Jiang Ci woke up very late.
The rain had gradually stopped, but the air was still thick with moisture, clinging stickily to her skin, impossible to dry off. When she opened her eyes, the light outside the window was no longer very bright—a dull, grayish-white that made it hard to tell if it was dawn or dusk.
She parted her lips; her mouth was incredibly dry. Her throat felt as if it had been scraped with sandpaper, and even swallowing saliva hurt. Pressing her hands against the wooden bed boards, she pushed herself up into a sitting position. Her movements were slow. The motion pulled at her wounds, sending a sharp jolt of pain through her. She didn't make a sound, merely furrowing her brow, waiting for the wave of pain to pass before she continued moving.
She scanned her surroundings. The window next to the door was open, letting in a dim light that illuminated the room's furnishings. In the main room sat a table with a broken leg, propped up by a black stone that still had mud on it, looking as though it had been picked up off the street on a whim. Beside it stood two wooden chairs, their backrests polished smooth from use, creaking whenever sat upon. On the table was an iron candlestick, rusted and old. The candle had already burned down, leaving a layer of melted wax at the base—hardened, grayish-white, with curled edges. Next to it were two porcelain bottles, one green and one white, along with a tightly tied cloth bag that looked quite plump.
She looked toward the edge of the bed. On the bedside table sat a bowl of water with a thin layer of dust floating on the surface, indicating it had been sitting there for some time. Pressed beneath the bowl was a piece of paper, its edges curled upward where they weren't weighed down.
Jiang Ci hesitated for a moment, then picked up the bowl, blew the dust off the surface of the water, and drank it all in one gulp. The water was cold, carrying a faint earthy taste and the smell of the clay bowl itself. Yet as she swallowed, a refreshing coolness spread from her mouth to her chest, flowing down her throat and making her feel slightly more alive. She set the bowl down and picked up the piece of paper.
The writing on the paper was crooked and messy, like chicken scratch. The horizontal strokes weren't straight, the vertical ones were slanted, and the ink had bled in several places, blurring into smudges. She stared at it for a long time.
“Our paths crossed by chance, and to me, it is nothing more than forging a good karmic bond. For your injuries, use the green bottle internally and the white bottle externally, twice a day. You should heal within a week. The bag contains spiritual rice; if I do not return in time, you may feed yourself. As for whether you stay or leave, please suit yourself.”
There was no signature. The name “Lu Yan” was nowhere to be found. She stared at those few lines of text for a long time. The handwriting was ugly, but she could tell it had been written very slowly—every stroke was deliberate, as if he had been tracing them in the dark, afraid of making a mistake, afraid she wouldn't be able to read it. She didn't know how long he had spent writing this, or how many drafts he had ruined.
She sat on the bed, staring blankly into space, her thoughts a mystery.
After a long while, she picked up the white porcelain bottle and pulled out the stopper. A refreshing, faint herbal scent wafted from the opening, not at all unpleasant. She poured a bit onto her fingertip. The ointment was light green and smooth, melting against her skin with a soothing chill. Shedding her robe, she bit her lip and began to apply the ointment to her wounds.
The moment her fingertip touched a wound, pain flared. It wasn't a sharp pain, but a dull, throbbing ache that swelled from within. She didn't make a sound, only biting her lip a bit harder. Once she finished one spot, she moved to the next. Her movements were very slow, as if she were afraid of hurting herself, or perhaps she simply couldn't move any faster. There were too many wounds; some had already scabbed over, some were still raw and red, and some had stuck to the bandages, tearing painfully when peeled away. She applied the ointment bit by bit, spreading it evenly until it covered every single scar.
She tipped a pill out of the green bottle, popped it into her mouth, and swallowed it dry. The pill caught in her throat for a moment, but she swallowed hard, and it went down. A bitter taste spread across the back of her tongue. She frowned but didn't drink any water. The water in the bowl was gone, and she didn't feel like getting up to pour more.
She wrapped the bandages back around herself, crookedly, tight in some places and loose in others. They looked just like the ones she had on before. She didn't try to rewrap them properly. He was the one who had tied them. Once she untied them, she couldn't replicate it. She didn't know how.
Inside the Abandoned Guest Hall, Lu Yan was wailing at the mountain of formation plates piled before him.
“Brother Seven! Just how many formation plates did you take in?!”
A faint smile touched the corner of Du Qi's mouth. “Who told you to stay away for three months? If you don't want to do it, you don't have to. You just won't get paid.”
Lu Yan gritted his teeth and buried his head in his work. Most of these formation plates were Spirit-Gathering Formations, protection formations, or teleportation formations—all standard designs. He could tell just by touch. He only needed to redraw the formation patterns with spiritual energy, replacing the faded and worn lines from long-term use. He was skilled at it, but the sheer volume was overwhelming.
As he repaired them, he muttered under his breath, “Twenty spirit stones, twenty-five spirit stones, thirty-five spirit stones...”
He casually picked up a new formation plate, preparing to channel spiritual energy into it, but his hand froze in midair. His head lowered. A mix of deep sorrow and murderous intent enveloped him, almost solidifying around his form. The air seemed to grow thick, making it hard to breathe.
Hong Jiu, who excelled at sensing emotions, was the first to notice that something was wrong with Lu Yan. She quickly glided to his side. “What's wrong, Little Eleven?”
Du Qi's gaze shifted over as well. “Is there something wrong with the formation plate?”
Lu Yan spoke in a raspy voice, “This is a formation plate from the grand protecting formation of the Formation Sect. It was pried off.”
Du Qi was taken aback. He knew this item likely had something to do with Eleven's past, but now was not the time to ask. “Then forget it. We won't take any more orders from this person in the future.”
Lu Yan took two deep breaths to compose himself, then spoke calmly, “No need. But for this formation plate, I want to charge three times the price.” If his voice hadn't trembled slightly at the very end, one might have truly believed he didn't care.
Hong Jiu gently patted his back and said softly, “Eleven, if you don't want to repair it, don't force yourself. At worst, big sister can go kill someone for you. It's just twenty lashes from the hall's hunting canes.”
Lu Yan raised his hand, cutting her off. “Thank you, but there's no need. Making three times the money is enough to satisfy me.” He swallowed a pill to replenish the spiritual energy consumed during the repairs and buried his head back in his work.
Hong Jiu and Du Qi exchanged a glance, concern visible in both of their eyes. Hong Jiu quietly transmitted her voice to Du Qi, “Give him my share of the spirit stones as well.”
Du Qi looked at her in surprise, then regained his composure and went back to his calligraphy.
By the time Lu Yan finished the repairs, night had already fallen. Du Qi tossed him a storage bag. Lu Yan peered inside and saw hundreds of spirit stones. He furrowed his brow.
“Brother Seven, this is too much. Even a fifty percent cut wouldn't amount to this.”
Du Qi replied flatly, “If you want to thank someone, thank your Sister Nine. She advanced it to you.”
Lu Yan was about to refuse when Hong Jiu cut him off. “We have a deal, and lending this to you comes with conditions. From now on, you have to obediently call me 'Sister,' got it?”
Lu Yan fell silent for two seconds, his hand tightening around the storage bag. “Thanks, Sister Nine.”
Hong Jiu beamed with joy. “That's more like it, my good little brother.”
Lu Yan stepped out of the door with the storage bag. He suddenly felt in high spirits. In this world of the Five Turbidities, there were still people willing to care about a cripple like him. This crowd was shady, their prices were exorbitant, and they always loved to tease him. But... this feeling wasn't bad.
The corners of his mouth curled upward as he walked briskly outside. This time, he didn't cast any spell. The rain had stopped.
Rate on N.U.
