“Lü Bu hides in the outskirts of Yewang City, fallen from a war god to a fugitive, yet for the first time, he finally tastes the torment and tenderness called ‘waiting.’ That fateful arrow, its feelings hard to decipher, but he is willing to stake the rest of his life—on one more gamble!”
Henei, Yewang City • Outskirts
A small farmhouse, hidden beneath the dusk-shaded trees. Lü Bu, carrying his bow and arrows and holding two wild rabbits and a pheasant, walked into the farmhouse. It had been more than two months since that snowy night atop White Gate Tower when he narrowly escaped death.
Since leaving Xiapi that night, he had made his way toward Henei.
Lü Bu knew that Xiao Meng was deeply attached to Liao Yuanhuo. Although Lü Bu himself was now a fugitive hunted by the court, he was sure that if Xiao Meng was still alive, he would show up wherever Liao Yuanhuo was most likely to appear.
On the surface, to quickly calm the court and avoid complications, Cao Cao announced that Lü Bu had died at Xiapi. But in secret, he continued sending people to track him down—though this was no obstacle for Lü Bu.
Xiao Meng, on the other hand, was pursued relentlessly by Cao Cao. Everywhere, there was news of the court hunting down the remnants of the defeated soldiers.
Therefore, Lü Bu was even more determined to find Xiao Meng.
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Lü Bu lit a fire in the farmhouse and sat carving a cup by the fire.
By now, the last chill of spring had faded. The night breeze, carrying the warmth and freshness of mid-spring, passed through the trees and drifted into the house. Lü Bu felt a rare comfort and stopped his work to enjoy the gentle wind.
This was indeed one of the rare moments of leisure in his life.
The cup in his hands already had an outer shape: a small cylinder, with a waist in the middle, almost like a woman’s figure. He was carefully sanding it, making that “waist” even smoother.
Hmm, almost done.
Lü Bu felt quite satisfied. He put down the whetstone, held the cup in one hand, and picked up a small knife in the other to hollow out the inside. He listened to the sound of the knife shaving wood, as if hearing a subtle rhythm.
But his mind was on Xiao Meng.
Xiao Meng saved me!
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When Cao Cao was shot, he realized Xiao Meng hadn’t left. When the arrow split the skin of his hand and tore at the ropes binding him, Lü Bu knew—Xiao Meng intended to save him.
Even now, he couldn’t clearly define his relationship with Xiao Meng. No worldly label seemed to fit them. All he could say was that, through countless twists of fate, they were bound by an indescribable, unbreakable tie.
He knew Xiao Meng could never love him, might even only hate him.
But so what!
A chain of pain lashed them together, binding them inescapably.
Because of this, he found the pain less frightening, even somewhat addictive.
Even if doomed, even if in the end they parted ways, he would have no regrets.
But on White Gate Tower, the third arrow Xiao Meng shot completely overturned Lü Bu’s world—
Xiao Meng didn’t want me to die!
He didn’t feel only hatred for me. Even if it wasn’t love, or was some other emotion that couldn’t be named, it didn’t matter.
What mattered was—he had me in his heart.
Lü Bu felt that just this simple fact was enough to offset all his failures and every unknown in the rest of his life.
He knew he was no longer the war god. In the eyes of the world, Lü Bu was history.
If he dared announce, “Lü Bu is still alive,” he would be like a rat everyone wants to kill. Gao Shun and Chen Gong were dead, Zhang Liao had surrendered—no lord would take in this “beast.” He had lost all chance of making a comeback.
But that no longer mattered.
Now there was just one thing he wanted—to find Xiao Meng.
He wanted to protect him, to face him, and then… gamble on that one-in-ten-thousand chance.
Perhaps the war god Lü Bu was born a gambler.
He killed Ding Yuan, betting on himself to soar in power; killed Dong Zhuo, betting he could take his place and reach the pinnacle. The day he let Xiao Meng assassinate Cao Cao, he staked his own life and future on Xiao Meng, betting that Xiao Meng wouldn’t betray him.
His life was one of rolling the dice again and again.
Now… he would gamble once more.
So thought Lü Bu.
The cup’s inside was finished. For a novice carpenter, it was decent enough.
He thought of carving the character “Meng” onto the cup, but after stroking it for a moment, just couldn’t bring himself to do it.
Forget it… this will do.
Lü Bu sighed, put the cup on the table, and lay down to rest.
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He thought again of “the little one.”
The little one… sigh…
These days, only two people lingered in his mind: the little one, and Xiao Meng.
Even if he tried not to, the little one’s adorable face would always pop up unexpectedly, along with her final words to him: “To ride into battle with my father—your daughter has no regrets.”
He forced himself to stop thinking about it, knowing it was a wound that would never heal.
He suddenly got up, took the new cup, scooped a cup of water from the barrel in the corner, and drank it all in one go.
Then he half-reclined on the bed, still holding and caressing the little cup, lost in thought. He recalled that stormy night, when he held Xiao Meng as the doctor operated.
…Xiao Meng in his arms: his scent, his breath, his warmth, his weight, the little hand on his shoulder, and the gaze Xiao Meng cast on him—one he dared not meet but could feel.
In that moment, Lü Bu felt no more pain.
Because when all his senses were filled by the person in his arms, the karmic fire aroused by the blend of agony and bliss burned his soul to ashes.
Unconsciously… some part of his body grew feverish.
A spark could light the prairie.
…Xiao Meng… Lü Bu closed his eyes and let out a low, muffled sound.
He was determined to plunge into this prairie of blazing fire, until every last blade of grass turned to drifting white ash.
Lü Bu sat on the bed, leaning by the window, gazing up at the bright moon and clear sky.
That afternoon, while hunting in the mountains, Lü Bu had secretly noticed several squads of soldiers from Xuchang on the road leading to Yewang City. Clearly, Cao Cao had learned something about Yewang—and it likely had to do with Xiao Meng.
So he decided to enter the city at dawn—but for now, he wasn’t sleepy.
The moon these nights was almost too bright… so thought Lü Bu.
The bright moon, the far horizon—where is she now?
No matter, what’s meant to happen, will happen.
So Lü Bu comforted himself, and finally drifted to sleep, where he dreamed—
In his dream, he stood alone on a desolate plain. Suddenly, a familiar silhouette appeared in the distance—the one he thought of day and night: Xiao Meng.
He gazed quietly at Xiao Meng, who gazed quietly back, a faint, unreadable smile on his face.
Then, Xiao Meng drew his bow and shot an arrow—straight into Lü Bu’s heart.
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End of Chapter 7
© Jing Xixian (King Heyin) (Vampire L), All rights reserved.
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