Magic Sword.
805 Words
Ordinary people, subconsciously, often hope to play the role of a savior or a vulnerable one. On one hand, they wish to be powerful, capable of overcoming any obstacle. On the other hand, they also long to be enveloped in warmth and tenderness, like children seeking a comforting embrace after facing the harshness of the world. Humans are incredibly resilient, yet so fragile.
He had hollowed out the corners of the rear legs of some chairs beforehand and embedded flammable phosphorus stones. Dressed in black, he hid in the shadows early in the morning. He waited until the guests at the Guanhai Tower lined up before entering the hall in order. To show respect, they were orderly, with few whispering.
When the Minister of Revenue, Zhang Hou, ordered the guests to move their seats closer to the main hall, the chairs with phosphorus stones were dragged across the floor, the deep red carpet unnoticed by anyone.
It was at this moment that the unexpected happened.
Xuerong, having finished her meal, was strolling in the main hall of the Guanhai Tower, drawn by the lively group of guests. She followed them absentmindedly.
She soon noticed a man in black sitting on the floor at the back of the hall, his long collar deliberately raised to cover half his face. The man pulled out a dagger from his pocket, its blade gleaming coldly. He lifted his sleeve, gritted his teeth, and slashed deeply into his left arm, blood gushing out.
Xuerong, seeing this from a distance, gasped in shock.
Before she could react, a loud explosion echoed, and thick smoke filled the front hall, mingled with screams and cries of the crowd.
As the smoke began to clear, the man in black had vanished.
“Watch out for the stones, sir!” a voice rang out amidst the chaos.
The next second, the smoke thinned, and the area around Minister Zhang Hou was littered with splintered wood and rocks. However, a stranger stood firmly in front of him, protecting him.
The man wore a servant's uniform, covered in ash, his left arm bleeding profusely from the impact. Blood dripped silently onto the carpet, leaving no trace.
Zhang Hou was momentarily speechless. The man, though in pain, was resolute.
“The incident was sudden, sir. Are you hurt?” the man asked with immediate concern. Seeing more attendants rushing over, he added sternly, “Something exploded at the back of the hall. Fortunately, I was close to you. Protect the minister.”
Zhang Hou felt something was amiss but prioritized his safety. Surrounded by attendants, he hurriedly left the scene, asking the name of the servant who had saved him. The man introduced himself as Bai Changming, with the courtesy name Yeshaha.
Zhang Hou's suspicions grew deeper, but he said nothing more at the scene.
Bai Changming's wound was bound with a piece of cloth handed to him by someone else. He had planned to bandage it himself if no one helped, estimating that within three days, the Minister of Revenue would likely send a message.
The pain was indeed unbearable, but the chances of success were high.
Just as he was about to leave the scene anonymously, he inadvertently looked up and saw Xuerong standing high above, her eyes fixed on him.
Surprised, he didn't have time to read her expression.
Xuerong clung to the railing, her gaze unwavering. The deep, freshly staunched wound, the calm composure in his eyes, the swift change of position in a split second, and the well-rehearsed dialogue...
Xuerong moved her lips but said nothing, turning and running out of the Guanhai Tower.
For a long time afterward, the words "Bai Changming, courtesy name Yeshaha" echoed in her mind like a melody, refusing to fade.
His gentle smile as a fortune-teller, his deep, slightly upturned eyes, his black attire and the look of surprise... and the myriad inexplicable mysteries surrounding him.
Bai Changming watched Xuerong, and Xuerong remembered Bai Changming—both were enigmas.
Fate seemed to intentionally entangle their paths, leading not only to a connection but also to a higher-dimensional cause and effect.
“Mom, do you remember that book with a very worn, deep blue cover, with a turtle on the front, and the title written in ancient Chinese, probably four characters?”
Xuerong's mother, seeing her urgent and jumbled explanation, frowned and thought for a moment. She went to the bookshelf in the inner room, took out a box, and opened it. Inside was an ancient book.
“What turtle, silly girl, that's a divine tortoise, a sacred beast from the ancient Xia Dynasty.” Xuerong happily took the book, thanked her mother, and returned to her room.
It was late at night, and she placed the thin book beside her pillow. The cover clearly read: *Hetu Luoshu
- Writer
