The tent curtain was thrown open in one swift motion.
Wind poured in, carrying the unique scent of green grass and horse sweat from the steppe. A voice arrived before the person—
"Heard you're hiding a Han person here—"
Before the sentence was finished, the person had already entered.
Not the silent, wall-like oppression of Ah Gu-da. This person was full of movement—lifting the curtain with such force it seemed he wanted to tear the tent down, boots stomping on the ground with every step, even the knife at his waist swayed more violently than others.
When he saw me, his steps paused for a moment.
Then he smiled. The kind of unreserved, teeth-baring smile.
"There really is one?"
He looked different from Li Yuanhao. Not those sharp, knife-like features. He was livelier. Thick eyebrows, big eyes, skin tanned to a deep brown, eyes crinkling into a fold when he smiled. He should be a year or two older than Li Yuanhao, but looked three or four years older. He was taller too, shoulders already broadened, standing in the tent like an unpruned tree.
He tilted his head, looking at me, gaze sweeping from my face to my clothes, then back to my face. Not the "assessing danger" scrutiny of the Wolf Guards, but pure, unmasked curiosity.
"You're that—" He scratched his head, as if searching for a word, "the one who isn't afraid of him?"
I didn't answer.
He clicked his tongue, turning to look at Li Yuanhao.
Li Yuanhao sat behind the low table, holding a piece of charcoal, posture unchanged. But his eyes had changed. Not that cold "I'm judging if you're worth it" look, but something else. Deeper, tighter.
"When did you start keeping people?" he asked Li Yuanhao. Tone familiar, as if he came here often.
"Get out," Li Yuanhao said.
One word. Not heavy, but deep.
The person didn't move. Not only did he not move, he took two steps toward me. Bent down, leaning closer, as if looking at some rare object.
"Can she speak?" he asked.
"Yes," I said.
He paused, then laughed. Louder than before, showing a full row of teeth.
"She really can speak—"
He raised his hand.
Movement very fast, so fast I didn't react in time. His fingers reached toward my face—not an attack, but that kind of casual, careless touch.
He didn't touch me.
A hand reached out from behind him, gripping his wrist.
Li Yuanhao had stood up without me knowing when. His hand clenched that person's wrist, knuckles white, force so great the smile on that person's face froze for a moment.
"Don't touch her."
Three words. Very light. But all sound in the tent stopped.
Quiet enough to hear the sound of charcoal ash being blown off the low table.
That person looked down at his gripped wrist, then up at Li Yuanhao. His expression changed—not fear, but something I couldn't quite read. Like surprise, or confirming something.
"Oh—" He dragged out the sound, the corner of his mouth slowly curving up, "Oh—"
Li Yuanhao let go. Movement very fast, as if burned. But he didn't step back, standing in place, blocking me and that person.
"You like this type?" That person rubbed his wrist, smile growing bigger.
Li Yuanhao didn't speak.
The tent was quiet enough to hear my heartbeat.
"She is mine," Li Yuanhao said.
Voice very flat. Flat like stating something not up for discussion.
That person looked at him, smile fading a bit. Not disappearing, but changing flavor—from teasing to something more serious.
"Then I really have to take a look," he said, taking a step forward.
Not toward me. Toward Li Yuanhao.
He didn't dodge. Two people standing face to face, one half a head taller, one half a head shorter. But in that moment, their presence was equal.
That person looked at him for three seconds.
Then he stepped back, raising both hands, palms outward.
"Fine, I won't touch."
He smiled, turning to glance at me. That look was much lighter than before, as if saying "I see".
"But—" He turned back, looking at Li Yuanhao, smile wiped clean, "You've changed."
This sentence was said very lightly. Like saying something only the two of them understood.
Li Yuanhao didn't speak.
That person didn't stay. He turned and walked out, pausing when lifting the curtain.
"Bring wine next time." He didn't look back, "You owe me."
The curtain fell.
The tent was quiet again. Quiet enough to hear the sound of charcoal ash falling from the low table.
I stood in place, didn't move. He walked back behind the low table, picking up the charcoal.
"Who is he?" I asked.
"Tuoba Lie."
He wrote a character. Not "Xia", but "Lie" (Fierce/Intense).
He didn't speak again. Neither did I ask.
The silence in the tent lasted a long time. Long enough to hear the wind blowing the curtain, long enough to hear someone singing in the distance.
His ears were still red. Hadn't faded since just now.
"That sentence he said," I spoke, " 'You've changed'—"
"No," he cut me off.
"What he said is true."
His brush stopped.
"You did change," I said.
He looked up at me. That look—not sharp, not probing. Something I couldn't describe.
"Change for better or worse?" he asked.
I thought about it.
"Changing," I said. "Not good or bad. Just changing."
He lowered his head, continued writing that "Lie" character. Wrote three times, each time better than the last.
"His handwriting is ugly," he said suddenly.
"Who?"
"Tuoba Lie."
"How do you know?"
"Seen it."
"Better or worse than yours?"
He didn't answer.
Brush scratched a long line on the board.
"His handwriting is ugly," he said again.
I didn't press. But the corner of my mouth curved up.
"Tomorrow," he said, "teach me to write 'Lie'."
"Okay."
"Write it better looking."
"Okay."
He lowered his head, continued writing. Outside the tent, wind picked up again, pouring in through curtain seams, chilly.
But his ears, stayed red.
Outside the tent, the youth stood in the camp.
He didn't go back to his tent. He stood in the wind, watching a figure in the distance.
Tuoba Lie walked very fast. As if knowing someone was watching him.
He stopped, turned around.
Two people across half the camp, locking eyes.
Tuoba Lie smiled. From a distance, couldn't see clearly, but he smiled. Then he turned, continued walking.
The youth stood in place.
"You've changed."
When Tuoba Lie said this, his eyes were serious. He was never serious. When he was serious, it meant he really had something to say.
Had he changed?
He didn't know.
He only knew, he wouldn't have cared what kind of look Tuoba Lie used to look at someone before.
He touched his chest. There was a piece of paper. And a board, pressed deep inside the fur pile.
He turned to walk back.
Walked two steps, suddenly remembered—he just said Tuoba Lie's handwriting was ugly.
Actually Tuoba Lie's handwriting was better than his.
He didn't know why he said that.
He walked faster and faster. Wind blew from the grassland, making his clothes flap loudly.
He didn't look back.
End of Chapter 8