008: Exactly What It Means to Be a Spendthrift

Ouyang Ke’s eyes brightened, his mind stirred. He no longer paid attention to Tuolei, smiling lightly: “I, Young Master Ouyang, am a man of my word. Once spoken, there is no turning back. However, he may leave, but Miss Huazheng, you must stay behind…”

“Very well.”

Cheng Lingsu had long anticipated that he wouldn’t easily give up. But this was for the best—she alone could negotiate with Ouyang Ke and seek a chance to escape. With Tuolei present, it was inevitable she’d feel some restraint. So, before Ouyang Ke could blabber further, she cut him off and agreed outright.

Ouyang Ke was surprised by her quick acceptance and laughed heartily. “That’s more like it. With one less nuisance, we can talk properly.”

Cheng Lingsu ignored him, turned her back, and took from her bosom a handkerchief embroidered with blue flowers. She gave it a slight shake in the air, tied it around Tuolei’s shattered tiger’s mouth, then tucked the two blue flowers back into her bosom. After briefly explaining the situation to Tuolei, she urged him to leave first.

Tuolei’s face turned ashen. He took two steps back, suddenly drew the single-edged saber planted by his foot, and, eyes fixed on Ouyang Ke, swung fiercely at the empty space before himself. “Your martial skill is superior; I am no match for you. Yet today, by the oath sworn to the Sky God of the Steppe as the son of Temujin Khan, I vow: once I have wiped out those who conspired against my father, I will face you in a decisive battle! To avenge my sister and show you what true heroes of the Steppe are!”

Like Du Shi, Tuolei was also the son of a Mongol tribal leader. He was humble and loyal, unlike the arrogant Du Shi. Yet his pride was no less. As Temujin’s favored son, he understood his father’s grand vision—to transform all lands under the blue sky into Mongol pastures!

For this goal, he had trained relentlessly in the military from a young age, never missing a day. Yet after years of hard training, he had fallen into enemy hands, unable to bring his sister safely back today. Tuolei knew Cheng Lingsu was right: his priority now must be his father’s safety. He should quickly return to rally troops to rescue his father from treachery. But thinking of his sister forcibly detained here filled him with such shame that his breath nearly stopped.

Mongols valued their promises above all, especially oaths sworn to the revered Sky God of the Steppe. Knowing he was outmatched, Tuolei still declared his vow resolutely, his expression solemn and dignified. Though not a martial arts master, his broad shoulders bore the same kingly aura as Temujin, commanding and imposing. Even Ouyang Ke, who did not comprehend all the words, felt a secret chill.

Cheng Lingsu’s heart warmed. The blood of Temujin’s daughter surged within her, stirred by Tuolei’s unwillingness and resolve. A wave of emotion rose, moistening her eyes. Quietly turning aside, she blocked the direction from which Ouyang Ke might strike and softly said, “Go quickly. Return swiftly. I have my own way to escape.”

Tuolei nodded, stepped forward, embraced her briefly, then without another glance at Ouyang Ke, turned and ran toward the camp gate.

On the way, several guards who saw him running out tried to stop him, but each was cut down with a single stroke of his saber.

Only when she saw Tuolei seize a horse at the edge of the camp and gallop away did Cheng Lingsu relax and sigh softly.

In her previous life, her master, the Poison-Handed Medicine King, used poisons to heal and save lives but deeply believed in karma and reincarnation. In his later years, he embraced Buddhism, cultivating a heart free of hatred or joy. Cheng Lingsu was his young disciple, profoundly influenced by him. Although she had died in that life, she had been sent here—she had to believe there was some deeper purpose at work.

Originally, she wanted to avoid entanglements with the world and its people, even hoping to find a chance to escape far away, return to the shores of Dongting Lake, and see what Baima Temple would be like centuries later. She dreamed of opening a small clinic, healing the sick, cherishing the memories and deep feelings she held for a certain person.

