Before long, Duan Yan had settled on his conjecture.
Because besides the living, breathing Song Fengsui on the bed, there were also many memories flooding his mind.
For one, he now knew that the owner of this body he inhabited shared the same name—also called Duan Yan.
This man had previously run a blacksmith shop in a small town, controlling the production of weapons and farming tools in the locality. He commanded a crew of sturdy, capable fighters and was known for his overbearing, domineering ways, such that even the local gentry and officials feared him.
But in the book Chaos of the Age, there was only a brief mention that the original body was one of the local bullies in this barbaric backwater. A scant few words described how, when the original went to the countryside to squeeze rents from tenant farmers, he happened to see Song Fengsui working in the fields and coveted his beauty.
One of his underlings, seizing the opportunity when a plague broke out in the countryside, set a trap and had Song Fengsui drugged and delivered to his bed.
The book didn't even mention the original body's name or any details—most of its pages were devoted to the indecent affair with Song Fengsui, making him, in a sense, a tool character.
Yet now, Duan Yan had become that tool character in the book.
The salacious descriptions that had come blaring out of the audio player now burst open like a triggered mechanism, exploding relentlessly in his mind.
Even a man of steady temperament would find himself in utter disarray at such a moment.
Especially the disheveled Song Fengsui on the bed—if he'd been an ordinary man, that would be one thing. But from the original body's memories, Duan Yan had learned that in this alternate era, there weren't only men and women, but also a kind of person—men who could marry and bear children—called "xiaoge'er."
And Song Fengsui was one such "xiaoge'er."
Only now did he understand why they called Song Fengsui "the Song lad," why there were all those strange descriptions of his looks and figure, and why so many men took an interest in him.
Just thinking about it made Duan Yan's scalp tingle.
As Duan Yan stood frozen by the bed, sorting through his thoughts while wrestling with those vivid, raw descriptions he'd heard, the young man lying on the bed suddenly spoke.
"What, is it that this body is all show and no function? They drugged me, and still you need to bind my hands and feet?"
Song Fengsui felt extremely unwell. Already weak from his ordeal, further tormented by the drug, his voice trembled with a noticeable shudder.
Exiled thousands of li from the capital to this bleak land of Qian, he had survived the journey, but life here was no easier than the days on the road to exile.
Every day, he had to get up before dawn to work the fields, cooperating with the authorities' arrangements for the most grueling tasks of land reclamation and grain storage. With summer upon them, the Qian region sweltered, and the wastelands and wild woods were thick with poisonous insects and miasmic vapors. One careless moment could mean heatstroke, or a bite from a venomous snake or stinging insect.
If it had merely been hard labor, he might have kept his composure. But he also had to guard against the schemes and malice of those who eyed him with ill intent, living in constant fear and vigilance.
He had been as careful and self-protective as he could, yet he still couldn't escape the poison—trapped and delivered into the hands of these local strongmen.
Looking at the tall, robust man before him, he knew that today his fate would likely be grim.
But for a lout like this—one who could get a nosebleed just from setting eyes on a comely lad, with no self-restraint whatsoever—Song Fengsui felt nothing but deep contempt from the bottom of his heart.
Even knowing he was just an egg against a stone, he would never sit idly by and wait for his doom.
Duan Yan snapped back to attention at the sound, his gaze involuntarily drifting to the young lad lying on the bed.
The book had used a pile of flowery rhetoric to describe his beauty—even without bothering to listen closely to those descriptions, simply catching a few complimentary phrases was enough to leave the impression that he was a stunningly gorgeous creature.
Yet it was only upon seeing the living, breathing person before him that he realized words were, in the end, just a string of symbols. They could provide images for those with imagination, but they truly couldn't compare to the real scene.
Song Fengsui was far more vivid and beautiful than the book had portrayed.
Back when he'd lived by his grandfather's side, the household rules had been especially strict. Later, he'd joined the military and trained in isolated, harsh environments—he'd never witnessed such a grand spectacle as this.
This was truly a situation where looking was wrong, and not looking was also wrong.
Looking felt like an intrusion, but not looking left him ignorant of the lad's condition.
Still, at Song Fengsui's words, he couldn't help but furrow his brow, inwardly disapproving.
Now of all times, why say such provoking things? If someone else decided to make a show of their manly pride, wouldn't that just make things worse for him?
But Duan Yan ultimately didn't voice these thoughts. Honestly, he felt the lad had suffered enough already; there was no need to criticize him now.
Besides, he vaguely recalled that during a mission once, a young man had come up to him asking for his WeChat. Out of kindness, he'd offered the guy a few words of advice, only for the fellow to complain that he sounded "dad-like," which became a joke among his comrades for a long time.
"Then don't move. I'll untie the ropes for you."
Duan Yan cleared his throat. His tone was quite calm, but he himself felt extremely awkward.
Because he'd stepped closer, now near Song Fengsui, he noticed—whether it was incense pre-burned on the bed or Song Fengsui's own scent—once up close, there was a faint, pleasant fragrance.
Somewhat like mountain orchid steeped in melted snow.
It should have been a cool, elegant, lofty scent, but within the heat-laden bed curtains, it had already been dyed with a hint of ambiguity.
Combined with Song Fengsui's calves tightly bound by the red rope—once the rope was undone, a section of his leg near the ankle clearly bore red marks from the binding, and in some worse spots, the skin had already turned purplish-red.
Duan Yan only gave it a quick glance, not lingering, then moved on to untie the rope binding Song Fengsui's hands.
Normally, he wouldn't have thought twice about any of this, but the original book had contained descriptions that opened a whole new world of windows, and he could no longer look at such things without certain thoughts creeping in.
Moreover, heat was rising all over his body. The blood in his veins seemed to flow far faster than usual, causing a swelling, itching sensation, and his vision seemed hazy with a scalding mist.
