I Transmigrated as Cannon Fodder, Only to be Desired by the Dragon King - Chapter 43

Chapter 43: In Peril (Part 2) — He stopped struggling; he was merely being dragged…

His head throbbed as if it had been repeatedly crushed by a heavy hammer.

Shen Youqing snapped his eyes open. His vision blurred for a long time before finally coming into focus. He saw blackened wooden beams and a roof covered in sparse thatch. A few rays of sunlight leaked through the gaps, casting mottled spots of light on the ground. The air was thick with the smell of mold, woodsmoke, and a faint hint of stale sweat.

He tried to move, but a sharp sense of restriction instantly radiated from his wrists and ankles. Rough hemp ropes bit into his skin, rubbing painfully as they bound him firmly to a crude wooden bed. The planks were hard, covered only by a thin layer of scratchy straw that made his skin itch.

“Ugh…” Shen Youqing groaned. He tried to struggle, but the more he pulled, the tighter the ropes cinched, quickly leaving angry red welts on his wrists.

Fragments of memory flashed through his mind: the abandoned Dragon King Temple, Little Black curled up sobbing behind the statue… He remembered untying the boy’s ropes, pulling him into an embrace, and then—a sudden, sharp pain at the back of his head followed by endless darkness.

The butler and Little Black… What happened to them?

He looked around. It was a tiny wooden shack with a single, dilapidated window reinforced by thick wooden bars. Outside, he could see rolling hills and a high wooden palisade. Aside from the bed he lay on, the only furniture was a broken table propped up by stones. Hay and old farming tools were piled in the corner. It was empty; there wasn’t another soul in sight.

The butler was gone. Little Black was gone. A chill raced from the soles of his feet to the crown of his head.

Recollections flooded back. Little Black’s words in the temple echoed clearly: “Daddy! Those bad men tied me here and said they were waiting for you to come!”

That sentence was like a needle piercing Shen Youqing’s heart. He realized with a jolt—this kidnapping was aimed entirely at him! Little Black was just an innocent pawn used to lure him into the trap. The kidnappers had a clear objective from the start: leaving wheel rifts to mislead the guards, dropping sea-scented cloth as a trail, and waiting specifically at the Dragon King Temple for him to walk right in.

But why capture him? He had been in this world for less than three months and barely knew anyone outside his immediate circle. Could it be Li Beichen?

As he pondered, heavy footsteps sounded outside, accompanied by coarse, hushed voices. Shen Youqing’s heart tightened. Before he could react, the wooden door was kicked open. Two burly men with fleshy faces entered. Without a word, they hoisted him up and dragged him out.

His wrists and ankles remained bound; the rough ropes chafed his skin, and the dull ache at the back of his head persisted. He stumbled as he was dragged across the dirt path of the mountain fortress. Several patrolling bandits watched him with predatory eyes, their gazes like hungry wolves, making Shen Youqing’s skin crawl.

…

The Fortress Hall

Soon, he was brought into a larger wooden building where a bonfire burned, painting the walls a warm yellow. A bandit leader sat reclined in a tiger-skin chair, his beard tangled like wild grass. His muddy eyes swirled with greed as he looked Shen Youqing up and down—from his hair to the hem of his robe—with a gaze so viscous and fierce it felt as if he were stripping the skin from his bones.

“Let me go!” Shen Youqing’s voice trembled. He was terrified. This was the first time since transmigrating that he had faced the unadulterated malice of this strange world. He was just an ordinary person—no magic, no combat skills. Bound and helpless, he had no way to resist.

If only Feng Xiuyan were here…

The thought wound around his heart like a vine. Wait! The Sea-Calling Conch!

Shen Youqing’s mind flashed with hope. He had almost forgotten his lifeline! When Little Black first went missing, he had hesitated to contact Feng Xiuyan, fearing he would distract him from important business in the West Sea. He had arrogantly assumed that with the help of the local guards, he could handle it. He hadn’t expected the entire plot to be centered on him.

Fortunately, he always kept the conch on his person, tied to his waist with a string. He only took it off at night to place it in his study drawer.

Shen Youqing instinctively tried to reach for his waist, but his wrists were tied behind his back. The slightest movement caused a piercing pain as the ropes dug deeper. He tried moving his ankles, but the bindings were equally tight. The conch was right there at his waist, but those few inches felt like ten thousand miles.

Sweat beaded on his forehead; cold perspiration soaked his back, making his clothes cling to him in a way that felt both icy and itchy. If I can just touch the conch… if I can just make a sound, Feng Xiuyan will know where I am!

“What? Thinking of trying something?” The bandit leader saw his struggle and grinned, revealing yellow-black teeth. He stood and approached, his rough hand reaching toward Shen Youqing’s chest. “Are you hiding some treasure?”

