But Feyantahun now knew that he was not a warrior, but a useless little boy of ten years old. His courage is a thin layer of ice that can be pierced with a single finger. Fear rushed through Feyantahun's veins, sending shivers to his every numb fingertip.

The horses' hooves with heavy palms walked on the snowfield, crushing the snow and bones along the way, making a crisp and clean cracking sound, and gradually approaching.

Feyantahun wanted to sit up, but couldn't. His body was empty, and the dry cold sucked the strength of his whole body, silently, without a trickle.

The sound of hooves came near, stopped, and the man on horseback looked down on him.

The man probably used to wear a Rakshasa leather robe, but it had been removed, and there were seven or eight wounds on his body, and the robe inside turned out to be a luxurious Central Plains brocade robe, and the white sable skin lining was spit out from the hole, without a trace of the original color, and it was soaked in blood and dust and sand into black and red, and it was cemented into a hard shell like armor.

The boy wanted to remember the face of the Rakshasa man, but in the end he only remembered his eyes. The white-haired wind blew through the north, and the face of each Rakshasa was as thick and black as an old sheepskin, and it was impossible to see the age and facial features. But he had a pair of eyes that were tinged reddish by the snow, narrowed into a slender line, bright enough to remind him of a night fox running silently on the ice field.

The man was looking at him, too, with a strange, contemptuous smile. He quickly jumped off his horse and crouched down in front of Feiyang Tahun as he pulled out a delicate Bo dagger from the middle of his boot.

Feyantahun felt that all the blood in his heart had drained. He recognized the knife, its edge smooth and pale azure. Like a rainbow cut off by oblique shear. The side body is engraved with the same smooth grooves. In order to release the blood of the enemy, the blade goes straight in and out, and is not sucked by the wound. Half a month ago, when my mother led my people to leave the winter field, my father gave it to my mother and asked her to protect her wife on the battlefield instead of herself.

The Rakshasa man held it so carelessly, grabbing Feyantahun by the left hand as if it were any loot that was easy to obtain. The sleeves were rolled down to reveal a silver chain tied to the soft suede rope on Feyantahun's wrist, with a basalt pendant on it, and a small dagger for children.

Feyantahun tried to regain his mother's dagger, but the carcass of the horse still weighed heavily on him, and as soon as his upper body was raised, he fell back into the snow, his left hand still in the man's grasp, and he never let go.

Anger replaced fear, and that little voice returned. Urging him. Say, hurry up. You are a warrior. There should be a way for a warrior to die.

The Rakshasa man still had a smile on his face, and asked him softly, but Feiyantahun didn't understand and didn't care.

He gasped, with all his might, and uttered it in the most solemn tone a ten-year-old child had ever known.

"Kill me and give me the glory of a warrior."

The Rakshasa was a little surprised, and then smiled, revealing his snow-white teeth. It was only then that Feyantahun realized that the smile on his enemy's face was nothing more than an old scar on his lips.

The Rakshasa used the tip of his knife to cut the suede rope on Feyantahun's wrist, stuffed the silver chain and small dagger symbolizing Feyantahun into his boots, looked around at the empty area, and then stood up and called out to his companions. His voice was still young, but it had a majesty of its own. Soon several Rakshasa soldiers arrived, and the man pointed to Feyan Tahun as if to order them to remove the horse's carcass.

"Kill me." "But don't touch me." ”

One of the soldiers seemed to understand the Bo language, and reported the boy's words to that man. The man replied, then turned on his horse and prepared to leave.

A young Rakshasa soldier with thick eyebrows and big eyes turned back and said to Feiyang Tahun in the unfamiliar Central Plains official dialect: "He will not kill you, he will take you to our place." ”

"I am a warrior, not a slave. All you can take with you is my corpse. Feyantahun glared at the man on horseback, as if every word was stuck to his lips and refused to leave, and had to be spit out vigorously.

The horse's belly froze together with Feyantahun's broken leg, and with some effort the soldiers finally cut off the mare's carcass and dragged it away, leaving a large piece of horsemeat with fur on the fold of the boy's calf.