Though his physical reactions were very off, toward Song Fengsui he felt nothing but pity and sympathy—no indecent thoughts whatsoever.
A sense of alarm struck him. Could it be that he'd become the book's tool, and even his bodily reactions were being driven by the script?! That would mean his mind and body were at war with each other!
Duan Yan gritted his teeth, forcing his body to steady itself. He thought that if he just sorted out this matter quickly and sent Song Fengsui safely back, then as long as he avoided the lad afterward, everything should be fine.
"What happened today was all a misunderstanding. I..."
Duan Yan untied the man's hands and was about to explain, but before he could even finish speaking, Song Fengsui, who had been lying down, suddenly knelt up and, at the same time, a sharply ground piece of animal bone was thrust straight at him.
Now he understood why Song Fengsui had said what he'd said earlier—it was all to provoke him into untying the ropes.
Duan Yan sidestepped, dodging the strike that had been powered by everything the young man had, then turned and gripped the arm that held the weapon. With a slight exertion of force, the bone slipped from his hand and clattered to the floor.
It was only when he grabbed the arm that he noticed two deep gashes cut into the bare flesh beneath the sleeve, blood seeping from them. Likely, the young man had deliberately gashed himself with the bone hidden in his sleeve just to stay conscious.
Song Fengsui winced in pain, but there was also a flicker of shock. He'd known Duan Yan would be difficult, but he hadn't expected him to be this skilled.
Still, this was his only chance, and he wasn't about to give up so easily. Taking advantage of Duan Yan's brief distraction, he kicked out with his leg.
Duan Yan let out a muffled grunt and gritted his teeth in silent complaint—since when did young gentlemen from prestigious families resort to such low, dirty tricks?
The blow wasn't hard, but seriously, you don't just kick a man there...
The strength in Duan Yan's grip faltered, and Song Fengsui pulled his arm free.
He scrambled to grab the bone from the floor, intent on attacking again, but two exertions had already drained whatever strength he had left. As he bent down to pick it up, he suddenly tumbled off the bed.
The bed wasn't particularly high, but the floor was laid with solid stone tiles. Duan Yan feared that if the young man fell like that, he'd only add new injuries on top of his old ones.
So, with a quick eye and quicker hands, he caught Song Fengsui in mid-air.
The slender young man froze in his arms for a moment, then, afraid of being trapped again, instinctively struggled to break free.
Duan Yan could feel that the boy's whole body was burning with heat, so he quickly set him back onto the bed.
But this time, he didn't immediately release him. Instead, he held Song Fengsui's arm down, preventing him from doing any more harm to himself. "I know you're scared, but trust me, I'm not going to hurt you. Just let me finish what I have to say."
"What happened today was truly a misunderstanding. I never had those intentions—I suspect some of my men acted on their own. If you want to go home now, I'll take you back this instant."
Song Fengsui lay on the bed, his chest rising and falling with short, rapid breaths. His whole body felt like it was on fire, and he had no strength left at all—he was completely at this man's mercy.
His only weapon, his only comfort for self-defense, was gone, and despair crept over him. The only thing remaining was his eyes, which still held some clarity, coldly fixed on the man before him.
In such a predicament, hearing these words, he simply couldn't bring himself to believe them. The people he'd met, the things he'd endured these past months—they had stripped away whatever naive trust he'd once had. He couldn't trust a man who had abducted him for vile purposes.
"Spare me your sweet talk and your tricks. If I don't die today, then one day, I'll come back and take your life."
Duan Yan's brows knitted tightly. He met those ice-cold eyes, and the pain and desperation buried within them made something twist uncomfortably in his chest.
He released Song Fengsui’s arm, intending to pick up the animal bone from the ground, but as he bent down, he noticed a dagger at his waist. So he abandoned the bone, pulled the dagger from his belt in one swift motion, and laid it gently beside Song Fengsui’s hand.
“I know it’s hard for you to believe me, and honestly, I can’t easily explain what happened today either. But if I ever go against your will, you’re more than welcome to use this blade on me.”
Song Fengsui’s fingers brushed against the leather sheath, curling slightly. For a moment, his mind went blank, then he lifted his gaze to Duan Yan.
This man still had a bit of dried blood stuck to the tip of his nose, which looked somewhat absurd, yet as their eyes met, there was an inexplicable sincerity and uprightness radiating from his features, his eyes, and his entire expression.
Song Fengsui figured that he must have been so worn down since his exile that his mind was no longer clear—how else could he see such a look on the face of a lowlife?
Thinking of his family stricken with the plague, and then of his own helpless situation, a wave of sorrow flooded through him.
He clutched the dagger that had been offered to him tightly in his hand, using it as a small anchor to steady himself.
Seeing that the man had calmed down a bit, Duan Yan let out a faint sigh of relief.
He went to the table, poured a cup of water, and brought it over, hoping the other would drink.
At that moment, Song Fengsui was like a hedgehog curled up in defense—faced with a formidable opponent, even knowing he had no power to resist, he still stubbornly clung to the last fragile shred of protection he could muster.
Though he had gone quiet for now, when the water was offered, even though his feverish body was parched with thirst, he remained wary and refused to take a sip.
He lay on his side, turning his head away toward the other side of the bed, unwilling to look at Duan Yan.
More precisely, in such an utterly humiliating state, he did not want to face any man, afraid that the thin remnants of his composure would completely crumble, and he would betray a pitiful, shameful look.
“If you truly know nothing, then go find the antidote.”
Song Fengsui managed to utter the words with the last shred of his weakened strength.
Duan Yan’s eyes stirred. Looking at the lad, who was like a little chili pepper, he knew the most urgent matter was to shake off the effect of the drug.
“Alright. Then… stay here for a while. I’ll be back soon.”
