The Rise of Phoenixes-Chapter 172
Yao Yangyu, however, did not mind Feng Zhiwei’s reaction and smiled as she helped him: “For the Honored Vice President to personally dress my wounds, it would even be worth it to be injured again.”
Ning Yi was originally feeling somewhat apologetic, but as soon as Yao Yangyu spoke his face fell; Feng Zhiwei eyed Ning Yi, not knowing whether to laugh or cry as she wondered at how narrow-minded Ning Yi could sometimes be.
In the distance, a figure rose up out of the grey smoke carrying two people, turning his head as he scanned the docks; Feng Zhiwei recognized Gu Nanyi and happily waved her hands, yelling: “I’m here!”
Gu Nanyi heard her, and he dropped the two unfortunate students he had saved and floated over.
As soon as he made it over, he pulled Feng Zhiwei out of Ning Yi’s embrace and carefully checked her over; Feng Zhiwei had no choice in the matter, for this was one of the few things the aloof Young Master Gu insisted on — serious consequences would follow if Feng Zhiwei refused.
After he made sure that Feng Zhiwei was general alright, Young Master Gu pulled his hands away and suddenly announced: “No trees.”
Feng Zhiwei paused for a moment before remembering their conversation; Gu Nanyi had taken her words to heart, and when he got separated from Feng Zhiwei he had looked for trees, but how could there be any trees in this empty yard.
“It’s alright,” She smiled in reply: “I’m here.”
They crossed the hell covered dock and passed the countless dead and injured, and Feng Zhiwei began the laborious and thankless task of sorting and counting the bodies. Yan Huaishi had been on the ship arranging matters and was the most fortunate; at least ten guards had died, and four students suffered injuries. Thanks to Feng Zhiwei’s arrangement, as soon as the explosion went off, Helian Zheng, Gu Nanyi, and Ning Cheng all rushed to save the students in the epicenter of danger.
The students were incredibly touched; in the chaos, when everyone else was running for their lives, Feng Zhiwei and Ning Yi sent their experts away from themselves to protect the students. This was a rare kindness.
The South Sea Officials had been close to the explosion as well, and they all sat or lay on the ground, shocked. One advisor had lost an arm and hugged himself, crying miserably. Zhou Xizhong sat, surrounded by guards, his face inhumanly pale.
The smoke still lingered over the blood drenched ground; shoes were scattered everywhere, many of them never to be reunited with their owners. Scattered commoners gathered back to look for their family, and heart-rending cries would periodically cut their hearts.
Sadness and tragedy filled the dock, and most everyone wore a desolate and despondent look; Zhou Xizhong sat blankly, staring around numbly as he shoved away a subordinate trying to help him stand.
Feng Zhiwei and Ning Yi both looked at him — the unruly and tough man was arrogant, but was also said to be honest and incorruptible, deeply devoted to his people. This was why the South Sea people loved and respected him so; but today, in his selfishness and desire to make trouble for the Imperial Envoys, he had arranged for ten thousand of his people to assemble at the docks, and now disaster had struck. The emotions in his heart must be indescribable.
Ning Yi turned to Feng Zhiwei. She understood — now was the best moment to take him down. If she charged him with failure to maintain security and stability, causing major casualties, Feng Zhiwei could suspend him. His South Sea Officials would all suffer as well, and with the ground clear, Feng Zhiwei would have much smoother sailing even when Ning Yi left for Minnan.
But Feng Zhiwei shook her head.
She turned slowly, taking in all of the scarlet docks. She did not shy away from her guard’s bodies or her blood covered students, and she stared directly at the mutilated remains of the tragic commoners, her soft eyes furious and cold.
A blood-thirst burned like fire in her gaze and her misted eyes fell dark with red.
Though she faced everything with a smile, she too had fury.
If soft power could not break through this iron wall, she would tear it down and destroy it with unyielding force!
“Cha.”
Her black sword cut through the air like a beam of piercing light, slashing a furious chasm into the greenstone tiles. The cut was like tightly pressed lips after an oath.
“Chang Family! Wait for me!”
Whether the Chang Family waited no one here knew, but the Yan Family, leader of the South Sea Five Clans, had waited for a long time.
The Five Families had all been squeezed to the back, intentionally blocked by South Sea’s commoners and officials; good had come out of misfortune, and no one from the clans were injured.
Now, a group of men of various ages rushed over to greet the, but before they could kneel Feng Zhiwei was already saying: “No formalities; now is not the time for court manners. Bring your people and get the wounded to the doctors. Help move the bodies and notify family. There will be time for courtesy after we’re done here.”
Ning Yi was already among the South Sea Officials, whipping them into action.
The Five Families were filled with understanding — was this not a great opportunity to win the hearts of the South Sea people? As they hurriedly passed down orders, Feng Zhiwei turned brought Gu Nanyi to search for the living and wounded. Gu Nanyi swept through the docks, sealing acupuncture points and saving the desperately wounded as Feng Zhiwei organized and triaged for the doctors brought by the families and the government.
The Yan Family moved very quickly, setting up temporary medical tents in every corner of the dock, and a separate tent for Ning Yi and Feng Zhiwei. But neither of them rested, and Feng Zhiwei never stepped foot in the tent; she was too busy helping.
The commoners rushing over to help all quietly eyed the young, slender Imperial Envoy rush around moving burnt, mutilated bodies. From time to time, the Envoy would square down beside a bloody body and roll up his sleeves, baring his white, clean arms as he dressed a wound. With hands stained with blood and gore, he stopped sweat and ash from dropping into his eyes, and soon his clean, refreshing face was stained dark red.
A young man had lost his arm in the explosion, and the doctor could not stop the bleeding no matter what he tried. The young man would soon die from blood loss, and his family’s weeping drew Master Wei’s attention. Master Wei rushed over and pressed down on an acupuncture point, slowing the bleeding enough for him to apply the herbal ointment and dress the wound. Neatly, efficiently, Master Wei saved this strong youth’s life, and before the young man’s family could kowtow in gratitude, he was already running off to another tent.
An old man with heart problems lay moaning in pain, a raging swelling looming high on his temple. Just as people were about to move him into the tent, Master Wei rushed over and stopped them. As he rushed to get a doctor, he told them time and time again not to move the old man.
There were too many wounded and not enough doctors, so Master Wei had to take charge. He knelt in the dirt and blood, grasping a fisherman’s swelling leg as he gently pulled off the man’s filthy boot. It was as if he did not smell the nastiness of the leather and the fish mingled shit and blood — always calm, always sympathetic.