Shen Youqing stiffened and instinctively shrunk back. Forgetting his feet were bound, he lost his balance and fell backward, hitting the floor hard.

The bandit leader laughed, his hand moving toward Shen Youqing’s cheek. “Why struggle? Be good and you’ll suffer less.” His voice was raspy and unpleasant, his lust undisguised. “I didn’t expect Young Master Shen to be so handsome—even better than the portraits.”

Shen Youqing’s heart froze. He jerked his head away, glaring at the man with loathing and alarm. “Don’t touch me!”

The bandit leader scoffed, his hand reaching forward again. “At a time like this, why play the noble? Today, I’m going to—”

Shen Youqing’s heart drummed like a war song. Despair flooded his limbs like cold tide water, draining his strength to resist. He closed his eyes, waiting for the nauseating touch to fall…

…

The “Madam”

“Stop.”

A cold voice suddenly sliced through the oppressive air of the shack like an icicle shattering a wave.

The bandit leader froze. The greed on his face instantly vanished, replaced by a fawning, almost subservient flattery. A flash of panic crossed his eyes as he turned toward the door, his posture bowing slightly. His tone was incredibly eager: “Why have you come here? The wind is strong outside; be careful not to catch a cold.”

Shen Youqing snapped his eyes open and looked toward the voice.

A slender figure stood silhouetted against the light at the door. The hem of a moon-white robe fluttered slightly in the breeze. The man’s stature was as upright as a pine, with clean, sharp lines at his shoulders and back. Even the curve of his hair falling over his shoulder looked exactly like the image etched into Shen Youqing’s heart.

Feng Xiuyan!

Shen Youqing’s heart leapt. His eyes burned, and a sob rose in his throat. It was Feng Xiuyan! He had received the news and came for him!

A wild joy sprouted within him, making him forget the pain in his limbs. He stared at the figure, waiting for him to rush over and take him away from this disgusting place.

But the figure only walked slowly into the room. There were no urgent footsteps, no familiar, tender call.

Shen Youqing gradually sensed something was wrong. This person’s gait was lighter and slower than Feng Xiuyan’s, carrying a detached hesitation. As the sunlight hit his face, the features indeed looked seventy percent like Feng Xiuyan—the same handsome bone structure, the same deep-set eyes. But those eyes held none of Feng Xiuyan’s unique tenderness or indulgence. Instead, they were filled with a frozen stillness, like cold jade, projecting an aura of “keep away.”

“Madam, look at this boy…” The bandit leader rubbed his hands, testing the waters, his previous ferocity completely gone.

The man addressed as “Madam” didn’t look at the leader. His cold gaze swept over Shen Youqing’s bound wrists. His voice was flat and emotionless: “I said, do not touch him.”

The voice was wrong too. Feng Xiuyan’s voice was mellow, like a warm current in the deep sea, wrapped in affection. This man’s voice was as cold as a mountain spring, with a hint of raspy sandiness.

And most importantly—something Shen Youqing had overlooked in his panic—Feng Xiuyan never wore light-colored clothes.

Shen Youqing’s heart sank. His previous joy was extinguished by a bucket of ice water, leaving behind a dense, aching disappointment. He stared at the man. From a distance, they looked similar, but up close, there was no way to connect him to Feng Xiuyan. They were two completely different people.

He isn’t Feng Xiuyan…

Shen Youqing lowered his eyelashes to hide his sorrow. His smile froze and then faded into a thin line. It made sense; the West Sea was so far, and Feng Xiuyan was so busy—how could he have arrived so quickly? He had been too desperate to be saved, mistaking a similar silhouette for his salvation.

“This…” The bandit leader looked conflicted but didn’t dare disobey. After a moment of hesitation, he glared at Shen Youqing and waved his hand. “Take him away! Lock him in the innermost dark room and watch him closely!”

The two men stepped forward and roughly hoisted Shen Youqing up. He stopped struggling. However, as he was dragged past the man in the white robe, he couldn’t help but look up.

The man stood by the bonfire, the firelight reflecting off the hem of his moon-white robe. His profile was hard. He was looking at Shen Youqing as well.

As they crossed paths, Shen Youqing suddenly noticed something strange: the man’s wrists also bore red marks from being bound by ropes.

This bizarre situation filled Shen Youqing’s mind with doubt. But at this moment, he couldn’t even care for himself, let alone solve a mystery. Heavy disappointment pressed on his chest as he was dragged into the cramped, shadowy dark room.

The door shut with a loud clunk, and the sound of the lock clicking was piercingly sharp in the silence. The ropes were cinched tight again, and he was thrown onto the cold dirt floor. A tiny sliver of light from the air vent illuminated only a small patch of ground.

Shen Youqing sat against the wall and instinctively looked down at his waist. The Sea-Calling Conch was still there.

Good. There is still hope.