Lin Zhixue's hands were still trembling slightly.
Back in the cave abode, she hadn't had time to feel afraid. With the ice fiends surging forward one after another, she had simply gripped the Guilan Sword and struck with slash after slash.
Now that they were out and safe, the terror she had suppressed deep down finally surged up, making her fingers shake uncontrollably.
Gu Yanqing leaned against the boulder across from her. Blood from his arm dripped from his fingertips onto the gravel, one drop at a time, seeping into a small patch of dark red.
His robes had been shredded by the formation's needles of light, his shoulders, back, and arms densely covered in fine, bloody gashes.
Some had already congealed into dark brown scabs, while others were still oozing blood...
The flesh along the deepest wounds had rolled outward, their edges scorched white by the frigid chill, looking even more ghastly than they had inside the cave.
Crawling forward on her knees until she reached his side, she tore away the tattered remains of his sleeves.
Her fingers brushed against his skin.
His arm was icy cold—the peculiar chill brought on by severe blood loss, freezing from his fingertips all the way to his elbow.
She gently turned his arm over to examine his wounds.
A laceration on the outer side of his forearm ran diagonally from his wrist to the crook of his elbow. Though not particularly deep, it was long, its edges an unnatural white from being scorched by the ice fiends' frigid chill.
Looking up, her voice sounded tighter than usual.
“Did you bring any medicine? Where is it?”
Gu Yanqing gestured toward the storage bag at his waist with his chin, having barely enough strength left even to nod.
Lin Zhixue took it and searched for the Blood-Stanching Powder and bandages. Her hands trembled even more violently.
Pouring out the porcelain bottles of various sizes from the storage bag, she located the one containing the Blood-Stanching Powder, uncorked it, and took a sniff to make sure it was the right one.
Then, supporting his arm, she gingerly sprinkled the medicinal powder over his wounds.
The Blood-Stanching Powder was a dark yellow and smelled bitter.
The moment the powder touched the wounds, the muscles in his arm instantly tensed.
He made no sound, resting his head against the stone wall with his teeth clenched tight.
Her head bowed, she wrapped the bandage layer by layer, winding from his wrist up to his forearm, and then slowly upward to his shoulder.
The bandages were made from the sect's standard-issue cloth—rough to the touch, yet thoroughly clean.
With every turn, she smoothed the fabric with her hand, taking care to prevent any folds from pressing into his wounds.
As she bound his shoulder, her fingertips inadvertently brushed against his neck. His skin was cool, but the pulse at the side of his neck was steady, throbbing in a calm, regular rhythm.
Her fingers paused slightly. A moment later, she resumed her work, wrapping the final layer and tucking the end firmly beneath the folds of cloth.
“Tell me if it hurts,” she said without looking at him, keeping her head lowered as she smoothed the edges of the bandages.
“I'm fine.”
His voice was raspy, his breathing uneven.
Yet judging by his tone, one would think the crisscrossing wounds on his arms were nothing more than light scratches from tree branches.
Lin Zhixue looked up at him.
His face was pale, his lips chapped and peeling, and a thin sheen of cold sweat coated his temples. Still, his expression remained composed, giving no hint of agonizing pain.
She could not tell whether he was simply adept at enduring hardship or if his sense of pain had long since gone numb.
Xiaoyu darted back and forth in midair, sweeping to Gu Yanqing's left one moment and drifting to his right the next.
Its faint green spiritual glow flickered erratically, betraying an anxiety it could not conceal.
Several times it opened its mouth to speak, only to swallow the words back down, its jade-green eyes fixed firmly on the blood seeping through the bandages on his arm.
Xiaoyu suddenly halted right in front of Gu Yanqing, its tone hurried and muffled, tinged faintly with a sob.
“Hey! You can definitely see me! You heard my voice back at the bottom of the valley, didn't you?”
“The moment you knew Zhixue was in danger, you charged right in! You've been pretending you couldn't see me the entire time!”
Its cries echoed across the silent valley floor, receiving no response whatsoever.
Gu Yanqing leaned against the stone wall, his eyes half-closed, his breathing somewhat steadier than before.
Lin Zhixue paused in her bandaging, looking up at Xiaoyu with a faint furrow in her brow.
Glancing at Gu Yanqing's remaining unbandaged wounds, she slowly shook her head at Xiaoyu.
“We're heading back to the sect first.”
Returning the leftover medicine bottles to the storage bag, she tied it back to his waist.
“We can discuss the rest once we're back.”
