( it wasn't entirely incorrect of the bandits to mark xiao xingchen as their next target, in much the same way that a wolf pack shrewdly identifies the weakest grazing beast in a herd. the one which has fallen ill or injured, almost certainly easy to isolate.
the clumsy layer of bandaging woven around his bloodied neck by equally bloodied hands does little to conceal his injuries, red soaking quite easily through the thin strips of cotton as if they weren't there at all, dripping out down the side of his neck to join the deep red staining the neckline of his robes not unlike the red which drips down below his similarly bloodied blindfold.
one might think that would make him more difficult to isolate, but one couldn't be more incorrect. make no mistake, this blind man in white (so clearly a daozhang, or something like it) earns no shortage of concerned exclamations, attempts to entreat him to stop and be seen to, but so far they've been met quite unanimously with a clumsy flinch away from worried touch, a shaky 'i'm fine, please don't worry,' that he doesn't even quite process saying.
and so it was simple enough to assess that he would be leaving town rather quickly, and as far as the bandits were concerned, sending word ahead to prepare ambush for a blind man would have seemed more than sufficient. and they nearly had it correct, too - they were off by a matter of minutes and happenstance, the wrong blind man happening through just before the correct one.
he would've walked into the trap quite easily, too. he wouldn't have noticed the bandits were there until he was already surrounded. the cries for help, however, drag him sharply back into this moment. into this place, and the distinct sounds of a struggle just ahead. and despite everything, all that he learned that he's done, he finds himself moving toward the struggle with a brisk sort of purpose to each step.
from his place on the ground, po xiao might very well hear those brisk footsteps approaching now. they're stepping just past him, in fact, so close that he might feel the displacement of air (or he might even smell the blood) as xingchen places himself between po xiao and the bandits - and then comes the unmistakable sound of a sword drawn from a sheath as xingchen draws frostwork from where it sits strapped across his back, pointing the tip at what sounds like the nearest of this man's assailants. ) Whatever misunderstanding has occurred here, I suggest that we all move past it, ( he says, his tone a bit flat and numbed but no less firm because of it. ) I lack the patience right now to ask kindly a second time.
( one of the men says something - some sort of remark about 'another blind man', derisive and incredulous, and a 'this one's half dead already' from off to his other side - but far more importantly, a number of them sound like they're drawing some manner of weapons now. xingchen's nearly-depleted qi is still more than enough to identify a hand axe, four knives, and a sword just shorter than his own, and he exhales a bracing sigh through his nose before stepping in to meet them.
the first knife is thrown, deflected by frostwork's blade and sent flying off into the brush, and in under a half-minute, the bandits lie dead and bleeding in the dirt. perhaps not all of them (one or two may have fled through the woods, the wise choice at this point), but that's fine, so long as they're gone and not coming back here.
he turns back to the stranger now, the one who cried for help. ) Are you alright? ( frostwork has lowered to his side now, and he takes a step toward the man. ) I can escort you to-... ( but the words slip from his grasp like sand, and the world feels very much like it's spinning around him in a way that not even his qi sense can compensate for.
xingchen sinks to his knees, steadying himself on his hands (one still gripping frostwork, but only weakly). ) Forgive me, I just need a moment. ( but these words are hazy and thin, like the air atop a mountain. the combat, even so little of it, was too much for him after... well, after everything else. the revelations, the wounds he inflicted and sustained. the time since waking up alive from said wounds, which must have been nearly a day ago by now but he hasn't kept track of time any better than he has kept track of his blood loss. and here and now, in the middle of this worn dirt road, is where his body finally seems to give out.
sorry, po xiao. your rescuer is now lying unconscious on the ground, because that's apparently just how your life works. )
no subject
the clumsy layer of bandaging woven around his bloodied neck by equally bloodied hands does little to conceal his injuries, red soaking quite easily through the thin strips of cotton as if they weren't there at all, dripping out down the side of his neck to join the deep red staining the neckline of his robes not unlike the red which drips down below his similarly bloodied blindfold.
one might think that would make him more difficult to isolate, but one couldn't be more incorrect. make no mistake, this blind man in white (so clearly a daozhang, or something like it) earns no shortage of concerned exclamations, attempts to entreat him to stop and be seen to, but so far they've been met quite unanimously with a clumsy flinch away from worried touch, a shaky 'i'm fine, please don't worry,' that he doesn't even quite process saying.
and so it was simple enough to assess that he would be leaving town rather quickly, and as far as the bandits were concerned, sending word ahead to prepare ambush for a blind man would have seemed more than sufficient. and they nearly had it correct, too - they were off by a matter of minutes and happenstance, the wrong blind man happening through just before the correct one.
he would've walked into the trap quite easily, too. he wouldn't have noticed the bandits were there until he was already surrounded. the cries for help, however, drag him sharply back into this moment. into this place, and the distinct sounds of a struggle just ahead. and despite everything, all that he learned that he's done, he finds himself moving toward the struggle with a brisk sort of purpose to each step.
from his place on the ground, po xiao might very well hear those brisk footsteps approaching now. they're stepping just past him, in fact, so close that he might feel the displacement of air (or he might even smell the blood) as xingchen places himself between po xiao and the bandits - and then comes the unmistakable sound of a sword drawn from a sheath as xingchen draws frostwork from where it sits strapped across his back, pointing the tip at what sounds like the nearest of this man's assailants. ) Whatever misunderstanding has occurred here, I suggest that we all move past it, ( he says, his tone a bit flat and numbed but no less firm because of it. ) I lack the patience right now to ask kindly a second time.
( one of the men says something - some sort of remark about 'another blind man', derisive and incredulous, and a 'this one's half dead already' from off to his other side - but far more importantly, a number of them sound like they're drawing some manner of weapons now. xingchen's nearly-depleted qi is still more than enough to identify a hand axe, four knives, and a sword just shorter than his own, and he exhales a bracing sigh through his nose before stepping in to meet them.
the first knife is thrown, deflected by frostwork's blade and sent flying off into the brush, and in under a half-minute, the bandits lie dead and bleeding in the dirt. perhaps not all of them (one or two may have fled through the woods, the wise choice at this point), but that's fine, so long as they're gone and not coming back here.
he turns back to the stranger now, the one who cried for help. ) Are you alright? ( frostwork has lowered to his side now, and he takes a step toward the man. ) I can escort you to-... ( but the words slip from his grasp like sand, and the world feels very much like it's spinning around him in a way that not even his qi sense can compensate for.
xingchen sinks to his knees, steadying himself on his hands (one still gripping frostwork, but only weakly). ) Forgive me, I just need a moment. ( but these words are hazy and thin, like the air atop a mountain. the combat, even so little of it, was too much for him after... well, after everything else. the revelations, the wounds he inflicted and sustained. the time since waking up alive from said wounds, which must have been nearly a day ago by now but he hasn't kept track of time any better than he has kept track of his blood loss. and here and now, in the middle of this worn dirt road, is where his body finally seems to give out.
sorry, po xiao. your rescuer is now lying unconscious on the ground, because that's apparently just how your life works. )