The young Rakshasa soldier faithfully relayed Feyantahun's words, and the man listened attentively and seemed to find it interesting. The soldier then repeated the man's answer in the Bo language.

"You say you're a warrior, then we'll use the warrior's method to decide the winner. From this day forward, there will be no guards outside my tent, and the arsenal will have swords, guns, bows, and crossbows of your choice. In three years, if you can kill me, you will be able to return to the Amur, and no one will stop you. But if you can't kill you—" the man sneered, sneering, "you must be my son, and I will send you." How is it? ”

With all his might, Feyantahun spat at him, but to no avail.

"It's a girl's trick." The man's smile never waned, "It seems that you haven't learned to kill yet." ”

"I'll kill. It will also roast you like a sheep and suck out the marrow of every bone. Feiyangtahui's voice was weak, but his words were urgent, and the corners of his freeze-dried mouth were torn, and purple blood was dripping.

The Rakshasa soldier's face was tense and hesitant, but the man urged him, and he had to reluctantly and slurred it, his forehead covered with fine sweat.

The man laughed out loud. He turned the horse's head and lightly clamped the horse's belly, swept past Feyantahun, and with his strong hand lifted the boy by the waist like a lamb, and laid him down in front of the saddle.

The man's tent was set up in the center of the Rakshasa army joint camp, alongside another identical tent. He jumped out of his horse in front of the tent, caught Feiyan Tahun in the crook of his elbow, and strode in, and the warmth came to his face.

The skin had long been frozen and brittle, tightly bound to the flesh and blood, and every slight movement ripped out the cracks, and the wounds around the body seemed to be torn apart as if they had been re-torn by the charcoal fire. Between the roots of the boy's clenched teeth, there was a bone-chilling sound. He never knew that warmth could be so terrible.

The man threw him on the ground and gave several orders in a loud voice. The brazier beside him had been removed, which relieved some of the pain. The man crouched down in front of Feyan Tahun and quickly cut the cowhide strap of the boy's small chain mail with a short knife. Feyantahun was dressed thickly, before he understood. Layers of mink, rabbit fur, fine cashmere, silk. It's all been cut by a sharp blade. The clothes were attached to the chain mail, peeling off from his body like a cocoon. Feyantahun panicked, cursed loudly, and limbly kicked his uninjured leg to prevent the Rakshasa from touching his gauntlets and boots. But now he was as weak as a newborn baby, and soon as he was as naked as a newborn baby. He looked at his broken leg in horror, a dead white calf twisted to the side. The toenails are all purple-black.

The Rakshasa soldiers noisily carried in a huge egg-shaped copper basin with half of the snow in it, and poured in several buckets of boiling water. Then the rakshasa man grabbed the fyāntahun and threw him into the water without mercy, hanging only his legs on the rim of the basin.

Feyantahun knew that the water wasn't really hot, and that it was saving his life, but he felt like he was being dipped in oil and about to be roasted alive. He didn't want to show weakness, he bit his lower lip tightly, and refused to let out a wail.

The man quickly reached out his hand. He violently tore off the half-thawed horse's flesh from Feyantahun's broken leg, and immediately poured a bowl of liquor on the jagged stubble with his other hand. The boy shuddered. Howling like a wolf cub, he struggled and splashed everywhere. A few men ran up and helped hold him down on his hands and feet so that he could be honest. The man took the opportunity to remove the stubble and the gray, swollen flesh from the wound of Feyantahun with a short knife, and tied the wounded leg tightly with two thin plates and a roll of cloth to restore it to its straight appearance.

Intense pain and powerless shame tore at Feyantahun, and the only thing he could do was sink his face under the surface of the water and not let the Rakshasas find him crying.

The soldier brought a large single-handled silver jug, and the man took a large sip of it, and then handed it to Feyantahomun. Feyantahun turned his face away with all his might.