Moreover, if Temujin were in peril, the Mongol tribe where she had lived for ten years would suffer alongside him. Her mother and elder brother, who had cared for her sincerely, and the people she saw every day would be in danger too. After ten years together, how could she stand idly by?

Thinking of this, Cheng Lingsu sighed quietly again.

Seeing her gaze fixed on Tuolei’s departing figure and hearing her repeated sighs, Ouyang Ke raised his chin slightly and sneered, “What’s wrong? So reluctant to part?”

Sensing his hidden meaning, Cheng Lingsu frowned, shook off her thoughts, and blurted, “I worry about my brother. Isn’t that natural?”

“Oh? He’s your brother?” Ouyang Ke raised an eyebrow; a flicker of amusement flashed in his eyes. “Then… was that other young man your lover?”

“What nonsense are you spouting…” Cheng Lingsu abruptly stopped, realizing, “You mean Guo Jing? You knew about him before… even before we arrived?”

“It’s not them, but you! I knew the moment you came,” Ouyang Ke said proudly, clearly enjoying her reaction.

Though Cheng Lingsu had dismounted far earlier, his deep internal energy gave him extraordinary hearing, far beyond ordinary Mongol soldiers. He had discovered her as she infiltrated the camp and was about to step forward when he saw Ma Yu intervene, taking both her and Guo Jing out.

Years ago, his uncle Ouyang Feng suffered a great defeat at the hands of the Quanzhen Sect. Thus, the Western Poison School always harbored resentment and fear toward Quanzhen Taoists. Recognizing Ma Yu’s Daoist robes and recalling his uncle’s warnings, Ouyang Ke decided not to reveal himself. Instead, he hid in the shadows, watching their exchanges back and forth.

He had assumed Cheng Lingsu would persuade Ma Yu to storm the camp and rescue the captives. He did not know Ma Yu was the Quanzhen Sect’s leader. He only thought that the camp, guarded by countless troops and several martial masters led by Wanyan Honglie, would be enough to hold Ma Yu down, possibly giving him a chance to eliminate a key Quanzhen expert. But unexpectedly, the Daoist not only refrained from assaulting the camp but also left with Guo Jing, leaving Cheng Lingsu behind.

Gradually, Cheng Lingsu pieced things together: Wanyan Honglie’s secret arrival was meant to sow discord between Sang Kun and her father, forcing the Mongol tribes into endless strife so that the Jin dynasty could remain free of northern troubles.

Ouyang Ke had no interest in such conflicts. Seeing Cheng Lingsu speak earnestly, he nodded in agreement and praised, “Your insight is truly sharp.”

Brushing wind-blown hair aside, Cheng Lingsu’s gaze was as clear as the cold Onon River on the steppe. “You work for Wanyan Honglie, yet you let Guo Jing go to warn others, and now you’ve allowed Tuolei to return and mobilize troops. Aren’t you afraid this will ruin his grand scheme?”

Ouyang Ke laughed heartily, reached out, and lightly tapped her chin with a slender fan. “Afraid? What concern is his plan of mine? If I can win a smile from a beauty, what does the rest matter?”

Cheng Lingsu didn’t smile. Her brows furrowed slightly, and she took half a step back, avoiding the fan that lightly brushed her chin. She reached out and snapped the black fanhead into her palm. A chill shot through her skin into her bones, nearly forcing her to drop it. She realized the fan’s ribs were forged from dark iron, as cold as ice.

“What’s the matter? Do you like this fan?” Ouyang Ke flicked his wrist casually, prying her hand away and retrieving the fan. With a flourish, he opened it and gently waved it before him. “If you fancy something else, I wouldn’t mind giving it to you. But this fan…” He paused briefly, then smiled lightly, “If you like it, you only have to stay by my side, and you’ll see it anytime you want…”

Author’s note: I say, Ouyang Ke, isn’t Lingsu just taken with your fan? Yet you’re so stingy about giving it away—how petty!

Ouyang Ke: That was a gift from my father… cough, cough… my uncle, actually…