Suo Jinling

Randur and Fugele Humutu looked at each other, and both of them collected their expressions. Randur threw off the whip, tightened the reins, and slammed on the horse's back: "Let's go!"

The two left back and forth, Humutu turned his head and winked, signaling for the person to let Lan Jingming go.

A few people who were hiding in the tent and dared not come out quickly stepped forward, untied them with hands and feet, and carefully carried them into the tent.

Lan Jingming's lips were broken, his hair stuck to his cheeks, his clothes and flesh stuck together, and he trembled slightly with his breathing.

Old Tuzhen came from the corner, squatted silently beside him, wrung out the towel to help him wipe his body, Lan Jingming gritted his teeth and endured the pain, the medicine powder sprinkled on his chest, soaking into his blood.

He raised his arm with difficulty, and slowly rested it on his eyes, followed by the woman in the tent who tiptoed in to help Old Tuzhen change the cloth towel.

After changing the water in the basin several times, the bleeding from the wounds stopped slightly. Lan Jingming gathered enough strength to climb up, staggered to the courtyard, lifted the bucket by the well, lifted it tremblingly into the air, and poured it on his head and face. Rinse off residual blood.

He poured bucket after bucket of water, washing the wounds on his body again and again, the edges of the soaks turned white, like children's mouths, moaning in unison.

Several people in the tent were crowded together, each couldn't bear to open their eyes, they all slapped the old Tuzhen, expecting him to do something.

Lao Tuzhen fanned the fire silently, like a congenitally developed dumb, without any response.

Lan Jingmingchi|Bare upper body, he moved back into the tent step by step, and fell to the ground with his head bowed.

He didn't wear shoes, and the soles of his feet were red from the cold, but the blood on his body stopped flowing, and the wound was covered with a layer of hoarfrost.

"Everyone go out," Old Tuzhen extinguished the firewood and brought a medicine bowl, "Put down the curtain."

Several people looked at each other in blank dismay, obediently exited the tent, raised their hands and lowered the curtain.

Lao Tuzhen blew the cold medicine bowl, and put the liquid medicine on Lan Jingming's lips. Lan Jingming's chest rose and fell, and he struggled to hold up half of his body. import.

"Why do you have to save people?" Old Tuzhen straight to the point, "Is it worth it to suffer this crime for nothing?"

Lan Jingming did not respond.

He held the medicine bowl with trembling fingers, his palm trembling, spilled half of the bitter medicine, grabbed the rim of the bowl with all his strength, poured it into his mouth, and smashed the porcelain bowl with a bang: "A bad life, worth it or not, what's the matter?" relation."

There was silence in the account.

After a long while, Lan Jingming's bitter cheeks wrinkled, like a ball that was squashed and flattened: "Bitter... Old Tuzhen, sugar water."

"No," Old Tu Zhendan said, "There's a pile of rotten sugar, it doesn't matter if you eat it or not."

Lan Jingming choked.

He drooped his shoulders in discouragement, fiddled with the remaining snow with his fingers, grabbed a handful from time to time, and sucked the cold taste: "Landur is a no-brainer. He deliberately suppressed the wind so that his father wouldn't know. It’s like a black cloud. Not long after General Chen’s death, the general’s momentum is like a rainbow. If the general’s son is caught by Landur and executed before the battle... the consequences will be disastrous.”

"Then let him go," Old Tuzhen raised his eyes, "Catch him and present him to the Khan, and you will surely be promoted to Gele, equal to Randur."

Lan Jingming wrapped the cloth tightly, his body was shivering with cold, his eyes wandered, staring at his instep, his toe was so cold that he could hardly move it.

The cloth strips were wrapped around the feet, and they were warm for a moment.

There was silence in the tent.

"Old General Chen is a man." Lan Jingming scratched his hair and said after a while, "It's not military to take advantage of others' danger."

"Compassion does not control soldiers, righteousness does not control wealth," said old Tuzhen, "If you let the tiger go back to the mountain, the consequences will be disastrous."

"If you come once, I'll hit you once, if you come twice, I'll hit you twice," Lan Jingming said with a smile, "Swords have no eyes, and I'm willing to admit defeat. It's better to see each other on the battlefield than to take advantage of others' dangers." , bullying a child who is alone."

Old Tuzhen looked at him for a while, took out the candy from the cloth bag, and soaked a bowl of sugar water: "You tell me what you say, are you afraid that I will tell Khan?"

"If you wanted to sue, I would have died many times already." Lan Jingming didn't care, and drank the sugar water in one gulp, "I know you don't care."

Old Tuzhen took the sugar bowl, breathed out slowly: "I don't care about anything."

"No father, no mother, no children, no worries in this world," Lan Jingming fell back to the ground, curled up sideways, "Look at us fighting openly and secretly, it's almost like watching a monkey show."

Old Tuzhen couldn't help laughing, his gray beard trembled, and his face, which was cracked like bark, trembled and gathered into surging waves.

Lan Jingming was drowsy. After several nights of freezing in the mountains, his low-grade fever subsided, and he was taken out and whipped several times. His body was bruised, and the heat wave seemed to return. He was injured every day, and Lao Tu couldn't bear to make him suffer again. Lan Jingming was half asleep and half awake. When he was unconscious, he seemed to be sleeping on the back of a white wolf, and let it shuttle through the forest. The cold wind in the mountains continued, and the beasts roared endlessly. Jingming turned half of his body, hugging him into a ball, his wound was cracked, his eyebrows were tightly frowned, Lao Tuzhen frowned to help him wipe his body, he stretched out his arm in a daze, and grabbed something randomly: "Mother... Mother, why don't you want me?"

Old Tuzhen stopped his movements and slowly stroked the back of his hand to help him calm down.

