The old maid glanced at her secretly and noticed how pale and exhausted the Mistress looked, as if she hadn’t had a good rest in days. Her heart sank, and she sighed quietly to herself—was it a difficult patient? Or was the Mistress still clinging to the idea she had when she was a teenager, trying to find a way to revive that corpse under the ice?
As the door opened, a long-sealed, cold draft wafted out.
The ever-burning lamp still hung from the ceiling, quietly casting its light. The inner room of the library was octagonal in shape, with bookshelves built along the walls all the way to the top. The books were categorized into eight sections: diagnosis, etiology, pathology, treatment principles, prescriptions, herbs, medical cases, and medical theories. Each category occupied an entire wall, containing everything from parchment scrolls to palm-leaf manuscripts, bamboo slips, and silk books.
Xue Zi Ye stood with her hands behind her back in this vast sea of knowledge, glancing around before taking a deep breath. She reached up to press down the purple jade hairpin in her hair. "Ning Yi, I’ll be here for two or three days. Please bring me some food."
The old maid hesitated for a moment. "Oh… alright, Mistress."
As she closed the door behind her, the maid cast one last glance inside—under the ever-burning lamp, the woman in purple stood among the towering bookshelves, deep in thought, her face etched with weary determination.
"Mistress." Her heart suddenly skipped a beat, and she couldn’t help but pause.
"Hmm?" Xue Zi Ye frowned slightly, displeased by the interruption. "What is it?"
"Please take care of yourself and know your limits," the old maid bowed deeply, her voice heavy with a sigh. "You are not a god. There are many things that cannot be achieved, and that’s how it should be—please don’t follow the path of the Ancestor Linxia."
Ancestor Linxia… Xue Zi Ye’s thoughts were abruptly interrupted, and she froze.
It was said that twenty years ago, the head of the Medicine Valley, Tang Linxia—Liao Qingran’s mentor—had died in this very library at the age of just thirty-one, coughing up blood. When he died, he was still clutching a book on medicinal properties, tirelessly trying to find a cure for the poison of the seven-star begonia.
"You should learn from Master Qingran," the old maid said one last thing before closing the door. "She is very happy now."
The door shut, but Xue Zi Ye continued staring in the direction the maid had left, momentarily lost in thought—the old maid had served three generations of valley masters and knew many past events and secrets. But how could she possibly understand the helplessness and frustration a healer felt when watching a patient slip away before their eyes?
Xue Zi Ye slumped to the floor of the library, staring down at her pale, slender hands, lost in thought.
* * *
The eyes had opened the moment the door had just closed.
A few moments earlier, when Tong had been struggling in his unconscious state, he had now opened his eyes, which were suddenly clear and bright. He silently stared in the direction Xue Zi Ye had left, his gaze flashing with a myriad of complex emotions: suspicion, wariness, murderous intent, and... confusion.
In truth, three days ago, when his wounds had begun to heal, he had already regained consciousness, though he hadn’t let anyone around him notice. He had feigned sleep, pretending to relapse again and again, in order to lower their guard.
He had been secretly observing the female healer, trying to figure out why she was saving him, and also to assess his current situation and decide what actions to take. As a top assassin trained in the Asura Field of the Palace of Great Light, he had learned to remain calm, observing and planning even in the most desperate of circumstances.
However, when he writhed on the bed, screaming in pain, her eyes had been filled with concern and anxiety.
When he clutched his head and cried out in agony, her hands, as they held his shoulders, were cold and trembling.
And even at the end, when he pretended to fall into a deep sleep, occasionally mumbling in his "sleep" to test her, she had leaned over him, and her silent tears had fallen onto his face…
This woman… this woman… why was she doing this for him?
Could it be, as she claimed... that he truly was someone she once knew? Her brother?
The snowy village, the pitch-black house, the boy named Xue Huai, and the girl named Xiao Ye… Could these memories be real? Or had he been deceived, falling under some sort of spell that made him see such illusions?
He clutched his head in agony, feeling a sharp pain between his eyebrows, piercing all the way to the depths of his brain.
He knew what it was: the golden needle that the Cult Master had driven into his Baihui acupoint—the symbol of control, of enslavement.
How long had he lain in the darkness, unsure? He felt the light beyond the curtain dim and brighten several times before the pain in his head gradually subsided. He reached out, carefully touching the Baihui acupoint at the top of his head. The excruciating pain blanked out his thoughts.
From the moment he could remember, those golden needles had sealed his fate. They had allowed the Cult Master to control his every action, sending him across the Western Regions to collect the heads of princes and lords.
