Chapter 20
Chapter 20: Can’t Be Healed
Zhu Wen Yin practically dragged Zhao Ke Xin into the Medical Hall. Inside, Ying Zong Yu was buried in medical manuals and yellowed scrolls, his brows knitted so tightly it looked painful.
Besides Ying Zong Yu, another disciple was on duty today—Si Shao. He rose when they entered, cupped his hands, and said, “Senior Sisters.”
Zhao Ke Xin clapped a hand over her cheek. Her eyes were swollen red, her voice breaking. “Hurry—look at my face!”
“Stop shouting.” Ying Zong Yu didn’t even lift his head. “Quiet.”
Zhao Ke Xin’s sobs choked off instantly.
Zhu Wen Yin stepped forward and bowed, measured and proper. “Hall Master Ying.”
Ying Zong Yu didn’t acknowledge her.
Si Shao took one look at the blood streaking Zhao Ke Xin’s face and gestured urgently. “This way. Don’t disturb the Hall Master.”
Zhu Wen Yin nodded and followed, supporting Zhao Ke Xin into the innermost room. Only when the door shut did Si Shao speak again.
“Senior Sister Zhao, it looks ugly, but it shouldn’t be hard. One Beauty-Preserving Pill would smooth this right out.” He frowned. “You’re not short on those. Why didn’t you take one? Don’t tell me you ran out.”
“I didn’t.” Zhao Ke Xin’s panic tightened her throat. “I took one. It didn’t work.”
At first, the blood had frightened her so badly she forgot everything else. Jiang Li Sheng told her to go to the Medical Hall, and Zhu Wen Yin was startled too, rushing her over. They hadn’t gone far before the thought hit them at the same time—Beauty-Preserving Pills.
They stopped, swallowed one, and waited.
Nothing.
A Beauty-Preserving Pill was supposed to take effect in moments. The blood kept seeping down her cheek as if she’d taken nothing at all. That was when real terror set in.
Si Shao’s eyes narrowed. “Let me see.”
He examined the wound with a healer’s focus, then produced another Beauty-Preserving Pill and had her swallow it.
Still nothing.
Blood continued to thread down her skin. Si Shao pressed two fingers to the edge of the cut and guided his spiritual power in, coaxing the flesh to knit.
It slid off.
His power touched her skin and slipped away, useless as water on stone.
Si Shao’s expression changed. “That… shouldn’t be possible.” He looked up. “Senior Sister Zhao, how did you get hurt?”
Zhao Ke Xin didn’t want to say it. She didn’t want to admit she’d been outplayed—that her sword shattered and sent her crashing down. But her face mattered more than her pride. Jaw clenched until it ached, she forced the words out.
Si Shao’s gaze flickered. “Your sword…? Senior Sister Zhao, that sword was high-grade. It shattered?”
“It did,” Zhao Ke Xin snapped, fury burning through the shame.
Si Shao hesitated, then pulled out a top-grade Heavenly Spirit Pill and offered it. “Try this.”
Zhao Ke Xin swallowed.
Nothing.
Si Shao’s chest went tight. He was a medical cultivator—his arts could treat internal and external injuries alike. A top-grade Heavenly Spirit Pill could rebuild shattered bone. Yet on Zhao Ke Xin’s face, it was all worthless.
With no choice left, he led them back to the front hall.
Ying Zong Yu was already tense. He’d been trying to repair Wei Qing Lan’s spirit mansion injury, and every method he tested produced only the faintest results. If Wei Qing Lan’s spirit mansion couldn’t be restored, his cultivation would stall. It wasn’t a small matter.
Si Shao bowed. “Master. I can’t heal Senior Sister Zhao’s face. Please examine her.”
Ying Zong Yu finally looked up. One glance, and his irritation flared. “A minor wound. How can you not treat it?”
“I tried,” Si Shao said quickly. “Beauty-Preserving Pills failed. My healing arts failed. Even a top-grade Heavenly Spirit Pill had no effect. Please take a look yourself, Master.”