Lan Jingming's forehead was hot, his body was cold, and he turned his head from side to side, as if looking for something: "Why... I look like this."

He stretched out his arm, stroked and grabbed the hair, and pulled out a few strands with all his strength.

He groped, touched his eyelids with his fingers, and pressed them hard. Old Tuzhen, with quick eyesight and quick hands, held the backs of his hands and patted them lightly.

"Old Tuzhen," Lan Jingming exhaled hotly, his cheeks burning like fire, "Where is my mother from? She is still alive... If she died, how did she die? Yes. Why do I have such a name? It’s different from theirs, isn’t it, did my mother give it to me…”

Old Tuzhen didn't say a word, like comforting a child having a nightmare, he held him in his arms, and quietly rubbed his shoulders.

Lan Jingming muttered, babbled nonsense, and stumbled a few words, and he couldn't understand clearly: "I look like this, she must not be from Beiyi, and I am not like my father, they all call me a bastard, Me, I'm not a bastard... woo, this medicine is so bitter..."

"Eat candy and it won't be bitter." Old Tu broke off half a piece of candy and stuffed it into Lan Jingming's lips as if coaxing a child, "Don't swallow it, it won't be bitter if you hold it in."

Lan Jingming's tongue rolled up, and obediently held the candy in his mouth. It melted between his lips, and a hint of sweetness penetrated into the bottom of his tongue, diluting the sour and astringent medicinal taste.

He curled up even tighter, like a flayed|skinned animal, huddled up in the cold wind, trembling, murmuring in a low voice: "Why don't I leave a scar..."

Not only did he not leave any scars, but after suffering so many whips, his body was covered with scabs, and even the blood stopped flowing.

Old Tuzhen fumbled to grab a long blanket, wrapped it around Lan Jingming's body, got up and went to cook medicine by the stove, Lan Jingming was wrapped in a blanket, and fell asleep in a daze, his face was flushed, he was dazed and didn't know what day and night, half an hour passed, Horseshoes rattling outside the tent, the messenger circled in the courtyard, raised his voice and raised his arms and shouted: "The Great Khan has an order, and the little Gele in each tent should go to the big tent to listen to the order!"

After shouting three times, Lan Jingming woke up from the dream. When he got up, he staggered twice and almost fell to the ground. He gasped for a few breaths, managed to stand still, and went out to receive the order to send the messenger out of the hospital. outside.

When he returned to the tent, when he passed the bucket, his mind was dazed and he couldn't shake his head. He picked up the bucket, squeezed a few snowballs and threw them in it, bent over and half kneeled on the ground, stuck his head in it, and swayed from side to side After counting, I froze a bit of sanity.

The cold wind was howling outside, Lan Jingming went into the account, found a few pieces of cloth, wrapped them around his body several times, and strangled the wound tightly.

The wound can stop bleeding and scab, but the pain will not disappear.

He left the round tent, went to Magao and brought a white horse, clamped the horse's belly with his legs, and ran towards Father Khan's big tent, the sound of the strong wind passed by his ears, the pain in his body was even worse, but his heart was mixed with a bit of refreshment.

He likes to ride on the backs of wolves, horses, gallop on their backs, and shuttle freely in the forest.

He couldn’t ride a horse near the big tent, so he got off his horse and blew a few whistles to let the horse graze on its own. He had just taken two steps when his back was hit by a flying stone. He lowered his head to pick up the stone and was hit in the chest again. Suddenly, he was forced to take a few steps back, barely able to stabilize his footsteps.

He stood where he was, and raised his hand to block the sun. The dense forest was indistinct, and a few shadows passed by.

Lan Jingming looked around, knowing it clearly, took out the slingshot from behind, bent over and rolled a few times before the next stone arrived, leaned against the tree trunk to hide, pulled the slingshot high, and shot it deep into the dense forest.

With a short scream, a shadow fell from the forest, and several stones shot from all directions, blocking the way to hide.

Lan Jingming moved from left to right to block the repeated attacks. The slingshot in his hand continued to shoot|shot, shooting down several shadows. Several people screamed, supported each other's shoulders, limped and staggered, and walked out from the depths of the dense forest.

Langula, Lan Abo, Lan Daozhen, Lan Yange...

The little Gele from each tent is here.

Following the tradition of Beiyi, Gele is all from the Great Khan, and the promotion to rank depends entirely on military merits, while the small Gele is selected from among the common people, and it depends on the annual fighting ranking. The winner only needs to be appreciated by the Great Khan. Able to leap the dragon's gate with a carp, he was awarded the title of Little Gele from a commoner, he can recognize the Great Khan as his father, he has a round tent to live alone, and he can go to the battlefield to kill the enemy in the next step, and those who make great achievements are expected to be named Gele.Lan Jingming was not favored by Gele, and could not get the title of Gele, so he could only participate in the selection of Xiaogele every year, and he was able to win the top three every time. However, his name was crossed out and he became an abandoned child.

He persevered, participated in the selection every year, and became a laughingstock every year, so that when he was finally awarded the title of Junior Gele, the other junior Gele were more than five years younger than him, and they all took him seriously. Trimble troubled him, saying that his father Khan saw his name every year, and was so annoyed by him that he could not bear it, so he mentioned him to make up the number.

Lan Jingming was unmoved.

After so many years, he has never heard any humiliating words, and he will not be easily provoked by the provocations of a few half-grown children, destroying this hard-won title.

A dozen or so little Gele stood outside the big tent, bowing down respectfully and saluting, waiting for his father Khan to summon him. A quarter of an hour later, the messenger came out, lifted half of the curtain, and shouted loudly: "The Great Khan has an order, and the little Gele in each account will enter the tent." In the middle of the discussion."