With every acupoint that needed working now thoroughly tended to, Feng Jiu’er turned her full attention back to Jian Yi’s wound.

“Jian Yi, I’m going to try letting go now — to see how the bleeding looks.”

“Don’t worry. Even if this attempt fails, I still have other methods. Relax a little, alright?”

“Don’t tense up — ease yourself.”

Perhaps the one who was truly tense was not Jian Yi at all, but Feng Jiu’er herself.

Every attempt was a gamble with a life on the line. How could she not be anxious?

Watching Jian Yi blink once, Feng Jiu’er let out a shallow breath and brought her gaze back to the wound.

She lifted her trembling hand — the one that had been pressing against the center of Jian Yi’s chest — and watched the wound in fixed silence.

It was not yet time. Bright red blood welled up in an instant, and Feng Jiu’er immediately pressed the medicine-soaked cloth back against his wound.

But — how much longer could he hold on?

Feng Jiu’er had no answer, not even for herself.

She closed her eyes, drew a slow breath, and steeled herself once more.

“Jiu’er.”

Jian Yi’s hoarse voice sounded.

“Don’t speak.”

Feng Jiu’er reined in her thoughts and continued placing silver needles, finding each new acupoint and pressing them in with a light, deliberate touch.

Before he lost consciousness, she had to stop the bleeding. Only then could treatment move forward.

“It’s alright. I know my own condition well.”

Jian Yi looked at the girl before him, the faintest curve at the corner of his lips.

“I believed my life had been saved by Feng Qingyin. So when she wanted it back, I had no grievance at all.”

“Only when the blade entered my heart did I think of it — I wanted to see you one last time. That is why I used my vital energy to deflect Feng Qingyin’s force.”

“I had no intention of surviving. I only wanted to be able to speak with you a while longer, just as I am now. That was enough.”

“You are hopelessly stubborn — you never listen — and look where it has brought you. So gravely injured, and now I have to trouble myself on your behalf all over again.”

Feng Jiu’er’s words carried a note of reproach.

She kept placing needles into Jian Yi without pause, and there was nothing she could do to stop any of this.

If Jian Yi truly could stay conscious a little longer — even if it cost him a little strength to speak — it was still better than letting him slip under.

But their Jian Yi, who had always been a man of few words, was suddenly speaking with ease, his spirits appearing better than they had been moments ago. And Feng Jiu’er’s heart was in knots.

Was this a final surge of clarity before the end?

Even knowing it in her heart, she refused to accept it.

She could not let him die like this. Absolutely not.

“Jiu’er, I’m sorry.”

Jian Yi drew in a slow breath and continued.

“I had no way to repay you for saving my life back then, and now here I am causing you worry all over again. I am truly, deeply sorry.”

“If you know you owe me an apology, then you must live well to make it right.”

Feng Jiu’er fought to keep her own anxiety hidden.

“Had I known you cared so little for your own life, I would never have saved you back then.”

“From now on, whenever you feel like dying — come find me first. Your life is mine. Only I have the authority to end it. Do you understand?”

She looked up — and what met her eyes was Jian Yi’s face, growing more ashen by the moment. Feng Jiu’er immediately looked away.

“Jian Yi, remember this — your life belongs to me. I have not given you permission to die. Even the King of Hell has no right to take your life.”

She waited for a response. It did not come.

Feng Jiu’er’s needlework hand gave the faintest tremble — she nearly missed the acupoint entirely.

“Jian Yi, did you hear me?”

She forced her tears back down and asked, voice edged with something fierce.

“I am not allowing you to die. Open your eyes for me right now.”

“Mm.”

After a long pause, Jian Yi gave Feng Jiu’er a single word.

His vision had gone more and more indistinct. He tried to reach out — to soothe the girl looking at him — but his body refused to obey.

“Jiu’er, don’t cry. Getting to know you — I am very glad. Jiu’er, the days spent together with all of you — they were the happiest days of my life.”

“Jiu’er, don’t worry. I’m — I’m alright. Jiu’er—”

As she felt his breath drop away in an instant, Feng Jiu’er looked up again — and found that Jian Yi had closed his eyes.

“Jian Yi.”

She gripped the silver needles so tightly her knuckles went white, her voice pressed out of her throat as if wrung from it.

A single sharp breath, tears smeared aside with the back of her hand — and Feng Jiu’er snapped back into focus.

She could not look at his face. She could not let herself feel his breath. She only kept going, pouring everything she had into stopping the bleeding, and nothing else.

After another furious stretch of effort, Feng Jiu’er stared at Jian Yi’s wound without blinking, her expression heavy, and slowly, carefully lifted the cloth from over the wound.

She watched in silence for three full seconds.

The wound was not flooding with blood.

Feng Jiu’er looked at Jian Yi with a face full of relief.

“Jian Yi, the bleeding has stopped. We did it — Jian Yi, don’t be afraid. I will not give up on you.”

She gently lifted the person lying flat on the ground, settled herself cross-legged before him, one hand supporting his back, the other placed over the critical acupoint beside his heart.

Feng Jiu’er closed her eyes, drew in a long, deep breath, and channeled her true energy through her palm, pouring it steadily into Jian Yi’s body.

Jian Yi — you will be alright. You have to hold on.

In the haze between sleeping and waking, Jian Yi seemed to see that small face again.

Across countless dreams, a face that had never been clear — it was gradually taking shape.

Jian Yi finally saw: every smallest expression she made, every smile, was one he had always known.

Even if she was not as gentle as he had imagined — even if she scolded people from time to time — every part of her, in his eyes, was the most beautiful thing that existed.

He loved watching her tend to the wounded. He loved watching her eat. Even watching her scold people — that too, he loved.

She was the girl who had been quietly sheltered in his heart for so many years.

If he could choose — he never wanted to see her anxious. Never wanted to see her weep.

Jian Yi did not know where he was, or what had become of things.

His dream was long, very long. Every time he tried to wake, to look once more at that face, his eyes refused to open no matter what.

He did not know how much time had passed when Jian Yi heard that voice — a single call — and jolted awake from his dream.

“Jiu’er.”

Jian Yi murmured softly, and slowly opened his eyes.

Around him, only faint candlelight — nowhere near enough to fill the small room with brightness.

Watching the small figure slumped over a table not far away, Jian Yi made to sit up in bed.

The moment his body shifted, the movement tugged at his wound, and his handsome, defined brows knitted slightly.

Eyes closed, he drew a slow breath, and began quietly gathering the scattered fragments in his mind.

When he opened his eyes again, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings, he braced his hand carefully against the side of the bed and eased himself upright.

“Jiu’er.”

His gaze rested on Feng Jiu’er’s resting figure, and without thinking, he called her name again.

Were they not in the cave? Why were they in this small room?

Where was this place?

How long had he been unconscious?

What had become of the others?

Jian Yi did not know a single thing.

Looking at the slender frame before him — smaller than before, it seemed — Jian Yi let out a quiet sigh. He pressed a hand to the bamboo post at the head of the bed and stood.

He came to Feng Jiu’er’s side, doing everything he could to make no sound, and settled himself carefully into the seat beside her.

Feng Jiu’er’s face — pale, thinner — and the coat she was wearing, every inch of it patched over and over again, pierced something in Jian Yi’s chest.

All those days while he had been unconscious — what kind of life had she been living?