The night was clear and still, and the little room was silent.
Wariness lingered in Ning Qingye's eyes, but puzzlement outweighed it. She pressed her lips together to ease the rawness in her throat before speaking weakly:
"Why didn't you leave?"
Xu Buling kept patching the window and answered offhandedly: "I hadn't gone far when I saw you lying on the ground. It's cold enough out that by morning you'd have been frostbitten, so I carried you in... Nobody seems to live in this courtyard, and I was afraid lighting a fire would bring the landlord running, plus there's no firewood anyway..."
His voice was unhurried and resonant, as though he were chatting with an old friend he hadn't seen in years, without a trace of the arrogance rich young masters usually carried.
Ning Qingye closed her eyes and gathered herself for a while; color gradually returned to her face and her breathing eased, and only then did her head clear. She turned to watch Xu Buling muttering to himself, and said nothing for a good long while:
"Why did you save me?"
Xu Buling blinked, a little amused: "When you find someone about to die, you can't just leave them lying there. Mm... Earlier you said I was a good man who doesn't kill people, so I figured you must be a swordswoman—the righteous kind, the sort who lives by the code..."
Ning Qingye struggled up to a sitting position, clutching the fuzzy fox coat around her, still rather guarded:
"Turning me in would be a great merit for you... but if you save me, the Investigation Bureau's soul-reaping enforcers will surely come making trouble for you..."
Hearing that, Xu Buling shook his head with a smile:
"I'm the eldest legitimate son of Prince Su, Xu You. You had the nerve to carry me off, and if I don't turn around and make trouble for the Investigation Bureau afterward, they should count themselves lucky. What trouble could they possibly give me?"
Ning Qingye was taken aback; only then did she recall just how far above everything Xu Buling's position stood. How would the Investigation Bureau dare provoke the house of a prince of another surname like the Xu family? She thought it over:
"I've long heard of the old General Xu's renown. Today I had no choice in the matter, and I've offended you, young master... My name is Ning Qingye. I owe you a favor, and I will repay it someday..."
Xu Buling shook his head, took the wine gourd down from his belt and handed it to Ning Qingye:
"Killing an official is the same as rebellion. I saved you because I didn't want to watch a person freeze to death. If you're a rebel, then keep your distance from me and pretend tonight never happened."
Ning Qingye took the gourd and nodded slightly: "I only tried to kill Zhang Xiang for a private vendetta. Ten years ago Zhang Xiang caused my mother's death. We who walk the jianghu repay our grudges and our debts alike—that isn't rebellion..." As she spoke she lifted the gourd to her pale, slender lips and sipped. Broken Jade Fire was fierce stuff, and in her weakened state she could hardly take it; she held her breath a long while before she recovered.
The corner of Xu Buling's mouth curved upward. "Miss, you really are pretty."
Perhaps she had never come across such a hopelessly blunt attempt at flirting; Ning Qingye's brow lifted, baffled. On any other day she would have given as good as she got, but this man had done her a kindness, so she only pressed her lips into a smile and changed the subject:
"Your name is Xu Buling?"
"That's right. You've heard of me, miss?"
Ning Qingye thought back, then nodded slightly. "I did once hear a senior figure in the jianghu say that a prodigy had turned up out west in Xiliang—something about 'dragon sinew, tiger bone, qilin strength,' a martial genius the likes of which appears once in a hundred years... An old Daoist from Wudang Mountain even traveled there hoping to take him as a disciple, but the fellow's station was too high, he looked down on jianghu folk, and he had the old Daoist thrown out... That was you, wasn't it?"
Xu Buling nodded. In the old days he had been insufferably arrogant, and he had indeed thrown a good many jianghu big shots out his door.
"I was young and foolish then, and didn't know any better. If those senior jianghu figures came calling again now..."
"You'd take them as your teachers?"
"I'd give them some travel money, so they don't have to leave quite so embarrassed."
Ning Qingye blinked, seemed about to speak, then thought better of it, and in the end only shook her head with a smile. Her air was cold by nature, and that smile lent her something of the cool, striking beauty of a snow lotus just opening.
Ning Qingye rested a while longer, most of her strength returning. She pushed the fox coat aside, sat down on the edge of the plank bed, picked up the longsword from the floor, and looked at Xu Buling standing beside her:
"You've been poisoned?"
Xu Buling nodded, somewhat helplessly: "Sharp eyes, miss."
Ning Qingye considered for a moment, then suddenly reached out and caught Xu Buling's wrist, feeling for something.
Xu Buling didn't resist; he only smiled faintly.
