The porridge bubbled softly in the pot. Lu Yan stirred it absentmindedly with a long-handled wooden spoon, his mind completely off the fire.
Just what on earth had he brought back?
She bore the emblem of the Central Continent, was covered in wounds, had her cultivation completely ruined, was penniless, and... wasn't bad-looking. Actually, she was breathtakingly beautiful. He had never seen her face, but he had caught a glimpse of it when his soul left his body. That face was a creation that didn't belong to the mortal realm—pale, cold, with long eyelashes. Her brow was furrowed even in her sleep, and he couldn't help but think she would look much better if she smiled...
How had someone like her suddenly ended up in this godforsaken, desolate place? He thought of her pursuers, the Central Continent Alliance's wanted posters, and the news he had heard at the Abandoned Guest Hall—the Ice Spirit Cult had wiped out another city. A whole city, gone just like that. Her background was far from simple, and she likely carried a mountain of trouble with her. Minor trouble would be fine, but if it was major trouble, with his meager abilities—he let go of the wooden spoon and raised a hand to touch the silk ribbon tied over his eyes. He probably wouldn't even qualify as an appetizer for whoever was after her. If that day ever came, he wouldn't even be able to run away fast enough.
He let out a sigh. Life was so fucking hard. And his goddamn eyes—why did he have to be so completely blind?
He picked up the wooden spoon again and scraped the bottom of the pot, worried it would burn. The porridge wasn't ready yet; the grains of rice tumbled in the boiling water, releasing a faint, sweet aroma. Squatting before the stove, the warm glow of the firelight from the hearth cast across his face. His mind was a chaotic jumble. One moment he was thinking of the Central Continent Alliance sect uniform she wore, the next he was thinking of the shattered jade plaque on her sword tassel, and then he was thinking of how she had huddled in the corner of that ruined temple. Cold, shivering, crying out about the cold. He had saved her, but he didn't even know where he himself would be tomorrow. A gust of wind seeped through the crack in the door, making the flames in the hearth flicker before stabilizing again. He shrank his neck and pulled his collar tight.
Jiang Ci had probably finished off that small bag of chestnuts by now. He didn't know if she had managed to peel a single whole chestnut, but they were definitely all in her stomach now.
She folded the empty bag and placed it on the bedside table, folding it neatly. In the past, she would never have done such a thing; she would simply throw things aside once she was done with them, and someone would naturally clean up after her. Now, there was no one to clean up. She lay there for a while, feeling completely out of place. He was cooking the porridge, he had bought the chestnuts, and she hadn't even helped light the fire. She hadn't been this kind of person before. Back in the Sword Sect, she never had to do anything; someone would always take care of it for her. But things were different now. This wasn't the Sword Sect, and she wasn't the Sword Heir. She was just a wounded, useless person who had been picked up from a ruined temple and didn't even know how to cook. She didn't even know how long porridge needed to simmer, when to add the rice, or how much water to use.
She sat up slowly, propping herself up against the wooden bedboard. The movement pulled at her wounds, sending a jolt of pain through her, but she didn't make a sound, waiting for the ache to subside before moving again. Putting on her shoes, she held onto the headboard to stand and hobbled toward the kitchen. Every step tugged at the wounds on her body, with the one on her knee hurting the most, feeling as though something were stabbing deep inside. She bit her lip and kept silent. Reaching the kitchen door, she poked half of her white-haired head past the doorframe, looking a bit stealthy.
Lu Yan heard the footsteps. They weren't normal footsteps; they were dragging, slow, and hesitant. From these sounds, he could roughly infer that her injuries were far from healed. When she walked, she stepped heavier on her left leg than her right, which meant either the wound on her left leg was more severe or she didn't dare put weight on her right. He tilted his head slightly toward the doorway.
“What's wrong?”
Realizing she had been caught, Jiang Ci froze with her head half-extended. She opened her mouth, wanting to say something but not knowing what. Only after a long pause did she squeeze out a dry sentence. “I wanted to see if there was anything I could help with...”
