HNYWEF -Chapter 3 An Order to Leave

Cheng Yaojin stood there in a daze for quite a while.

He did not even know what exactly he was dazed about. Was it because the room was too quiet? Because that man had glanced at him once and then walked away? Or because he could not tell whether the person lying on the kang would survive?

Whatever it was, he just stood there blankly.

The rain outside seemed to have weakened a little. Not stopped—just weakened. It had gone from smashing down to pouring down, from pouring down to simply cascading from the sky.

Cheng Yaojin lowered his head and looked at his hands. Li Shimin’s blood was still smeared across them, mixed with rainwater and washed pale white.

Then he looked at the man on the kang again.

That face was still pale, but the breathing seemed steadier now than before. His chest rose and fell slowly, yet there was strength in it again.

Cheng Yaojin finally let out a breath of relief.

The moment that breath escaped, exhaustion crashed over him. His legs felt as heavy as lead, and his eyelids kept drooping shut.

But he did not dare sit down. He simply stood there, staring at the person on the kang, waiting.

Waiting for that man to come back.

He knew he would return.

No matter what that brat had become, one thing would never change—

Anyone placed in his hands, he would see through to the very end.

Sure enough.

Footsteps sounded from outside, drawing closer.

Cheng Yaojin raised his head toward the doorway.

The man came back in.

There was a gourd in his hand.

It was old, polished smooth from years of use at a glance.

The man walked up to Cheng Yaojin and shoved the gourd into his arms.

Cheng Yaojin caught it instinctively. The gourd was still cool, as if it had been sitting outside or had just been pulled from a water vat.

He looked up, about to speak.

The man spoke first.

“When the rain stops, leave.”

His voice was terribly hoarse, like someone who had not spoken in years, as though sand had been stuffed into his throat.

Cheng Yaojin froze again.

“Tomorrow at noon, bring three people.”

“Which three?”

“Fang Xuanling. Du Ruhui.”

The man paused briefly.

“And his wife.”

After saying that, he turned and walked out.

Cheng Yaojin stood rooted in place, gripping the gourd while his mind struggled to catch up.

Fang Xuanling? Du Ruhui?

How did he know those two names?

How did he know Shimin had already taken a wife?

How did he—

“Hey!” Cheng Yaojin hurried after him a step. “What about me? What am I supposed to do?”

The man’s footsteps paused.

But he did not turn around.

“You come too.”

“Then right now—”

“When the rain stops, leave.”

After saying that, the man lifted the curtain and disappeared into the next room.

Cheng Yaojin opened his mouth, only for the words to jam in his throat.

He lowered his head to look at the gourd in his hands, then lifted his eyes toward the curtain, then looked back down at the gourd again.

Rain still poured outside.

He could not leave.

Standing there, Cheng Yaojin suddenly felt like an idiot.

The man had said to leave when the rain stopped. The rain had not stopped yet, so what was he supposed to leave for?

He set the gourd onto the table and dropped heavily onto the edge of the kang.

After sitting there for a moment, something suddenly felt off.

Wait.

That brat’s words just now sounded an awful lot like—

Cheng Yaojin scratched his head.

Then it hit him.

Leave when the rain stops.

Bring people tomorrow at noon.

The bastard was chasing him out.

But the rain had not stopped.

And if the rain had not stopped, he could not leave.

Which meant he could only sit here.

Sit here and wait for the rain to stop.

Cheng Yaojin turned to look at Li Shimin on the kang, then at the gourd on the table, then at the curtain.

There was not a single sound from the other side.

Suddenly, he wanted to laugh.

This brat—even when driving people away, he had to do it in such a roundabout way.

If this had been more than ten years ago, Cheng Yaojin would have kicked the curtain aside, dragged the brat out, and cursed him:

“If you’ve got something to say, say it straight! Quit acting like some damn silent gourd!”

But now he did not move.

He simply sat on the edge of the kang, listening to the rain outside.

The rain truly had weakened.

But it would still fall for a while yet.

Cheng Yaojin reached over, picked up the gourd again, pulled out the wooden stopper, and took a sniff.

A scent drifted out.

He froze.

He knew that smell too well.

Back in Wagang Stronghold, after battles ended at night, the few of them would sit around a fire with bowls in hand.

This was exactly the smell of the liquor they drank.

Back then, that brat had talked the most. Drinking while bragging, bragging about war after he finished bragging about women, then bragging about the future after women.

He had even said that once the realm was finally at peace, he would open a tavern that sold this very liquor. Anyone who came in would have to drink three bowls first, or they would not be allowed inside.

Cheng Yaojin had cursed him, saying, “The hell kind of liquor is this? Bitter and harsh as shit. Who’d drink it?”

And the brat had only laughed—that carefree, heartless laugh—and said:

“You don’t get it. This is what real strength tastes like. You rough bastards only know how to appreciate sweet wine.”

Later, on the day he got married, this was the wine they drank.

Later still, his wife died.

And later after that, he himself disappeared too.

Cheng Yaojin held the gourd beneath his nose and inhaled again.

Still the same smell.

Bitter. Harsh. Sharp enough to sting the nose, almost like horse piss.

But suddenly his eyes burned.

He raised the gourd and took a huge swallow.

The liquor burned all the way down his throat and into his stomach.

Cheng Yaojin closed his eyes, savoring it for a long while.

Then he opened them again and looked down at the gourd in his hand.

That brat.

Even while throwing someone out, he still left them some wine to drink.

Cheng Yaojin plugged the stopper back into the gourd and placed it on the table.

Leaning against the edge of the kang, he stared at the oil lamp and listened to the rain outside.

The rain was still falling.

So he simply sat there.

Waiting for it to stop.