Healing

“Phew...”

Lu Yan placed Jiang Ci onto the bed and let out a long breath. He was exhausted. Not physically, but mentally. For someone like him, who hadn't dated anyone in two lifetimes—the phrase "goblin chieftain" popped into his mind, which was pretty much what he was—this kind of prolonged close contact with a woman was absolute torture. He had carried her all the way from the temple to his house. She had been pressed against him, and he had been stiff as a board, tense every step of the way. Now, he could finally let go.

Putting her on the bed was also a hassle. Her back was too severely injured, so she had to lie on her stomach. He stood by the bed, looking down at her for a moment—well, "looking," since he couldn't actually see, but it was a habit. Then he bent over, supporting her shoulder with one hand and holding her waist with the other, carefully flipping her over. He was very gentle, but the movement still aggravated her wounds. She let out a muffled groan, her brow furrowing slightly. He didn't stop, continuing to adjust her position until she was straight. He aligned her head toward the foot of the bed and her feet toward the headboard, making it easier for him to sit by the edge and tend to her wounds.

Once he finished positioning her, he reached out to feel her forehead. It was burning hot, like touching a stone that had baked in the sun all day. The heat radiated straight into his fingertips. This has to be at least a hundred and four degrees, right? he thought. She's going to burn her brain to mush. He pulled his hand back and rubbed it against the back of his other hand, as if wiping off something unclean. It wasn't out of disgust, but rather because the sheer heat made his heart flutter with anxiety.

“I should give her some medicine.”

He retrieved a bottle of Rejuvenation Pills from his storage ring and poured one out. The pill sat in his palm, a round, pale-green sphere. He brought it to his nose and sniffed—the medicinal efficacy was still intact, and it hadn't gotten damp. He pinched the pill and brought it to her lips.

“Open up.”

He placed the pill against her lips, but she didn't budge. Her lips were chapped, pale, and completely devoid of color. How could an unconscious person hear him? She showed absolutely no sign of cooperation. He tried again, saying, “Open your mouth,” but she still didn't move.

Lu Yan frowned, stumped. How was he supposed to feed this to her? After a moment of thought, he gently pinched her cheeks with his fingers, forcing her mouth open just a crack. He slipped the pill inside, pushing it past her lips, but it got blocked by her teeth. He pushed again, but it still wouldn't go in.

Unbidden, scenes from the romance dramas he had watched in his previous life flashed through his mind—the female lead unconscious, the male lead feeding her medicine mouth-to-mouth, and then the female lead waking up at that exact moment to lock eyes with him while the background music swelled and the comments section flooded with "so sweet!" He shook his head violently, trying to banish those images. He shook it so hard his neck let out a soft pop.

I've really been living alone for too long, he cursed himself inwardly. How could he have such inappropriate thoughts the moment he was around a woman? A wave of guilt washed over him, making him feel as if he had committed some terrible deed, even though there was no one else around.

Thinking this way, his guilt gradually dissolved. He fished the Rejuvenation Pill back out of her mouth. The pill had already softened from her saliva, its surface sticky. He wiped it on his sleeve and tossed it back into the bottle—no sense in letting it go to waste; he could still use it later. Then, he poured out a fresh one. This time, he didn't try to force it down her throat. He set the pill on the table, grabbed a bowl from beside the stove, rinsed it with clean water, and emptied it. Placing the pill in the bowl, he crushed it with the back of a spoon, added some water, and stirred. The resulting pale-green liquid was cloudy and carried a distinct herbal scent. He took a tiny sip. It was bitter and a bit astringent, but as long as the medicinal effect was there, it would do.

Carrying the bowl back to the bedside, he pried open the corner of her mouth with one hand and brought the bowl to her lips with the other, slowly pouring the liquid in. His movements were incredibly gentle, like feeding a toddler who hadn't learned how to eat yet. When the liquid dribbled down the corner of her mouth, he wiped it away with his thumb and continued pouring.

“Cough, cough... cough—”

He hadn't poured it right. She choked, coughing twice as the medicine sprayed from her mouth, nearly getting all over him. He quickly pulled the bowl away, waited for her to finish coughing, and then tried again. This time, he went even slower.

After finishing the medicine, he set the bowl down and let out a long sigh. Next up was the thing he dreaded the most.

The girl's clothes were in tatters, soaked with a mixture of rainwater and blood, clinging tightly to her skin. Several of her wounds were still oozing blood, causing the fabric to stick to her flesh in a painful-looking mess. He had to remove her clothes to treat the wounds.

How was he supposed to get them off?

That was the ultimate dilemma. Strip her? The robe was crisscrossed with ties and frog closures; he didn't even know where to start. With her lying completely limp and motionless, it was impossible to slide her out of the garments. He tried to undo the frog closure at her collar, but his fingers felt too clumsy and the loops were too small. He couldn't even pinch them, let alone unfasten them.

Even worse, the effects of the Focus-Stabilizing Pill were wearing off. He could feel his cultivation slipping away—Half-Step Nascent Soul, Great Perfection of Golden Core, late stage Golden Core. It was like sand slipping through his fingers, impossible to stop. He had less than an hour to "deal" with this woman. Once that hour was up, he would go blind again, unable to see anything, let alone apply medicine.

Lu Yan took two deep breaths. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale.

He came up with a solution.