Her voice wasn't loud, and it trailed off weakly at the end. After saying it, even she felt the words held no weight. What could she possibly help with? She didn't even know how to make porridge. But she didn't want to just lie there and do nothing. She couldn't stand it.
Lu Yan figured she was probably just bored out of her mind. He found it a bit amusing. What could she do in the kitchen? She didn't need to cook; it was just a pot of porridge. Although the dishes from yesterday hadn't been washed yet, he wasn't stupid enough to make a wounded person touch cold water and bring more trouble upon himself. He would wait a few days until her injuries healed a bit more. There was no rush.
“There's nothing to do here. It's just porridge. I'll turn down the heat to let it simmer in a bit. I can handle it myself. Your wounds haven't healed yet, so go back to bed and rest.”
As he spoke, he tapped the wooden spoon against the rim of the pot, knocking the stuck grains of rice back inside. His movements were casual, as if he were in his own home. Well, it was his own home.
Jiang Ci looked at the cramped space in front of the stove. It really didn't look like it could fit two people. The stove was built against the wall; there was just enough room for one person to stand, and two would have to squeeze sideways. With her injuries, even turning sideways was difficult. She pursed her lips and uttered a soft, “Oh.” Her voice was incredibly quiet, as if she didn't want him to hear, or perhaps she simply didn't know what else to say.
She hobbled her way back. Reaching the bedside, she slowly sat down and then carefully lay back down, trying her best not to touch her wounds. But they were spread across too many places. No matter how gentle she was, she still ended up putting pressure on some of them. The dense, sharp stings rising from beneath her made her lips form a tight, straight line. She bit her lip and slowed her breathing, waiting for the pain to pass.
She was actually used to getting injured. Back when she went on missions in the Northern Border, when had she ever returned without being covered in wounds? She had never taken it seriously. But that was in the past. In the past, she had spiritual energy, her sect, and the best healing conditions. With spiritual energy coating her wounds, it could prevent infection and effectively numb the pain. Some injuries looked terrifying, but they would heal eighty percent of the way within a day or two, leaving her feeling almost nothing.
But what about now? She turned her head to look at the half-filled jar of ointment on the bedside table. Without spiritual energy or proper conditions, this was all she had. She reached out to pick up the ointment, pulled out the stopper, and brought it to her nose to sniff. It had a cool, herbal scent with a hint of bitterness, but it wasn't unpleasant. She couldn't identify the ingredients inside, but it was indeed effective when applied to her wounds, saving her from a lot of suffering.
In the areas where she had applied it yesterday, the redness and swelling had gone down significantly. Some of the wounds had already begun to scab over, and a faint itchiness rose from beneath the scabs. She resisted the urge to scratch, gently pressing her finger next to the scabs. They felt hard and rough. She didn't know if these scars would fade or if they would remain on her body forever. She had never worried about scarring before—in the past, with spiritual energy, once a wound healed, it was healed, and any scars would fade on their own. Now, she wasn't so sure.
She unclasped the cultivator's robe draped over her, revealing the crookedly wrapped bandages underneath. Some parts were tight, others loose, and the knots were tied off to one side—all his doing. She stared down at them for a few seconds. She didn't untie them. He had wrapped them yesterday. It didn't look pretty, but it kept things in place. Dipping her finger into a bit of ointment, she began applying it starting from her legs.
The wound was just above her knee—a long red gash with slightly swollen edges that felt firm to the touch. She spread the ointment evenly, rubbing it from one end of the wound to the other, then back again. It felt cool, carrying a strong herbal scent. Once she finished one spot, she moved on to the next.
There weren't too many wounds on her legs—one on her left leg and two on her right. None of them were deep, but they were painful. She rubbed the ointment between her palms to warm it up before applying it, so it wouldn't feel too cold and give her goosebumps. After finishing her legs, she moved on to her arms. The wounds on her arms were more numerous than those on her legs, packed closely together; some had already scabbed, while others were still weeping fluid. She applied the ointment to the weeping ones first, then to the scabbed ones. Her movements were slow, carefully covering every single spot. Whenever her fingertips brushed against the raised scars, she would pause for a moment before continuing. She could feel those scars—hard and rough, like parched, cracked earth. She hadn't looked in a mirror, so she had no idea what she looked like right now.
