Zhang Hai Xing added, “I’ll call for two men to carry Wan Bao. We’ll find a cave where he can rest.”
Before anyone could move, Wang Cang Hai shot Zhang Hai Xing a glare so sharp it sent a chill down his spine.
“I just need a cloth to wrap my knee and a wooden cane,” Wang Cang Hai said coldly. “I can walk on my own.”
Qilin shook his head. “Don’t push yourself. If your bone shifts, at best, you’ll be crippled. At worst, you’ll never walk again.”
Ignoring him, Wang Cang Hai turned to Zhang Hai Xing and asked, “The Zhang family has already killed the Ren Mian Niao. Now, where exactly are you all planning to go?”
Zhang Hai Xing, clearly in high spirits, replied, “For thirty years, our clan has been working tirelessly at the bottom of Qingze Lake. Thanks to the clan leader’s blessing today, we can finally enter the Bronze Gate.”
Wang Cang Hai scoffed. “Then I have to go with you.”
Qilin had been about to insist that Wan Bao stay behind to recover, but Wang Cang Hai cut him off.
“Zhang Qiling,” he said, “do you really think you can handle everything alone? Why not let me go with you?”
Qilin hesitated.
Earlier, they had discussed how the Zhang family had deliberately manipulated “Zhang Qiling” into sacrificing himself to kill the Ren Mian Niao.
And now, there was the mystery of why the Bronze Gate—a secret that should have been hidden in Wang Bai Mountain—was also here, beneath Qingze Lake.
There were too many unanswered questions.
And Wan Bao was the only person sharp and cunning enough to help him unravel them.
Even if the Zhang family discovered that he was an impostor—if they turned against him—at least the man beside him, who had fought life and death alongside him, would still stand by his side.
So Qilin did not argue further.
Instead, he pulled out the qilin-embroidered silk handkerchief he had used earlier and wrapped it tightly around Wang Cang Hai’s injured knee.
Blood seeped through the fabric, staining the delicate qilin embroidery in shades of red.
Wang Cang Hai lowered his gaze, watching as Qilin bandaged his wound.
For the first time in a long time, a subtle warmth flickered across his otherwise cold and distant expression.
I will never be separated from you again, Little Immortal.
His mind drifted back to an old dream—one buried deep in the past.
When he was fifteen, he had dreamt of the Little Immortal again.
In the dream, the Little Immortal stroked his hair and smiled.
“Little Zhi Nu, you’ve grown taller,” he said. “Has your father been scolding you lately? Have you cried?”
“I don’t like it when you treat me like a child,” Wang Cang Hai muttered.
He shoved the Little Immortal’s hand away—
Then turned and ran.
He ran and ran, never looking back.
He ran until he woke up from the dream.
Now, in the darkness before dawn, Wang Cang Hai opened his eyes.
His pillow was damp.
He reached up and touched his face.
Tears clung to the edges of his eyes.
I am already fifteen years old. I am the Vice Minister of Revenue and the Chief Astronomer of the Great Yong Empire. I am not some child who cries at every little thing.
Wang Cang Hai told himself this as he got out of bed in the dark, threw on his robes, and stepped into the courtyard to observe the stars and practice divination.
Maybe if I do more adult things, I’ll grow up faster.
And so, on that very morning, before the first light of dawn, Wang Cang Hai read the celestial signs and discovered an omen foretelling Zhu Di’s rebellion. He immediately rushed to the palace to report it to the young emperor, Zhu Wen.
The wheel of fate had already begun turning.
But Wang Cang Hai was always a step too late to realize it.
Now, in this moment, as he watched Qilin’s hands carefully binding his wound, he thought to himself—
Little Immortal, do you see?
I have grown up. I can protect you now.
But what a pity—
You didn’t even recognize me.
How could you mistake me for someone else so easily?
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