Cut them. He would cut them straight down from the collar. It definitely wasn't because he found the Central Continent sect robes eyesores. He retrieved a pair of scissors from his bedside drawer, which he usually used to alter clothes. They were made of iron, their handles worn shiny from use, and the blades were a bit dull. He tested them—they still cut. He slipped the scissors into her collar and, with a sharp snip, cut open a slit.

With every inch he cut, his breathing slowed. It wasn't because of her exposed skin, but because of the wounds covering her body.

They were layered one over another. Some had already scabbed over, though poorly; the brownish scabs were tinged with dark yellow, surrounded by red, swollen skin. Other wounds were still bleeding, the blood mixing with rainwater and fusing the fabric to her flesh. He had to carefully peel the cloth away as he cut, terrified of tearing her skin. His hands remained steady, but his brow was deeply furrowed.

He slowly peeled back the cut fabric, but it was stuck fast to her wounds and wouldn't budge. Pausing, he picked up the water bowl from the table and drizzled a little water over the area. The water softened the dried blood slightly, allowing him to gently pull again. Finally, the cloth came free. Jiang Ci's body twitched, and a muffled murmur escaped her lips. Though her words were unintelligible, she was clearly in pain.

Lu Yan's hand paused for a moment before he continued.

When he finally saw her back, his hand froze completely.

A charred, dark-red "chrysanthemum" of a wound was sprawled across her back. The skin was blackened, the flesh torn open and turned inside out, with the edges already beginning to rot. Pus and blood mingled together, emitting a faint, putrid stench. This wasn't a fresh injury, but an old wound from several days ago that had never been properly treated. Soaked in rainwater and caked in mud, it had only grown worse.

Goosebumps erupted across his skin. It wasn't from the cold, but because the wound was so horrifying. He had seen plenty of injuries before—his own, those of his fellow sect members, and those of the Northern Border refugees. But this—someone surviving with flesh rotted to this extent—was a first.

“Fuck.”

The word escaped through his gritted teeth. How the hell was he supposed to treat this? With a hammer? Her back was practically a shredded mess, and necrosis had already set in. That she was still breathing was nothing short of a biological miracle.

Furthermore, there was something else clinging to it—the Heavenly Punishment Mark. He could sense dark, writhing things that seemed almost alive, clinging to the depths of the wound, preventing it from healing and even spreading outward. This was left behind by heavenly thunder. She had escaped from a tribulation. Was she someone who had failed her Tribulation Transcendence?

He took a deep breath. Grumbling aside, he still had to save her. He couldn't very well throw her out the door just because of the gruesome wound on her back.

“What a pain.”

The Heavenly Punishment Mark could only be washed away slowly with spiritual energy. He pressed his hand against her back, his palm resting on the charred wounds. Closing his eyes, he channeled the spiritual energy in his dantian. The energy surged from his palm and seeped into her wounds. The black marks recoiled violently like startled snakes, then began to struggle. Gritting his teeth, he washed them away bit by bit, wearing them down only a fraction at a time.

The stabbing pain in his spiritual sea grew increasingly sharp, as if someone were driving needles into it. His cultivation continued to plunge—mid stage Golden Core, early stage Golden Core. He could feel his power draining away, like water leaking from a broken bucket, impossible to plug. A fine sweat broke out on his forehead, dripping from the tip of his nose onto the back of his hand, but he had no time to wipe it away.

Finally, the marks were cleared away. He pulled his hand back and shook his aching fingers, his knuckles popping. He retrieved his homemade anti-inflammatory ointment from his storage ring—a dusty clay jar with a cloth-stuffed lid. Pulling out the stopper, a refreshing herbal scent wafted out, carrying a cool hint of mint.

He scooped out a dollop of ointment, rubbed it evenly between his palms, and applied it to her back. Even though his movements were incredibly light, she still let out a few soft groans, her brow furrowing as her fingers clenched unconsciously, as if she could feel the pain even while unconscious. He spread the ointment evenly over every single wound, from her back to her shoulders, and from her shoulders to her arms. Charred, swollen, or rotting—he made sure to cover every spot.

Once the ointment was applied, he looked at her back. The white cream covered the gruesome wounds, making them look slightly less horrifying. But there was still her front.

There was still a camisole on her front—a pale-green undergarment embroidered with a small flower, mostly soaked through with blood.

He stared at the thin fabric for two seconds, then averted his eyes.

Whatever. Snip. He cut it off directly.

He did it with his eyes closed. Relying on his sense of touch to locate the fabric, he slipped the scissors in and, with a snip, cut it. Another snip severed the strap on the other side. He crumpled the cut fabric into a ball and tossed it aside without so much as a glance. Then he scooped out more ointment and began applying it. His movements were much faster this time, almost mechanical. After coating the final wound, he capped the ointment jar and set it aside.

He needed to find some clothes for her to wear.

Fortunately, he still had a few sets of the Formation Sect's robes. They were neatly folded and kept in his wardrobe, as he had been reluctant to wear them. He opened the wardrobe doors, felt for the stack of robes, and pulled one out. The fabric was coarse cotton, washed until pale, with frayed edges. But it was clean and soft, and wouldn't irritate her skin. He didn't have any spare undergarments—his only two sets were the ones he currently wore. But since she needed to be bandaged anyway, undergarments weren't strictly necessary; wrapping her in the robe would suffice.

He opened the wardrobe and had just found a robe of roughly the right size, but before he could cover her with it—

The vision before his eyes suddenly vanished. Pitch black. The effects of the Focus-Stabilizing Pill had expired. He could no longer see a thing.