After her arms, she applied it to her flank. There was a very long wound on her flank, stretching from her ribs all the way to her hipbone. It had scabbed over, and the edge of the scab was curling up slightly, catching on her clothes. She smeared the ointment over it, and as the scab soaked in the ointment, it softened slightly. She didn't pick at it. She didn't want it to reopen.
Just then, Lu Yan walked out of the kitchen. He headed toward the table and rummaged through the pile of items to find a small porcelain jar—one of the two jars of scar-removal ointment he had bought from Four Seasons Herb Hall for twenty spirit stones. Clutching the jar in his hand, he turned his face toward the bed. He couldn't actually see, but he was used to facing that direction. He had grown accustomed to doing many things without needing his eyes.
“This is... for removing scars. Want to try it?”
His voice wasn't loud, carrying a hint of hesitation. He wasn't hesitating about whether to give it to her, but rather whether the timing was right. He didn't know what she was doing. He didn't know if she was in the middle of changing her dressings.
Hearing his voice, Jiang Ci was startled. She had thought he was still in the kitchen cooking porridge and hadn't noticed when he came out. The jar, which she already had a loose grip on, slipped from her hand. She scrambled to catch it, but she was a beat too slow. The jar rolled off the bed and fell to the floor.
Clack—
The sound wasn't loud, but it was exceptionally sharp in the quiet room. Fortunately, it didn't shatter. Only a corner of the jar's rim chipped off. A tiny shard of porcelain flew out, landing silently by the foot of the bed.
Jiang Ci wanted to bend down and pick it up. She lifted the blanket covering her legs, only to suddenly feel a chilly draft. The night wind of the Northern Border seeped through the crack in the door, brushing against her skin and making her shiver. Looking down, she realized—she had forgotten she wasn't wearing anything. Only a dozen or so crookedly wrapped strips of cloth hung on her body. She instinctively reached to pull the blanket back over herself, but her hand stopped halfway.
Her mind went blank for a second. The jar was still lying on the floor. Should she put her robe back on first? To do that, she would have to grab the cultivator's robe from the head of the bed, unfold it, slip it on, and tie the sash. This entire sequence of actions would take at least several dozen seconds. And Lu Yan was standing just a few steps away. He was waiting. She didn't know what he was waiting for, but she knew he was standing there.
She spent a split second weighing her options—was it better to put on her robe before picking up the jar, or just pick up the jar directly? If she put on the robe, he would hear the rustling sounds and know she was getting dressed. If she didn't put it on, he couldn't see anyway. He was blind. In the end, she concluded: He can't see anyway. It doesn't matter whether I'm wearing it or not.
She sat up and reached out to grab the jar. Just as her fingers were about to touch it, Lu Yan squatted down and began feeling around as well. His fingers brushed against hers—no, they touched the jar. His pinky touched it first, followed by his ring and middle fingers, before his entire hand wrapped around the jar and picked it up. His movements were natural, like picking up something dropped on the floor in his own home.
Jiang Ci's hand froze in midair. She hadn't touched the jar, but she had touched his fingers. It was only for a fleeting second; as he drew his hand back, the back of his hand brushed against her palm. His fingers were warm. Her hand was cold. She didn't know if he had noticed.
Lu Yan caught the scent of the medicine. It was cool, carrying a hint of herbal bitterness, blending with the scent that naturally belonged to her body. He could roughly guess what she was doing. She was applying her medicine. If she was applying medicine, it meant she was currently... naked. Or at least, her upper body was bare. Because where he had touched the jar just now was very close to the bed, and very close to her. His fingers stopped for a moment before he stood up, holding the jar, unsure of where to put it.
It was pretty awkward. The corners of his mouth twitched as he tried to summon a smile, but even he felt it looked fake. Standing there with two jars in his hands—one of scar-removal ointment and one of some unknown anti-inflammatory ointment—he looked exactly like a peddler hawking counterfeit medicine. Well, to be fair, he actually did have a history of selling counterfeit medicine.