Ning Qingye read his pulse for a time, and a certain gravity settled on her brow. She looked him carefully up and down again:
"Last time at the Sun family's shop, I saw that your complexion was hollow and that you'd been drinking strong liquor for years, so I had my suspicions. I never thought it would really be the Dragon-Locking Cup..."
Xu Buling withdrew his hand. "Do you know a way to cure it, miss?"
Ning Qingye shook her head. "The Dragon-Locking Gu is a rare poison like no other. Whoever takes it keeps not one part in ten of his martial skill; force your qi even once and you'll either die or end up crippled, and even lying quietly most victims don't last three years. I've never heard of any way to neutralize it... That you can move about freely means your martial arts must once have been very high."
Xu Buling's smile was friendly. "Back then I was only a little below you, miss—a proper hero, you might say. Now I'm not much different from a cripple."
For a martial artist to lose his lifelong skills was like a wealthy man losing every last coin; few in the jianghu could bear such a blow.
A note of pity showed in Ning Qingye's eyes. She shifted a little to one side and patted the plank bed, motioning for Xu Buling to sit:
"It must be miserable for you day to day, isn't it? They say the Dragon-Locking Gu leaves you suffering the torment of ten thousand ants gnawing at your heart, night and day—worse than death."
Xu Buling sat down on the edge of the bed beside Ning Qingye. "Strong liquor holds the poison down for a while. It's really not so bad."
"Who did this to you?"
"Mm..."
Xu Buling frowned in thought, then gave a small shake of his head:
"I don't know. I'm investigating quietly. If it's someone from the jianghu settling a score, that's simple enough. But if..."
Xu Buling stopped there. He glanced in the direction of the imperial palace and let out a long, quiet sigh.
If it was as he suspected—if the emperor was behind it, to end Prince Su's line or to strip the vassal kings of their power—then he might not leave Chang'an with his life.
Ning Qingye sensed that thread of worry in his mood. She hesitated a moment:
"With a family like yours, curing the poison shouldn't be any trouble. Illness comes from the heart—if you ease your mind, maybe you'll live a couple more days."
Clearly, comforting people was not something Ning Qingye did often.
Xu Buling nodded with a light laugh, his gaze shifting to the blue-bladed longsword lying between them.
The sword was three chi two in length, its hilt wrapped in blue cord; the scabbard had plainly been fitted recently and didn't quite suit it.
Xu Buling had once been mad for martial arts, and he knew weapons far better than he knew poetry or books. After a few glances he picked up the longsword and flicked it so that three cun of blade slid free, catching a thread of cold light in the glow of the tinder stick.
Xu Buling ran his fingers along the blade:
"A fine sword... Is this Mourning Spring?"
Ning Qingye gazed at the slender blade, and grief surfaced in her eyes:
"My mother's sword. Ten years ago she died at Zhang Xiang's hands, and the court took the sword. I only got it back today."
Xu Buling slid the sword back into its scabbard. He thought for a moment, but there was nothing he could say.
Ning Qingye was plainly a woman of few words, and Xu Buling was not much of a talker either. The little room fell quiet.
Ning Qingye raised a hand and tucked a strand of hair back behind her ear, then took small sips from the wine gourd to drive off the cold and wet her throat. Perhaps she felt the atmosphere had turned a little strange, and yet had no idea how to talk with this son of a prince who stood so high above her.
After half a night of scrambling about, the hour had reached the small hours before dawn.
Xu Buling did not linger. He picked up the wine gourd and rose to his feet. "I'll be off. The Imperial Guard will be searching the city for me before long. I'll have a word with them and say you've already slipped out of the city. Rest here for the next few days."
He had done her no harm while she lay unconscious, so Ning Qingye naturally believed him. She hesitated a little, then asked softly:
"Why are you helping me?"
"Everyone loves a beauty—it's human nature. Men, you know. We're all like that."
Xu Buling tossed the words out casually, then stepped outside and shut the door behind him.
Ning Qingye was stunned for a moment, then caught up. Her cold, clear face showed a flash of anger. She muttered something that might have been "lecher," then lay back down.
But very soon she noticed the fuzzy fox coat still lying beside her. Remembering that Xu Buling was poisoned and suffered from a cold, frail body, she hurriedly sat up. Badly hurt and unsteady on her feet, she staggered to the doorway: "Hey—wait..."
She opened the door. Wind and snow swept the yard, and on the snow covering the fallen leaves there was only a single line of footprints. Of the man himself, not a trace remained.
Ning Qingye blinked, stood there a while hugging the splendid fox coat, and in the end only shook her head and smiled—perhaps thinking that this little prince knew too little of the world, and was a bit too foolish...