Despite the bruises around his eyes from An Jiu’s beating, they couldn’t conceal Mó Sīguī’s handsome, otherworldly features. Over the past six months, his appearance had only grown more attractive. However, as An Jiu gazed at his smile, she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was up to no good.
Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through the tender skin on An Jiu’s inner thigh, quickly spreading throughout her entire body. At first, it felt like a bee sting, but soon the pain intensified as if thousands of needles were piercing her skin and tearing her apart from the inside. She gritted her teeth, enduring silently as beads of sweat formed on her forehead and face.
Mó Sīguī initially found amusement in her suffering, but seeing her intense struggle wiped the smirk from his face. He tucked his fan behind his neck and grabbed a mirror to examine his facial injuries. After applying a layer of medicinal ointment, he lit a lamp and began poring over medical texts.
These dozens of volumes were the life’s work of Elder Qǐ. Mó Sīguī had secretly excavated them from Méihuā Village before joining the Kònghè Army, bringing them along. His reading method was peculiar – he’d set a copper basin and candle nearby, tearing out and burning each page after reading it. By the time he finished a book, it was reduced to ashes in the basin.
While Mó Sīguī immersed himself in the study, An Jiu writhed in agony. The medicine seemed to corrode her flesh, the pain penetrating from skin to bone. She imagined this must be what it felt like to bathe in sulfuric acid as if her very being was dissolving in the medicinal bath. She bit down so hard her gums bled, but the pain in her mouth paled in comparison to the rest of her body.
After finishing a book, Mó Sīguī felt drowsy. He went to the bathhouse for a quick wash, returning in fresh white robes. Lamp in hand, he bent down to check on An Jiu. His loose black hair fell forward, framing a face that seemed both real and illusory in the flickering light.
An Jiu opened her eyes, revealing blood-red irises that looked ready to weep crimson tears. The pain had numbed her mind, but her heightened spiritual energy prevented her from losing consciousness. Instead, every agonizing sensation became crystal clear, making her wish for death.
“Shísì, if you can’t bear it, I can administer a sedative,” Mó Sīguī said, wiping away the tears clinging to her lashes. “But you should know this kind of pain is rare and excellent for tempering your spiritual power.”
Despite his usual playfulness, Mó Sīguī never allowed himself to be careless in matters of medicine. His expression now was uncharacteristically cold and serious, beyond his years.
“Get lost,” An Jiu managed to spit out. As she spoke, a trickle of blood ran down her chin, creating a ghastly contrast against her pale skin.
Mó Sīguī smiled, wiping away the blood before returning to his seat to continue studying. When he encountered parts he didn’t understand, he even experimented on himself with acupuncture needles.
Mó Sīguī was a legendary martial arts prodigy, born with his Ren and Du meridians connected. His meridians were of the wind attribute, the most conducive to generating power. Even the tiniest bit of inner force in his dantian could circulate continuously through his body without conscious effort. This natural advantage meant his power would grow steadily even without much practice, far outpacing others who trained a hundred times harder. Moreover, the formless nature of wind allowed him to easily master Elder Qǐ’s complex pulse-reading techniques that had taken decades to develop.
Despite these innate gifts, Mó Sīguī showed little interest in martial arts, focusing instead on medicine. He often neglected his training for weeks or months at a time, which explained why he had only reached the seventh level of power.
“Mó Sīguī,” An Jiu called out, her voice hoarse.
He turned to look at her. “What is it?”
“Go sit somewhere else. Seeing you so engrossed in medicine makes me feel worse,” she said. At this point, she was barely holding on through sheer willpower. Watching Mó Sīguī’s intense focus reminded her of her father, who had used his wife as a test subject, destroying any chance of inner peace.
Mó Sīguī set down his book, curious. “Did you have some unpleasant experience in the past?”
An Jiu lowered her gaze. Unpleasant was an understatement – it was a lifelong nightmare. She didn’t understand why she was gradually becoming less averse to Mó Sīguī, but seeing him experiment on himself still filled her with irritation and disgust.
She had a deep-rooted aversion to people obsessed with any single pursuit and had never allowed herself to become fixated on anything. To her, everything was dispensable, even life and death.
Seeing she didn’t want to answer, Mó Sīguī dropped the subject. Outside of medical matters, he disliked pressing others. However, he also couldn’t tolerate criticism of his passion. His tone turned cold and sharp, “Whatever you’ve been through, An Jiu, I’m not beholden to you. Even if I owe you a favor, it doesn’t give you the right to interfere with my pursuits.”
When An Jiu had risked her life to save Mó Sīguī, she realized how much she valued their friendship. She wasn’t one to meddle in others’ affairs – if she didn’t care, what did it matter if the world was full of people like her father? Mó Sīguī had always approached her with a thick-skinned smile, pestering her to treat his illness. She had never seen this cold side of him before. When he chose to be heartless, it seemed no one could match him.
“You’re right,” An Jiu closed her eyes, her chest tightening. Combined with the excruciating pain wracking her body, her complexion worsened.
Mó Sīguī realized he had spoken too harshly and felt a pang of guilt. He gazed at her bloodless face in the lamplight, his lips pressed thin. Before, An Jiu had despised him, avoiding him except to torment him maliciously. Her attitude had changed imperceptibly over time. When the Méi family was attacked and the Old Madam suspected him of being a spy, when all her cousins doubted him, only An Jiu stood up for him. When his life hung by a thread, she had thrown herself forward to save him without hesitation. He knew it was An Jiu and not Méi Jiǔ at that moment, even though Méi Jiǔ had somehow died in her place later. That didn’t erase the debt he owed for her selfless rescue.
This woman, seemingly cold-hearted, was willing to risk everything for a friend…
As An Jiu’s mind buzzed and the pain seemed to pierce her very heart, causing her usually steady heartbeat to spasm, she suddenly felt a cool hand on her forehead. A gentle stream of qi, as soft as a spring breeze, flowed from his palm into her body, easing some of the pain.
“I was wrong earlier,” Mó Sīguī said softly. “We share a bond forged in life and death, and I, Mó Rǎn, will never betray it in this lifetime. But asking me to abandon my passion for medicine is impossible. In my heart, medicine comes first, then relationships.”
An Jiu opened her eyes, able to see only the white sleeve of his robe. “And where does your life rank?”
Mó Sīguī smiled. “Without life, how can one pursue medicine or relationships? But without medicine, what use is this life?”
He lowered his hand, his eyes a mix of mist and rippling light, with a faint yet sincere smile beneath.
“To earn a promise of lifelong loyalty from Mó Sīguī, it seems one must risk everything!” An Jiu said through gritted teeth, the corners of her mouth turning up slightly.
“Someone like you who lives on the edge will one day understand how precious this old man’s promise is,” Mó Sīguī said. After a few serious moments, he reverted to his usual demeanor, lazily leaning back on the couch with one hand supporting his head. “This old man is truly not cut out for romance. It’s awkward and stifling.”
“Hey!” Mó Sīguī looked at her curiously, seeing she could still speak clearly. “Aren’t you in pain?”