She draped his arm over her shoulder, supported his waist with one hand, gripped his wrist with the other, and pushed herself to her feet with all her strength.
He was far heavier than she had anticipated.
Having knelt on the stony shore for so long, her knees felt weak; she swayed slightly as she stood, but managed to steady herself quickly.
Gritting her teeth, she adjusted her balance, secured her hold on him, and began shuffling step by step across the valley's rocky floor toward the exit.
Xiaoyu drifted quietly behind them, its faint green spiritual glow flickering in the gathering night.
The mountain path back to the sect felt far longer and more arduous than the trek coming here.
The already rugged, winding trail was drenched in night dew, rendering the stone steps slick and cold; every single step felt precarious.
The heavy burden constantly taxed her physical stamina, quickly leaving her shoulders and arms aching, numb, and trembling.
Yet she gritted her teeth the entire way, never halting her stride.
Only when she truly could not hold on would she lean against a tree trunk to catch her breath for a brief respite.
During each pause, she would first check if any blood was seeping through. Once assured the medicine was holding the wounds closed, she would pull up his slipping collar, readjust her posture to support him securely, and continue their arduous ascent step by step through the night.
By the time they returned to the sect, the area before the mountain gate was completely deserted, without a soul in sight.
She slowly helped him back to his residence and sat him down against the bed.
The moment his head touched the headboard, he fell into an exhausted sleep, his breathing peaceful and even.
Lin Zhixue stood by the bedside, watching him quietly for a while.
She suddenly remembered what Xiaohe had told her back at the Gu manor—that Young Master Gu was actually a very gentle person.
At the time, she hadn't believed it in the slightest.
Yet now, looking at the youth lying in bed, at his arms wrapped in bandages, she suddenly felt that Xiaohe might not have been wrong after all.
It was just that this gentleness was far too clumsy—so clumsy that he had nearly thrown his own life away.
Unfastening the sword at his waist, she leaned it against the head of the bed, slipped off his boots, and moistened a cloth with warm water to meticulously wipe away the dried blood on his face and hands.
Several shallow cuts crisscrossed his palms, all carved by the rune needles of light. They densely covered his hands, only becoming plainly visible once moistened with water.
Wringing out the cloth, she cleaned them bit by bit.
Then she pulled up a chair and sat down beside the bed. Laying the Guilan Sword across her knees, the water-patterned spiritual light along the blade flowed quietly in the dim room.
Xiaoyu drifted over to her side, finally seizing the chance to speak.
It recounted everything that had happened at the bottom of the valley, detail by detail.
How it had charged out of the cave abode and shouted into his ears without stopping, yet he had kept pretending he couldn't see it, sitting emotionlessly on the rock like a wooden block.
Until the moment he heard the words “ice fiends,” whereupon he had suddenly surged to his feet and dashed into the waterfall, catching even Xiaoyu off guard.
Finishing its tale, Xiaoyu hung its head, its voice muffled.
“He can definitely see me. His disguise was practically seamless.”
“I made faces right in front of him, and he didn't even blink.”
“I called him an idiot, and he didn't react at all.”
“All the things I said in front of him before... well, putting that aside for now. But today, the second he found out you were in mortal danger, he dropped the act and charged straight into the waterfall.”
Lin Zhixue listened quietly, saying nothing.
Today she had obtained an Earth Grade spirit sword. Back in Canglan City, she hadn't even been able to afford a decent longsword, yet she was nowhere near as thrilled as she had imagined she would be.
Her gaze settled on Gu Yanqing's bandage-wrapped arms, recalling once again how he had stood before her in the cave abode.
If not for him today, she likely would have died in there.
Her chest suddenly felt a little tight, weighed down by something she couldn't articulate—a feeling she had never experienced before.
Lowering her head, her fingertips unconsciously brushed against the hilt of the Guilan Sword, unaware that her gaze had already lingered on Gu Yanqing for a long time.
The water-patterned glow of the Guilan Sword shimmered gently across her lap.
It reflected her face, his sleeping profile, and the tranquil, silent night filling the room.
Xiaoyu drifted over to the windowsill, its faint green shimmer resembling a tiny lantern.
Lin Zhixue pulled back her gaze, set the Guilan Sword on the low table beside the bed, stood up, and briskly walked over to push the window open.
The cool mountain night breeze swept in, bearing the crisp scent of pine resin and lightly fluttering the loose strands of hair on her forehead.
Xiaoyu said nothing more. It merely tilted its head up to gaze at the starry sky, a subtle, knowing smile playing at the corners of its lips.
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