Fu Shenyi was sore and tired, almost unable to squat, and stumbled forward. Yan Xiaohang caught him and carried him out of the village. They rode back to the city, asked the inn’s waiter for hot water and food, and after washing and eating, General Fu lay on the bed to rest, while Lord Yan sat by the bedside, massaging his legs to relax.
“Do you think the ‘disease’ might be a plague?”
“Fu Shenyi said, ‘If it really is a plague, the villagers seem too calm. If a plague were to spread widely, wiping out an entire village would be the least of it.’
‘Concealment is human nature,’ Yan Xiaohang rolled up his trouser leg and pressed on several acupoints on his calf. ‘Think about it. The local official didn’t even report the autumn night white outbreak to the imperial court. If he discovered a series of suspicious plague-like diseases in Xishan Village, what would he do?’
Fu Shenyi’s eyebrows jumped. Yan Xiaohang continued, ‘Better to kill wrongly than let one escape. Regardless of whether it’s a plague, complete elimination is the only way to prevent future trouble. The villagers know that if this spreads, their entire village is doomed, so they’re desperately keeping it secret and afraid to report it to the authorities.’
Fu Shenyi slapped the bed, ‘What a dog of an official! Outrageous!’
Yan Xiaohang smiled silently.
Yan Xiaohan held his hand and tucked it back into the quilt. He leaned down and kissed his forehead, whispering, ‘Go to sleep, I’ll go wash my hands.’
Fu Shen heard these words and closed his eyes again, but he couldn’t fall asleep. In the darkness, there was a rustling sound of fabric, and then the bed slightly sank as Yan Xiaohan climbed onto the bed, gently pulling him into his arms.”
Fu Shen closed his eyes and traced his hand with his fingertips, hearing Yan Xiaohan whisper in his ear, “You wake up at the slightest breeze, which is bad for your health.”
Body temperature and breath were the best lullabies, and Fu Shen’s drowsiness returned. At this moment, even Yan Xiaohan’s murmurs couldn’t disturb him. He turned over, his hand resting on Yan Xiaohan’s waist, patting it absent-mindedly, and mumbled, “Sleeping.”
