Promise and Betrayal: A Mo Dao Zu Shi (the Untamed) Story

Chapter 7

I awaken with a start. My injuries cry out in objection, but I ignore them. My senses have returned. I feel for my clothing, looking down at myself. I wear an under-robe, my dressings covered. My chest, at least to an observer, remains flat and unassuming. I let out a breath, relieved that I will not be exposed to anyone that strides in through the door.

I ring the bell next to my bed to summon a servant. One appears. "Pardon me for asking, but who were the servants that dressed my back wounds last night?"

The servant, a girl of around my age, lights up with understanding and recognition. "It was I and two others, sir," she says. I notice the title she uses to address me.

"Will you find them for me? I would like to discuss something with all of you." She nods, then dashes off to find the others. I slump back on the headboard, grateful at least one of those that dressed me is willing to keep my secret--she addressed me as "sir". I can only hope the other two are equally as willing.

She returns at length, two other female servants following. I exhale deeply, dispelling much of my earlier anxiety. "I am sure you all know what I desire to discuss," I say. They nod. "I humbly ask each of you to conceal it from the others. Do not speak of it. Do not even think of it. Cast it from your mind. For your safety as well as mine. And," I add, "if the three of you can arrange to be my three attending servants for the rest of my time in the infirmary, I would deeply appreciate it." I bow to them from the bed. My gesture startles them, but I must give them respect if I desire for them to follow my requests.

"It is our pleasure, Young Master Xiao," they say in return, bowing. "We will be your attending servants. And we shall purge the matter from our mind."

I look each of them in the eye, conveying my sincerity to them. "You have saved me for years to come," I say. "I cannot thank you enough."

One of them steps forward, leaning down to touch my shoulder. She smiles, her eyes bright and clever, dark and serious. "We will take it to our grave," she says with startling candor. The intensity of her gaze astounds me.

I incline my head to all of them, stunned they are willing to shoulder such a large burden. I find in myself a newfound respect for these women, for their steel, for their courage. "You have made an ally today, should you ever need me," I say. They bow, correctly reading my statement as a dismissal and a promise.

The worry of secrets lifted from my mind, I turn my attention to my wounds. I twist to peer at the gashes on my back. I am unable to see them well, but I discern they are not bleeding anymore. They have, for the moment, clotted. I do not know the state of the scabs, but I know that if I do not stretch them for a time, they will heal. Their pain is dulled for now. The various other wounds on my body have also faded slightly, though still ache something fierce when I attempt to move.

Other servants visit me from time to time to replace the incense in the burner, to deliver me food, to update me on the affairs of the outside world. I learn that Meng Yao was banished for treason. The prevailing story is that he killed the captain of the palace's guard, though for unknown reasons. The mysterious disappearance of the clan's newest prisoner also circulates. The two events appear to be unconnected: Xue Yang disappeared two days ago; Meng Yao was banished at the end of the battle yesterday. I learn that Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng have returned to their clan to assist in preparations of a Wen Clan attack. Lan Zhan has also departed. I remain here. It would seem, for now, the search for the Yin Iron has been put on hold.

The news only succeeds in inciting an urge for me to leave this room, this bed. I want to go find my clan and I want to be there if, or when, the Wen Clan attacks. I want to protect them. I want to defend them. I cannot fulfill that desire if I am confined to a sickbed, but I also cannot fight if the two gashes on my back will crack open at the slightest hint of rigorous movement.