Chapter Fifty-Five: Weeping at the Uprooted Roots

Mu Chen ignored Zhou Yi and instead crouched down to examine Xun Feng’s injuries. “Strange… it’s been two days and the wound still hasn’t healed. I’ll have to ask my master about this.”

“You rely on your master for everything. Don’t you have any skills of your own?” Baozi remarked, clearly pleased that Mu Chen was finally persuaded, and began to tease him again.

“Who says I don’t? The world knows that the Maoshan arts are unrivaled, but few realize that our medicine and formations are also peerless throughout history,” Mu Chen declared, puffing out his chest.

Zhou Yi and Baozi pretended not to hear a word of it.

“Can you heal him or not?” Zhou Yi asked, though he kept his doubts hidden behind a neutral expression.

“With a bit of Root-Weeper as the guiding herb, along with a few cooling plants, the wound can be treated,” Mu Chen answered.

“Didn’t you just say you needed to consult your master? If it’s so simple, why bother? And what on earth is this Root-Weeper?” Baozi mocked.

Mu Chen shook his head. “I don’t know.”

Well, that was a waste of breath. Yet the name Root-Weeper suddenly reminded Zhou Yi of the strange vine he’d encountered in Zhuolu. He turned to Mu Chen and asked, “Is Root-Weeper some kind of odd vine, its sap carrying the scent of orchid?”

Mu Chen considered. “When my master described it, he only said it required extremely harsh conditions to grow, yet it’s incredibly tenacious. Its branches and leaves die instantly when severed from the root.”

“If it’s just an ordinary gunshot, why must it be Root-Weeper to cure it?” Baozi asked, frowning.

“Xun Feng’s constitution is far from that of a normal person. I only know that common herbs won’t work, though there may be other cures; I just don’t know them,” Mu Chen replied, glancing at Xun Feng.

Zhou Yi, having heard Mu Chen’s explanation, fell into thoughtful silence. He was almost certain Mu Chen was referring to the strange vine from Zhuolu. With that, he decided there was no time to lose.

“Pack up. We’re heading to Zhuolu. Once this is done, we’re going straight home.”

By his reckoning, Zhou Yi had been away from Changbai Mountain for over a month now—the longest and farthest he’d ever been from home. He missed his mother and third brother dearly, and longed to see them soon. There was also someone else he hoped to hear news of once he returned.

They packed their bags and were just about to leave the hospital when Zhang Xun arrived. “Zhou Yi, where are you headed?”

“Commander Zhang, I must journey to Zhuolu for medicine to treat Xun Feng,” Zhou Yi replied, giving a martial salute.

“No. The restoration plans are already set on my end. If you head to Zhuolu now, you’ll delay everything,” Zhang Xun said coldly, dismissing Zhou Yi’s intentions.

“I’ll travel with spiritual energy—I can make the round trip in three days; it won’t take too long,” Zhou Yi protested, glancing down at the weary, dispirited Xun Feng with a pang of sympathy.

“No. Your friend’s injury has already held us up for two days. If you go to Zhuolu, there’s no telling what else might go wrong. The car is ready; you’re returning to the Northeast now,” Zhang Xun replied without a trace of warmth, his words more a command than a discussion.

“Commander Zhang, you’ve spent so long in the army you seem to have forgotten how to ask for help. If you won’t allow it, then find someone else. Farewell,” Zhou Yi said, his displeasure plain. If you needed a favor, you should at least ask politely. Had Zhang Xun tried a softer approach, Zhou Yi might have considered alternatives. But barking orders was no way to win cooperation.

The three had scarcely reached the door when Zhang Xun’s soldiers blocked their way.

Zhou Yi frowned and looked back, silently asking if Zhang Xun truly meant to detain them.

A faint smirk appeared on Zhang Xun’s lips as he spoke icily, “The car is waiting outside. If you won’t return to the Northeast, you’re not going anywhere today.”

With that, he drew his sidearm, the barrel aimed squarely at Zhou Yi’s brow.

“So you’re planning to burn all bridges, then?” Zhou Yi narrowed his eyes.

It’s said that people often frown when thinking, as the dense nerves between the brows, when compressed, help focus the mind and sharpen attention. But narrowing one’s eyes is a predatory instinct—an unconscious act of sizing up a threat as prey, to better spot weaknesses.

Neither yielded, their gazes locked in open challenge.

“What are you doing? Apologize to Commander Zhang at once. Everything can be discussed. I’ll send someone to Zhuolu for the medicine while you and Commander Zhang return to the Northeast,” Kang Youwei intervened at the critical moment to smooth things over.

Zhou Yi glanced at Zhang Xun’s imperious demeanor and sneered. He had a dozen ways to bring Zhang Xun down instantly, and at this distance, Zhang Xun would never have time to pull the trigger.

“The Root-Weeper I need grows where your men cannot reach. Zhang Zuozheng has been to Zhuolu; if he goes, he might be able to fetch it,” Zhou Yi said.

He had respect for Kang Youwei, who was diplomatic and adaptable, but more importantly, valued Zhou Yi’s perspective and knew when to listen.

As for Zhang Xun, his temperament was too rigid—everything he decided became an order, and just now he’d tried to command Zhou Yi outright. Zhou Yi didn’t dislike upright, uncompromising officials; such men were often honest and just. But with Zhang Zuozheng’s involvement, Zhou Yi’s first impression of Zhang Xun was anything but favorable.

“Root-Weeper earns its name because it’s most potent at the moment it’s severed from the root—it must be used immediately. If someone else brings it back, it’s no different from a weed,” Mu Chen explained.

Kang Youwei pondered and then proposed, “I’ll accompany Zhou Yi to Zhuolu for the medicine. As soon as we’re done, we’ll return to the Northeast. Zhang Zuozheng and Zuo Zhi can go ahead to Changbai Mountain and wait for us. What do you say, Commander Zhang?”

Knowing he couldn’t force the matter, Zhang Xun weighed the pros and cons—three days’ delay at most—and reluctantly consented, though he secretly bore a grudge against Zhou Yi.

“No time to lose. Let’s move at once,” Zhou Yi said with a smile, seeing that Kang Youwei had persuaded Zhang Xun.

The group set out for Zhuolu, this time traveling by car. Though not much faster than Zhou Yi’s own spiritual flight, the car could keep going without rest. From Beijing to Zhuolu, they stopped only to eat and refuel, pressing on through two days and a night, reaching Zhuolu by the following evening.

At the sight of fissures in the earth, the car could go no further and they had to stop at the outskirts.

“Baozi, you’re injured. Mu Chen and I will go—wait for us here,” Zhou Yi said, then led Mu Chen and Xun Feng toward the heart of Zhuolu.

There were Root-Weeper vines down in the fissures as well, but Xun Feng couldn’t make the descent. If Zhou Yi tried to return with the herb, it would wither before they got back. The best place to harvest it was above the ancient burial pit.

Having been there before, Zhou Yi was familiar with the place and headed straight for the ancient locust tree at the center of Zhuolu.

When they arrived, the stone figure that had once been Ming Kong still sat serenely beneath the tree. Zhou Yi bowed deeply to it, but as he looked behind the locust tree, a figure flashed swiftly by...

Flowers and collections are requested.