The Rakshasa soldier, who knew the Bo dialect, pressed Feiyang Tahun on his left hand and said, "If you are crushed by that horse for too long, in another two hours your legs will be swollen with red spots and blisters everywhere. If you don't drink as much water as you can, those legs will drain your whole body of blood, and they will be waist-thick, hard and cold, like stones, and then you will die. ”

"That's good, it's better to die than to be insulted by you." Feiyang Tahui's breath was short, but he still raised his head arrogantly, and squinted sideways at the Rakshasa soldier's thick-eyed face. He was actually not a few years older than Feyan Tahun, his hair and eyes were as black as Feyan Tahun, his face was rough and broad, and his expression was as kind as that of the herdsmen that Feyan Tahun was familiar with. But he must have killed the people of Feyantahun, and perhaps he was the one who killed his mother.

The man with the knife marks on his lips patiently shoved the silver jug into Feyantahun's lips again, but he still stubbornly ignored it. The man spoke a Rakshasa in a calm tone, the scar on his lips rising a little, and a cold smile bent out.

The man with the knife marks on his lips patiently shoved the silver jug into his lips again, but he still stubbornly ignored it. The man spoke in Donglu dialect, his tone was calm, the knife marks on his lips rose a little, and a cold smile bent out.

When the Rakshasa soldier who served as the interpreter heard this, he also grinned and said, "Your Excellency the Viscount said that if you are willing to die, you can. But a dead man can't kill him, so if you lose, you have to call him 'Father' anyway before you die." ”

Feiyang Tahun was stunned for a moment.

"Are you going to pay your bills? I thought you barbarians valued their oaths more than your lives. The man who was called "His Excellency the Viscount" by his subordinates, the sneering arc on his lips deepened.

Feyantahun felt himself shivering, not from the cold, but from anger. How dare he insult the oath made by the descendants of Emperor Xuanwu?

The man handed the jug over for the third time, tilting his wrist slightly, letting a small wisp of water run over Feyantahun's chapped lips. Feyantahun jerked his head into the silver jar and gulped down the cold water, his eyes fixed on him, like a wolf cub that had just been pulled out of the den.

The man stared at him and drank most of the jug before he stood up, poured the remaining water from the bottom of the jar onto a soft cloth towel, and began to wipe his face and hands.

The water in the tub was so cold that it was close to body temperature, and the pain seemed to be bearable. Feyan Tahun felt a little clearer, looked around, and saw that it was a camp of the Rakshasa general. The circumference and roof are made of fine leather, and the map-like pattern is drawn, which is very beautiful, but it is not spacious. Far from being comparable to his father's great tent.

In the tent, there is a large fire pit under the ground in the style of the Bo people. Burning fragrant dried pine strips. From time to time, sparks exploded, and seven or eight braziers were scattered all over the place. A low bed was set up behind the fire, and at the end of the bed were a long knife and a musket leaning on the four corners of the copper-clad mahogany box, and some swords were carefully tied into a bunch and rested on the ground. In addition, there is only a table and a chair, and the paper and pen and ink are displayed on the table, which is simple and simple. There are thick soft mattresses piled on the bed, and the size is made of dozens of fox back skins. It has not been dyed, but it is bright and pure red, and there is no trace of continuity. This mattress is worthy of the greatest khans in legend.

The interpreter sergeant just now called him "Your Excellency."

The mother of Feyantahun was from the boreal ice field (Siberia?). The Beidi woman who married her, her hometown was occupied by the Rakshasa country very early, so she was half of the Rakshasa blood, and although she did not teach him much of the Rakshasa language, she always told him what was happening there. Feiyang Tahun knew that the man with the title of "viscount" had been an important minister in the Rakshasa Kingdom for generations, and his status was very high. The status is quite prominent.

Several Rakshasa soldiers brought in two buckets of freshly boiled water, and the man motioned for them to rest on the ground. So the Rakshasa soldiers saluted and withdrew. As he spoke, everyone except the sergeant, who was fluent in the Bo language, bowed and left the tent.