“Are you applying ointment? It seems I picked a bad time to come over...” He cleared his throat, trying his best to make his voice sound natural. “Um, I've got the porridge cooking, but we should probably have it tomorrow. It's getting late today, so we likely won't be eating it tonight. Also, about the bandages... I still have some here. Do you want to wrap them again?”
As soon as he said it, he felt even more self-conscious. He was the one who had wrapped those bandages in the first place. He had a pretty good idea of what his wrapping job looked like. She had been wearing them for a whole day; didn't she find it uncomfortable? The knots were tied so crookedly, some tight and some loose. It must be highly uncomfortable to wear. But he had wrapped them with his eyes closed back then. He couldn't see, so he could only rely on touch. He had done his best.
Hearing her silence, he added, “That scar-removal ointment is for after the wounds have healed. For now, apply the anti-inflammatory one first.”
Jiang Ci uttered a soft, “Mmh.” The sound was so quiet it seemed squeezed from her throat. She looked at the medicine jar in Lu Yan's hand, then at how he stood there stiffly, unsure of which way to turn. She suddenly felt a slight urge to laugh, though she didn't. She owed him more and more. A life, a body full of wounds, a bag of chestnuts, two jars of scar-removal ointment, and the porridge he was cooking. She was a bit worried she wouldn't be able to repay him, but for now, she could only accept it. She recorded this debt in her heart, piece by piece. She would pay him back in the future. We'll talk about it in the future. If they couldn't talk about it, she would repay him. If she couldn't repay him, she would remain in his debt. She didn't know how long she could keep owing him, but she had no other choice.
Lu Yan went to fetch the bandages. Since Jiang Ci was already halfway through applying the medicine, she might as well change all of them. She began untying the bandages wrapped around her legs and waist. He had tied them in dead knots, which were incredibly difficult to undo. She picked at them with her fingernails, taking a long time just to loosen one. The knots were so tight that her fingernails began to ache. Biting her lip, she brought a knot to her mouth, bit down on one end, and pulled. It loosened. She spat out the strip of cloth and slid the bandage off her leg.
Once untied, her wounds were fully exposed. The areas around several bloody gashes were red and swollen, and the deepest one was still weeping fluid, staining the white gauze a pale yellow. The ointment felt cool as she applied it. As soon as she finished applying it to one area, she untied the next. After finishing her legs, she did her arms. After her arms, she did her flank. As she worked, she managed to untie most of the bandages.
Only the large area on her back remained.
She reached back, her fingertips barely brushing the edge of the bandage, but she couldn't reach the knot. She tried rolling her shoulders forward to let her hand reach further back, but she was just short. Her shoulder twisted slightly, pulling at the wounds on her back and causing her to gasp in pain. Biting her lip, she tried again, but she still couldn't reach. She tried one more time, turning her entire body sideways and stretching her arm back to its absolute limit. Her fingertips brushed the knot of the bandage—but she couldn't grasp it. She was just a tiny bit short; she couldn't reach it.
She looked down at the roll of new bandages in her hand, then looked up at Lu Yan. He stood by the table, holding the jar of scar-removal ointment and facing away, as if deliberately avoiding looking in her direction. His posture was stiff, his knuckles white from how tightly he gripped the jar. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking.
She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She tried again.
“Um... I can't reach the ones on my back. Could you help me...?”
Her voice was very quiet, trailing off weakly at the end. After saying it, she felt her face burning hot. She didn't know if he could hear her, but she didn't have the courage to say it a second time.
Lu Yan froze in place. He had heard her. He had heard every single word. He knew what she meant—it wasn't just “come help me untie the bandages,” but rather “come touch me.” But he also knew she genuinely couldn't reach. He had heard her trying several times just now, pulling at her wounds each time and gasping in pain. It wasn't an excuse. He stood frozen, his fingers curling slightly. He placed the scar-removal ointment on the table, picked it up again, and then set it back down. He didn't know what he was doing.
He took a deep breath. She didn't rush him. She simply sat there, her back to him, waiting.
“...Turn around.”
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