Chapter Eighteen: Poisoned

But the wounds all over his body, coupled with his series of intense movements, ultimately resulted in Peng Liang losing too much blood.

As his mind alternated between tension and relaxation, Peng Liang, having just leapt up, barely took a step before his vision went black. With a faint cry, he collapsed and rolled to the ground.

...

Hearing the commotion from the windward slope above, Di Ying remained motionless, his eyes closed.

Only when the four death warriors sprang up did he slowly sit up.

One of them went to investigate, and Di Ying also tried to follow, but was stopped.

He spoke up, “I know a bit of medicine. Judging by the sound, it seems to be an injured person. Your target is only me, and I cannot escape. Let me save a life—consider it an act of virtue. It might even bring some light to your journey down the Yellow Springs, wouldn’t you agree?”

Seeing their hesitation, Di Ying continued, his face wholly sincere, “You are death warriors, not mere assassins. There’s no need to add to the carnage. Surely none of you wish to be death warriors again in your next life? All want wives, children, and a peaceful existence, don’t you? Accumulate some merit.”

Upon hearing him, the obvious leader among the death warriors—the one who had struck Di Ying’s face with the back of his blade—gave him a blank look and waved him forward.

Di Ying pressed his palms together in gratitude, then followed the scout toward the source of the sound.

Sure enough, it was a person, and a gravely injured one at that.

Di Ying searched his body, only to find his packet of golden needles had already been confiscated.

He rubbed his face, forcing a wry smile, his tone laced with helplessness, “Those are golden needles, only for saving lives. Could you return them to me? They can’t harm anyone.”

He gestured to his own frail form, “Look at me. Even if you gave me a golden knife, with you standing there, I couldn’t manage to strike. Please, return them and let us finish this good deed, shall we?”

The death warrior leading the way regarded him, his expression as lifeless as a dead fish, but his face twitched slightly.

“Wait here,” he said, then turned back to retrieve the golden needles from their leader.

Di Ying called his thanks after the departing figure, then turned to crouch by the injured man, examining his wounds.

A hint of delight flashed in his eyes.

The grasses near the hill were lush and thriving, untouched by human footsteps...

Once the golden needles were brought to him, Di Ying asked them to help move the injured man closer to the brazier, so he could treat him by its light.

As he methodically went about the rescue, the death warriors were compelled to assist, fetching clean water and even offering their own supply of medicinal powder.

They thought: since we are doomed anyway, and have agreed to save a life, we might as well use up the medicine. Perhaps, as Lord Di said, this might buy us a peaceful next life, maybe even free us from the fate of death warriors.

Moreover, watching Lord Di apply three needles and immediately stop the bleeding, then rinse the wounds with clean water, retrieve needle and thread from his kit to sew up the injuries as deftly as a seamstress, sprinkle medicine, and bandage the wounds...

It all seemed miraculous.

“Lord Di, are you...are you a deity?” one death warrior blurted out, unable to restrain himself. To restore life and flesh—surely that’s the work of a god?

Di Ying merely chuckled, shaking his head without replying, and continued his work.

The faces of the death warriors subtly changed.

When he saw the patient’s vital signs stabilize, Di Ying stood and walked to the other side of the hollow, by the stream trickling along the stones, to wash his hands.

The wild grass by the stream swayed gently in the wind, as if beckoning to him.

None of the death warriors followed.

Di Ying’s phoenix eyes curved ever so slightly.

When he returned to the brazier, one death warrior even poured him a bowl of hot water and handed it over.

Earlier, Di Ying had asked them to fetch a kettle from the carriage and boil water over the brazier to save the injured man.

Now, without prompting, they found teacups and brought him hot water.

Di Ying accepted it with both hands, looking at each of them in turn, then sat down.

After a moment, Di Ying spoke, his expression grave and his words rapid, “I’m sorry, but you have all been poisoned by me. It’s not fatal; you’ll wake in two hours. I hope you’ll take this time to reflect.”

“Ma Guangjin has harmed countless people—you know this better than I. Those he ruined, they had elders and children. They once lived quietly, even if life was hard, their families were whole. Because of officials like Ma Guangjin, orphans grew numerous, and people like you became necessary.”

“You are death warriors, with no feelings or family. But Ma Guangjin is dead now. If you pointlessly die with him, you waste your hard-earned skills. Your hands are stained with blood; if you die without atoning, how will the judges of the underworld treat you? Do you wish to be death warriors again in your next life?”

“Live. Use your bodies to atone for those harmed by Ma Guangjin and yourselves. Come into this world clean, and leave clean, so you may earn a peaceful rebirth.”

At the revelation that they had been poisoned, the group instinctively reached for their blades in alarm.

But as soon as their hands touched the hilts, their bodies went limp, collapsing to the ground, strength drained.

Having heard Lord Di’s words, their instinctive terror...

Suddenly vanished.

“Thank you, Lord Di,” someone murmured, closing his eyes.

He felt a profound relaxation, one he’d never felt in his entire life.

Deep within, feelings long locked away burst forth like a breached dam, surging wildly.

They were human, too...

Finally, someone recognized them as people...

Di Ying gazed at them, sighing inwardly.

The grass everywhere could easily send a man on his way.

In the end, he harbored no murderous intent, out of pity for these death warriors.

They were like blades, wielded by their masters. From childhood, they’d closed off their thoughts, unable even to feel joy, anger, sadness, or pleasure of their own.

When the master died, the blade was broken as well.

But how could a blade be defined as purely good or evil?

When they helped him, when their faces finally changed, Di Ying decided to let them go. Let them do more good deeds.

Di Ying took two more stalks of grass from his sleeve, chewing the leaves.

It was the antidote.

If he delayed any longer, he’d have no strength himself.

Earlier, he’d slipped poisonous herbs into the brazier, and the smoke spared none present.

He could hold out a bit longer only because he’d covered his mouth and nose with a handkerchief while treating the patient.

As for the patient...