The Cult Master had sat kindly on his jade throne, saying to him: "Tong, for your sake, I have erased the painful memories... You were a child abandoned by everyone. Those memories are meaningless to you; it’s better to forget."
"Life, if it could skip over the painful parts, would actually be a blessing..."
Surrounded by the Three Holy Maidens and the Five Bright Sons, the Cult Master’s eyes had been as deep as an abyss as he smiled, placing his hand on the head of his loyal general who knelt before him, gently stroking him, as if petting his most beloved grey mastiff from the snowy domain. Tong had also known that, should the Cult Master ever be displeased, he could kill him as easily as he had poisoned those hounds.
Damn it! Damn it! With a punch, Tong shattered the medicinal pillow, his eyes shifting to the glazed color of glass. This woman was no different from the Cult Master! Both sought to manipulate his memories, trying to make him obedient and submissive!
He trembled all over in the darkness.
He loathed these people who toyed with his destiny and memories. These people who trampled on his life, stripped him of everything, and still dared to pose as saviors, feigning sympathy for him!
"Caw—" As he smashed the pillow, a dark shadow let out a startled cry, fluttering through the curtains and flying away.
What was that? Startled, he suddenly recognized it: the bird? The snow hawk that had viciously pecked him during his duel with the Seventh Son of Dingjian Pavilion!
—So, Huo Zhan Bai was also here in the Medicine Valley?
In the darkness, Tong sat up abruptly, his eyes flashing like those of a wild beast. This was bad!
Silently, he leaped out of bed and began searching the room. He didn’t need to open the curtains or light a lamp—like a panther, he moved swiftly through the darkness. Within minutes, he had found his sword behind the screen, resting on a rack of purple sandalwood. Its name was "Lixue," and it had claimed the heads of many princes and lords. Even in the dark, it gleamed faintly with a sinister, blood-red glow.
The moment the sword was in his hand, he felt three times more at ease—someone like him could only trust his sword.
He continued searching the room quickly and soon found the clothes he had originally been wearing. A faint smile touched his lips. The Celestial Silkworm Robe was made from the silk of ice silkworms in the Kunlun Snow Region, and ordinary swords couldn’t even scratch it. It was a special garment issued to elite assassins of the Bright Palace.
He tore off the numerous bandages that covered his body, ready to put on the robe, when he suddenly paused.
—The tear in the robe, which had been left from his fierce battle with Huo Zhan Bai, had already been meticulously mended. By her?
For a moment, the pain in his head returned, and he doubled over, clutching his skull, nearly crying out in agony.
Why... why? What was the purpose behind all of this? What did that female healer want from him? He trusted nothing anymore, and yet she insisted on forcing these memories into his mind!
Panting in the darkness, his fingers suddenly brushed against something cold.
He picked it up—it was the white jade mask—and, trembling, he placed it over his face. The icy surface of the jade pressed against his skin, and as he hid behind the mask, the trembling in his body finally began to subside.
Gripping his sword tightly, his eyes behind the mask flashed with a dangerous violet hue.
No matter what, he had to find the Dragon Blood Pearl and escape! With Huo Zhan Bai still in the valley, danger was ever-present!
He frantically searched every corner of the room, not leaving a single inch untouched, but found nothing. Damn it... Where had that woman hidden the Dragon Blood Pearl? Could it be in some secret location?
After hesitating for a moment, he finally sheathed his sword and walked out of the Autumn Pavilion, where he had been bedridden for days.
* * *
Huo Zhan Bai stood beneath the plum tree, focused and calm, holding his Mohun Sword, its blade gleaming like the clear waters of a great river. Silently, he replayed in his mind the fierce battle in the cold cedar forest, recalling how that last sword strike had pierced his side. He was reviewing that extremely dangerous moment in his mind.
What a vicious sword! It was practically a sacrificial technique, rarely seen in the Central Plains.
As he recalled the duel in the snow, his sword moved swiftly, one strike after another, as if sealing off every possible attack from the imagined opponent: Moon over Lan Cang, Wind Returning to the Heavens, Cutting Gold and Jade… With a final strike directly toward the chest, he abruptly stopped.
Huo Zhan Bai stood beneath the plum tree, sword in hand, covered in fallen blossoms as white as snow. He stood silently, deep in thought, then shook his head. No, it still wouldn’t work... Even with the move The King Approaches from the East, it wouldn’t be enough to block that opponent’s final sacrificial strike!
That kind of terrifying person filled him with dread.
"But... it doesn’t matter anymore... That Tong is probably already dead in the snow by now."
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