The Rise of Phoenixes

Chapter 145

As Feng Zhiwei wrapped her arm around Ning Yi, he trembled once more. He could feel her face through his autumn robes, and in his mind’s eye he could see that warm face flushed to the tips of her ears, her skin radiant and smooth as fine porcelain. He could feel her warm breath on his knee... and suddenly Ning Yi’s legs grew weak and his breath heavy.

As his knees grew soft, his fingers pulled painfully against the jagged rocks, the bone chilling cold of the hard stone shocking him alert. Ning Yi lifted his eyes to blindly face the night sky; he could not see anything, but he could feel the dark of the night giving way to the coming dawn.

The Prince breathed deeply, calming himself before carefully moving his way down; if he lost his grip, two lives would be lost.

Feng Zhiwei had to scour the dark cliff for foot holds while carefully guiding Ning Yi’s legs; in the pitch darkness of night, her eyes were soon overwhelmed and dizziness overwhelmed her just a few steps later. She sucked in a deep involuntary breath as she wobbled, accidentally leaning forward and pressing her face into the back of Ning Yi’s knee.

Ning Yi’s knee bent forward right into a sharp stone and blood stained his trousers, but Ning Yi paid no mind to his pain as he turned his face to Feng Zhiwei, calling out: “Zhiwei, are you alright?”

The woman did not respond, her face buried in the crook of his knee. As time lapsed, Ning Yi grew flustered — although he was a man who could calmly face the Poison Eye Insect with blind eyes, his heart began to pound; he reached down for Feng Zhiwei but only her head in his reach. Her hair was mussed, coarse, and uneven, nothing like her typical silky smoothness — so much of her hair had been burnt away as she searched the fire.

Ning Yi’s hand moved haltingly across her scalp and his fingers curled as panic grew in his heart; just as he was preparing to release his other hand’s grip on the cliff, the woman beneath him finally began to speak. Her voice was muffled by the crook of his knee, and her tone carried the surprising hint of a smile: “Mmm... it still feels strange whenever you say my name...”

Ning Yi sighed in relief before replying: “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” Feng Zhiwei replied, pulling her face back, her voice already back to normal, “I’m just tired.”

Ning Yi could feel some wetness in the back of his knee and reached down to investigate, but Feng Zhiwei gently pulled his hand away and scolded him: “Grab the stone, what are you doing?”

If they were back in Dijing he would have surely taken to the opportunity to tease her, but somehow he did not feel like it, so Ning Yi silently retrieved his hand and continued climbing.

Halfway down the cliff, voices called out from above them; a figure stuck a head over the side as Ning Yi and Feng Zhiwei froze, leaning into the cliff. Finally, a commanding voice called out: “Search! You two get down there and check!”

Feng Zhiwei’s heart skipped a beat and she quickly sped up, but the Minnan Assassins were used to traversing mountains and completely uninjured; the two shadows clambered down like swift apes and were already close to Feng Zhiwei and Ning Yi.

Feng Zhiwei grasped the soft sword around her waist, her mind racing as she wondered how to kill the two assailants without getting noticed; if even one person got away, Feng Zhiwei and Ning Yi could only wait for their deaths.

Above her, Ning Yi had stopped; his head was tilted up, his blind eyes facing upwards at the assassins moving down towards them.

He spoke, breaking the silence: “My waistband has the Imperial Envoy Seal and Prince Chu Seal. Take them before you head for Ji Yang.”

Feng Zhiwei paused, confused by the command, but before she could speak an assassin was upon them.

Feng Zhiwei moved to strike with her sword...

But Ning Yi suddenly pounded the rocky cliff.

The darkness had hidden Ning Yi from view but the noise turned the assassin’s head; when the killer turned and saw Ning Yi, he immediately reached out to grab the Prince, calling out gleefully: “Over here...”

But then Ning Yi pulled the assassin into an embrace!

As soon as the assassin spoke, Ning Yi figured out his location and moved forward; grasping the joyful killer, he pressed his feet against the side of the cliff and pushed, propelling himself over Feng Zhiwei’s head and into free fall. The two men tumbled through the air, plummeting down the cliff.

Feng Zhiwei only had time to watch the long, flower embroidered sleeve flash by her eyes; a large shadow passed over her head, and then a muffled thump.

The quiet sound froze her heart, but the second assassin was still above; turning her head from the shadows below, she caught sight of the second killer and coldness flashed through her eyes. The man had been a step behind his partner and was still stunned by his compatriot’s sudden death.

“Cha...”

Feng Zhiwei’s sword shot forward, puncturing the killer’s skull through his glabella.

The corpse tumbled down and thumped below. Feng Zhiwei bit her lips and clambered downwards as fast as she possibly could; the foot of the cliff was dark and shadowed, and she could fumble through the night, quietly calling: “Ning Yi...”

A voice called down from above: “Did you find anything?”

Feng Zhiwei tried to mimic the first assassin’s voice and called back: “Still looking. This place is big...”

Mountain wind swept loud curses into the night, the words indecipherable. Feng Zhiwei could spare no attention for the assassins above, still desperately searching the rocks. Her hands moved over a corpse, her hands trembling as she touched the hole in the man’s glabella; thrusting the assassin aside, she moved over to another dark body. In her tired mind it was as if she was in the blaze all over again, moving from burnt corpse to burnt corpse, fear and guilty relief warring within her as she moved from body to body...

The feeling was terrible and she desperately wished for it to end, never to happen again.

This next body was unmoving and cold and seemed to be lying atop another body; Feng Zhiwei thought back to the glimpse she had caught of Ning Yi’s fall and her heart trembled as she imagined him crushed and mangled beyond recognition.

Cold wetness leaked down her face and she numbly wiped it aside; tears covered her hand and reflected the dull light from above, like a tiny mirror reflecting the shadows in her heart.

When was the last time she had cried?

How long since she had shed tears?

Seven year ago? When the Qiu Young Madam lost her hair pin and slandered Feng Zhiwei, forcing Madam Qiu, Feng Hao and her to starve for five days?

Ten years ago? When her mother almost died from illness after kneeling before the Qiu Mansion for three days?

Or eleven years ago? When her mother burnt down their mountain house before abandoning it and their absent father?

Or twelve years ago, after her mother furiously scolded her when she had accidentally caught her mother burning joss paper for a nameless stranger?

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