the sheets beneath him with his fingertips, and, using the little strength in his waist and abdomen, painfully turned over and got out of bed, hoping to rise and flee.

Although many things remain unclear now, since this is barbarian territory, everyone here is an enemy, and to linger is to walk into a tiger's den!

At this moment there's no one around—what is he waiting for if not to run?

As long as he can get out of this tent, there's a sliver of hope; of course he cannot simply wait for death.

However, just as his feet touched the felt rug and before he could steady himself, Xuan Feixing caught a flicker of motion at the tent flap from the corner of his eye—two slender figures entered slowly, carrying something.

Both were dressed in Mongol attire, wearing neat barbarian maid's outfits, their hair tidy, their eyes bearing an exotic charm; one held a basin of warm water, the other a healing salve and clean bandages.

Xuan Feixing's heart tightened; he instantly froze, daring not to move a muscle.

He made a snap decision, quickly lay back down, closed his eyes, erased all expression, feigned unconsciousness, breathed evenly, and let the two maids tend to his wounds.

The maids moved gently yet swiftly, perfectly in sync.

One carefully wiped the blood from around his back, moving gently to avoid the wound; the other delicately applied a special salve, then wrapped it with soft, tough bandages, all done lightly and silently—clearly they were experienced and well‑trained.

Once the wounds were bandaged, the two gathered their things and slipped out of the tent on light steps.

In the quiet tent, two soft, faint whispers sounded.

One spoke in halting Chinese, her tone tinged with curiosity and doubt:

"...... The commander-in-chief has never before brought back someone with injuries this severe, almost at death's door, has he?"

The other whispered in agreement, her voice hinting at speculation:

"You know full well the nature of our Commander He Lian; surely he's taken an interest in the south again."

"I just don't get what the commander is thinking! Our Mora Duo clearly has the Eternal Heaven, vast grasslands, lush pasture, towering snow‑capped mountains... I have no idea why he's so fascinated by southern customs and manners, to the point of copying Han ways in everything—from the setup of this place to his everyday attire!"

Their faint words drifted away, the two sets of footsteps receding until they vanished completely outside the tent.

Silence returned to the tent; the Xuan Feixing who had lain with eyes closed suddenly opened them, all trace of drowsiness gone, leaving only a heart full of astonishment and suspicion.

He pushed himself up again, the pain from his back wound flaring as the skin stretched, yet he ignored it, repeatedly replaying the maids' conversation and the details he had overlooked the night before, which surged into his mind—

"Mora Duo"—that name, he knew, was the full designation of Bei Mo.

The northern barbarians do not see themselves as merely occupying the northern borders, so they do not call themselves the Northern Dynasty; instead they call themselves Mora Duo, meaning 'Children Blessed by the Eternal Heaven.'

But who is this 'Commander He Lian' they mentioned?

He Lian...

He Lian?

Could the young man he met last night be none other than the invincible northern war‑god, the terror of the South, the adopted son of the Ashina Great Khan—He Lian Bo Bo?!

He and that foolish little Daoist got lost—just where did they end up?!

How did they crash straight into the front line of the north‑south divide?!

Most crucial of all, why would He Lian Bo Bo save a Han like himself and then properly place him in the commander's tent to tend his wounds with care?

Such a war‑god—shouldn't he regard Han people as pigs and dogs, striking when he wishes and killing when he wishes?

Xuan Feixing's mind was clouded with doubt; unable to figure it out, he frowned in thought, his suspicions still churning, when the tent flap was suddenly lifted from outside and a tall, straight figure strode in against the light, heading straight into the tent.

It happened so suddenly; Xuan Feixing had been pondering, utterly unprepared, and thus naturally had no chance to feign sleep again as he had just done.

As he lifted his gaze, his eyes met the newcomer's squarely, catching him off guard.

The visitor was none other than the awe‑inspiring, fiercely martial Commander He Lian from last night—

No, it seemed not quite that.

At this moment He Lian Bo Bo had shed the battlefield's heavy, icy armor; he wore a sleek, form‑fitting black outfit cut tall and slender, perfectly showing off his tiger‑back, wasp‑waist physique.

The visitor had shed last night's murderous, icy aura; beneath his armor lay a face of breathtaking, aggressively beautiful allure—

His skin was a light honey‑wheat hue, his contours sharp and distinct, his brow bones high, his two thick brows bearing the barbarian's distinctive rebelliousness, their inner edges slanting upward, dark and intense.

His irises were slightly light brown, the outer corners slightly lifted, their gleam bright as if quenched by a cold star; though he was clearly a youth, his eyes held a hint of the battle‑hardened, rebellious cold light forged on the field.

His nose bridge was high and straight, his jawline sharp and tight, his lips full and vividly colored, thin yet not sparse; when he slightly pursed them, a hint of wild arrogance appeared.

Most of his black, thick hair was tied up, a warm, smooth jade ring hung between his brows, the plain jade resting against his clean forehead, the cool jade making his skin look even more lustrous.

The remaining hair fell over his shoulders, the ends braided into several thin little plaits, the tips loose and swaying, a few strands of stray hair hanging loosely at his cheeks.

The youth's bone structure was clear and vigorous, possessing both the lively sharpness of youth and the intense, vivid hue unique to his tribe—not soft and alluring like a girl's, but magnificently striking, so that at a glance one could not look away.

Xuan Feixing was secretly shocked, never expecting that this decisive military commander, once his armor was removed, would be so young and handsome.

While he was thinking, Helian, the Commander-in-Chief opposite him, had already raised a bright smile, revealing two small white tiger teeth as he spoke:

"Just then I was still outside worrying about your injury, afraid you wouldn't pull through—how do you feel now? Is your injury better?"

?? I like the southern kid coming online.....