I didn’t understand his reaction, so I ignored it and continued recounting the happenings in the Cang Lan Sect—lighthearted stories about his fellow disciples’ antics. He remained silent throughout, saying nothing until my head began to nod sleepily, and I unconsciously leaned against his shoulder.
He tapped my head lightly to wake me. “The summit is freezing. You’re still injured and could easily catch a chill. Later…”
“Later, I’ll wear thicker clothes when I visit,” I interrupted, pulling a frozen bun from the basket and handing it to him. “Here, Master. Keep it with you in case you get hungry.”
He hesitated for a moment before accepting it without protest.
Yawning, I picked up my basket and left. Just before exiting the icy cave, I turned back and caught a glimpse of Mu Xuan biting into the bun—only to recoil when it hurt his teeth, the bun as hard as a brick. I couldn’t help but stifle a laugh, but when he looked up and locked eyes with me, my heart inexplicably skipped a beat.
Turning away, I fled the cave as quickly as I could.
I knew I shouldn’t be developing feelings for Mu Xuan. After all, I was destined to return to the future, three hundred years later. If I were to harbor any affection, it should be for the Demon Lord.
That evening, the enchanted birds I had sent out to search for the Demon Lord returned. One of them had blood-stained feathers. Alarmed, I grabbed some medicine Mu Jue had given me, slipped out via a hidden path, and descended the mountain. Ensuring no disciples were around, I rode a cloud in the direction the bird led me.
Two mountains away, by a rocky riverbank, I found the Demon Lord.
He was sprawled on the ground, soaked. As I got closer, I realized it wasn’t river water but blood drenching his clothes.
I dragged him to a flat area near the river and removed his outer robe. His chest was a horrifying sight—covered in deep, bleeding wounds. My hands shook as I tore his inner garment to pieces, washed them in the river, and used them to clean his injuries. I carefully applied medicine to the wounds, all the while marveling at the sheer brutality of the battle he must have endured.
The Demon Lord had a body so resilient that my blade couldn’t scratch it, and yet he was now in this state. The battle with the Fu Mountain demon clan must have been unimaginably fierce.
How much hatred had driven him to such lengths? Was it simply because, in his past, the Fu Mountain demon clan had killed disciples of the Cang Lan Sect?
I couldn’t shake the memory of Mu Xuan’s strange interaction with the black-clad man. There had to be more to their connection.
I cared for the Demon Lord through the night and into the following afternoon. He remained unconscious, his breathing shallow. Knowing I couldn’t stay longer without raising suspicion, I dragged him to a nearby stone cave for shelter before reluctantly returning to Cang Lan Mountain.
I hurried to deliver food to Mu Xuan, chatting with him as if nothing was amiss, before rushing back to the river.
But when I arrived, I found the river had swelled, likely from rain somewhere upstream, completely submerging the stone cave where I had left the Demon Lord.
Panic gripped me.
I dove into the freezing river, searching the cave and its surroundings, but there was no sign of him. Surfacing, I nearly cried in despair.
I’ve lost the Demon Lord.
He was gravely injured, swept away by the floodwaters. Even if he survived, he’d surely be crippled. Without his help, how was I supposed to use the Ling Jing and return to the future?
Floating in the river, hopelessly staring at the endless current, I suddenly felt a branch strike my forehead.
Looking up, I saw the Demon Lord perched on a tree branch by the riverbank, watching me calmly.
“I’m not dead yet,” he said coolly.
In that instant, I was so overwhelmed with relief that my eyes brimmed with tears.
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