Then a kick to his left side knocked the wind from him. The fight drained away in a streak of black, radiating pain. After that, the blows had kept coming.
All this took on some form and structure as he laid there thinking and re-thinking through the last hours. At the time, there had been nothing but the rage of the attack and a haze of pain.
Someone came to spoon a bitter brew into his mouth. At first he thought it was Yan Ling, but it was only Dao. He tried to refuse. The thought of eating or drinking turned his stomach, but she was insistent. Eventually he was able to sleep as long as he remained flat on his back. Even the slightest shift brought back the pain in his side, like the stab of a dull knife.
* * *
He didn’t know what time it was when he woke enough to call for assistance. There was light seeping in from outside and he could hear faint sounds of activity from the other parts of the house. He had survived the night and morning had come.
His entire body throbbed and he couldn’t even sit up on his own. An attendant came quickly to help him up and he bit back the indignity of it.
‘Bring Miss Yan Ling here,’ he instructed.
He leaned against the alcove wall, curling his fists tight and counting the minutes. He tried to convince himself he could will back the pain and push it to the back of his mind, but it didn’t work.
‘You’re not supposed to be up,’ Yan Ling snapped the moment she set foot in the room.
She set aside the tray in her hands and spent the next agonising minutes lowering him back onto the bed. Fei Long gritted his teeth against the jagged, piercing sensation at his side. By the time he was lying down again, he was out of breath and gasping shallowly. All this for a few inches of effort.
Yan Ling propped his head up slightly with the padded head rest and lifted a small bowl from the tray. He recognised the acrid, earthen smell.
‘Drink,’ she ordered, putting a spoonful to his lips.
It tasted like dirt and tree bark. He forced the brew down, before trying to speak. ‘This isn’t why I asked you to come.’
‘Again,’ she demanded.
She was relentless, spooning him the rest of the herbal tea with no conversation in between. Her expression remained hard and determined when he would have killed for a kind look from her. And he would have died rather than ask for it.
‘And now the soup,’ she said.
‘Not now.’
‘You haven’t eaten. The kitchen made this for you.’
He shook his head vehemently despite the ache it caused.
Then she became coaxing. ‘Please try.’
‘No, Yan Ling.’
With a long sigh, she set the soup aside. ‘Later, then.’
She sat on the edge of his bed, hands folded in her lap. Her gaze became distant and he closed his eyes not to have to see what had been so starkly revealed.
Yan Ling cared for him.
She cared for him so much that she fought not to show it, because he’d told her it was unacceptable.
‘It’s not so bad,’ he said. Every word was an effort.
‘You’re lying,’ she pronounced.
The physician had wrapped and bound his torso to restrict the movement and aid the healing. It added to his feeling of helplessness. He had to collect his strength for the next request.
‘If you could go into my study and bring the ledger book…’ He paused, gathering and catching his breath. ‘And a leather satchel with important papers. You’ve seen me with it.’
Only when she had left did he open his eyes. When he’d lain beaten in that alleyway, he was certain that death was close. The attackers would come back to cut his throat and there was nothing he could do about it. The sound of Yan Ling’s voice had called him back from the abyss.
Did she need any more proof than his broken body to show that he wasn’t able to provide for her? He was about to give her that proof.
By the time she returned, the pain had receded to a dull throb, but it was still there, clinging and prodding at his muscles. The edge of it dulled enough for him to unclench his fists. He hoped the drug would leave his mind clear enough to do what needed to be done.
Yan Ling set the book and box of paper next to him and lowered herself at the edge of the