The man tried to take off his ochre-colored robe, and the blood clots cemented the sable lining to the undergarment and the wound, so he cut the robe into strips with a short knife and tore it off without a sound. The material of the robe was brocade, which was extremely expensive, and each horse could be exchanged for a good horse. But he just threw the fragments of the brocade robe into the fire, and let it burn and curl, rising thick white smoke.

He turned back and leaned over to inspect the situation in Feyantahun. It was the first time that Feyetahun had really seen him as he was. The mask of blood and dust had been erased, revealing a handsome and gentle face with a calm expression, and if it weren't for the scars on the corners of his mouth, Feyantahun could hardly believe that this was the man who had swept him off the battlefield. Feyantahui's elder brother Dosihun had just turned twenty-three this winter, and this man was even younger than his brother.

He squatted down in front of the basin, handed over another silver jar with water, and said, "Drink water." ”

Feyantahun's stomach was full of water, and the bitter taste came up from the base of his tongue, but he still held the jar with his weak left hand and tried to sip it. The boy could feel his legs swelling unrestrainedly, and he didn't want to die.

Every once in a while, the Rakshasa soldiers poured fresh hot water into the large copper basin in which Feyan Tahun was immersed, and the heat flowed through his skin, and the pain was like burning, and the boy forced the screams and nausea in his throat to endure the repeated torture.

It soon became clear to Feyantahun that the young Rakshasa soldier was not trying to scare him just now. Bright red cracks began to appear on his gray, lifeless legs, as if all the veins beneath his skin had been shattered. The rifts meander and stretch like living creatures, infiltrating and expanding, becoming terrifying markings that are then joined together into patches. The heart was beating restlessly, beating faster and faster, and with each beat, more blood rushed into the veins, making the legs swell even more horribly.

The Rakshasa soldiers took the empty bucket out of the tent, and soon returned with a bucket full of snow, and began to apply snow to Feiyangtahun's legs, only careful to avoid the wounds, so that the swelling on his legs would subside somewhat, but with little success.

Many shadows emerged from the corners and approached Feyantahun as they whispered indecipherable whispers. The shadows blew a cold, poisonous breath into his face, with the smell of blades, plague, and blood, and long, dark fingers reached into his heart, clenching tightly.

Father, mother, brother...... Feyan Tahun called softly, but no one answered. The world before me went dark again.

Feyantahun let out a terrifying scream, and the surroundings suddenly brightened.

He woke up from his sleep.

What caught my eye was Lin Yiqing's face!

"I didn't expect you to have nightmares like a fierce man, and you can scream so scary." The corners of Lin Yiqing's mouth showed a sneering smile, like the person in the dream just now, which made Fei Yang Tahui stunned again.

"You're back from Vietnam?" Fei Yang Tahui looked at Lin Yiqing in civilian clothes in front of him steadily, and couldn't believe his eyes.

"Of course." Lin Yiqing took the celadon jug and black glazed tea bowl on the table, poured a glass of water, and poured it down with a clatter, and his demeanor and movements reminded Fei Yang Tahui of the person in his dream.

"When you come back, don't go to the Queen Mother to report on your work, what are you doing in this big camp?" Feyantahun asked with a smile.

"Look at the results of your tossing and turning these days that I'm gone." Lin Yiqing put down the tea bowl, wiped the corners of his mouth, and replied with a smile.

"Don't worry, it's all in strict accordance with the regulations you wrote," Feiyang Tahun glared at him, "Besides, the Oriental Sect leader you left behind is all staring here, how can I toss around?" ”

"Looks like you're being tortured." Lin Yiqing looked at Fei Yang Tahui with a smile, "Seriously, I'm really afraid that no one among you will obey anyone, and when the time comes, you will do it." ”

"Hehe, that's not true, but there's always something to learn from each other." "To be honest, these Orientals are not my opponents when it comes to fighting alone, and you have to admit that. ”

"That is, there are not many people who can beat a fierce man like you who is tall and extraordinary." Lin Yiqing smiled and punched Feiyang Tahui's chest, making a "bang" sound, but Feiyang Tahui's tower-like body stood still. (To be continued.) )

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