Ying Zong Yu waved a hand. “Come here.”
Zhao Ke Xin hurried forward.
Ying Zong Yu’s spiritual power rolled out—thick and steady—settling over her face like a warm veil. After a brief moment, he withdrew his hand.
The wound didn’t change.
Not even a little.
Ying Zong Yu’s eyes narrowed. “How did you injure your face? What hurt you?”
Zhao Ke Xin could only grit her teeth and repeat the cause.
Ying Zong Yu made a small sound, intrigued despite himself. “Jiang Li Sheng?”
Zhao Ke Xin nodded, breath hitching.
“Why did she strike you?”
“She likes An Ru Xu from Jade Void Peak,” Zhao Ke Xin blurted. “Senior Brother An. She can’t stand me.”
At that moment, Wei Qing Lan stepped into the Medical Hall. He followed the voices and glanced toward Zhao Ke Xin.
Ying Zong Yu remembered yesterday—Jiang Li Sheng and An Ru Xu arriving together, their manner familiar. He lifted a brow. “She’s early Foundation Establishment. You’re mid Foundation Establishment. And you let her mark your face?” His gaze sharpened. “What did you do to her?”
“I wasn’t on guard,” Zhao Ke Xin said through clenched teeth. “I haven’t settled accounts with her yet.”
“So you didn’t hurt her at all.” Ying Zong Yu clicked his tongue and turned to Wei Qing Lan. “Perfect timing. Come look. My spiritual power failed today. I can’t heal her face.”
Wei Qing Lan had already seen the wound. He didn’t approach. Instead, he took a seat nearby, his voice calm and cool. “Junior Sister Jiang’s spiritual power is unusual. If someone is injured by her power, pills and ordinary healing arts being ineffective isn’t surprising. The cure should come from her.”
Zhao Ke Xin’s expression tightened at the words “Junior Sister Jiang,” at the ease in Wei Qing Lan’s tone—as if he knew Jiang Li Sheng well. Blood kept running down her face, hiding the shift so no one else noticed.
But Zhu Wen Yin did. Her composure nearly cracked, fingers curling hard inside her sleeve.
Wei Qing Lan was Kun Lun Sect’s young genius. The senior brothers and senior sisters admired him from a distance, but even among fellow disciples, few ever had a chance to exchange more than a greeting with him.
He was too far above them.
And yet he called Jiang Li Sheng “Junior Sister Jiang” like it was nothing.
Meanwhile, even stepping forward to say “Junior Brother Wei” felt like overreaching—like smearing something untouchable.
Ying Zong Yu grunted. “Her spiritual power is indeed… different.” He drew out a message token and sent a summons. “I’ll call her here.”
He tapped the token again, impatience rising. “How many days has she been in Kun Lun Sect? Already acting up? And always going for the face—what kind of habit is that? Does Zhou Zhen Yan know? Does she think she won’t be punished? Has she forgotten how she ended up in the Discipline Hall for instruction? If she keeps this up, she’ll be sent back.”
Wei Qing Lan’s gaze slid briefly over Zhao Ke Xin. “There is always a cause. Martial Uncle Ying, you shouldn’t decide after hearing only one side.”
Ying Zong Yu turned, startled.
Wei Qing Lan pulled out a scroll, lowered his eyes, and resumed reading as if he’d said nothing at all.
Ying Zong Yu couldn’t tell what Wei Qing Lan meant. Wei Qing Lan wasn’t one to meddle. That single remark was unusually pointed.
He studied Wei Qing Lan for a moment, found nothing else, then turned back to Zhao Ke Xin. “You lied?”
Zhao Ke Xin shivered under his stare. “This disciple did not.”
Ying Zong Yu snorted. “Whether you did or you didn’t, that’s Discipline Hall business. Not mine.” He raised the token again, voice sharp. “Hurry up and get here!”