Chapter 53
Chapter 53: Snatched Back From Death (Part 1)
Zhuang Yu Heng’s words hit like a hammer.
Mo Ting Feng tasted blood in his throat and forced it down. He stared at Song Wei Chen’s paper-white face, unable to separate fear from fury from a grief he didn’t have a name for.
“Lord Yu Heng,” Gu Cang Yue said, and the crack in his voice didn’t suit him at all, “you’re the Medicine King. There has to be another way!”
Zhuang Yu Heng looked at him, searching for something to offer beyond empty comfort.
Then a desperate thought sparked.
He grabbed Gu Cang Yue’s wrist and pulled back his sleeve, exposing a section of forearm. With a spell, he swept over it without touching, confirming what he’d sensed.
“Maybe,” Zhuang Yu Heng said slowly, “there’s one method we can try. But it needs your blood.”
Gu Cang Yue didn’t hesitate.
His other hand shapeshifted into a bird claw. With a light, clean slash, he cut his wrist. Blood welled instantly.
“Use it.”
“My apologies,” Zhuang Yu Heng said, then positioned Gu Cang Yue’s bleeding wrist above Song Wei Chen’s wounds.
Gu Cang Yue’s blood was red, but threaded through with a faint, cold blue shimmer—like crystal sand in moonlight. Droplets fell onto Song Wei Chen’s wrist and vanished as if her skin drank them in.
The bleeding slowed. Visibly. Immediately.
“It’s working,” Zhuang Yu Heng breathed.
He cast Heaven-Ice Soul-Congealing Art again, matching the spell with the steady drip of Gu Cang Yue’s blood. Under the combined force—cold sealing cold—Song Wei Chen’s wounds began to close. The flow weakened, then stilled.
She didn’t wake, but the danger eased.
Gu Cang Yue’s eyes narrowed. Relief flashed through him, followed by something bitter. “Why? If my blood could do this, why did she have to waste away to this point?”
Zhuang Yu Heng didn’t look up as he continued. “Because your blood is unique. You are a master of blackwater essence—your blood is rich with essence and qi, and it’s extremely yin and cold. It can congeal and seal.”
He exhaled softly. “I was afraid her body would reject it. But it didn’t. Luckily.”
When Gu Cang Yue finally withdrew his wrist, only two faint pink lines remained on Song Wei Chen’s skin. Without looking closely, you’d almost miss them.
Zhuang Yu Heng took the blood-generating spirit medicine brought earlier, mixed it with a few drops of Gu Cang Yue’s blood, and fed it to Song Wei Chen. “This will double the effect and help her absorb it smoothly.”
Slowly, a hint of color returned to her face—not much, but enough to prove she was still there.
Zhuang Yu Heng swept a hand over Gu Cang Yue’s wrist. The cut vanished instantly.
“She’s been saved,” Zhuang Yu Heng said, and for the first time his voice softened. “When she wakes… depends on her own fate.”
Gu Cang Yue let out a breath he’d been holding like a knife. Then, rare and solemn, he bowed deeply to Zhuang Yu Heng.
“Such great kindness can’t be repaid with words. If you ever need anything, Lord Yu Heng—say the word.”
“Wei Wei is my friend too,” Zhuang Yu Heng replied. “Lord Cang Yue, you’re being too serious. Don’t carry it.”
Then he turned to Mo Ting Feng with a sharp, almost amused lift of his brow. “You were the one who dragged me here in a panic. You were also the one who barged into Cang Yue Manor with a sword. Why are you mute now? Not even a thank-you?”
Mo Ting Feng tried to speak.
Instead, he doubled over and spat a mouthful of blood. One hand clamped over his chest as he fought to stay upright.
Zhuang Yu Heng’s expression changed instantly. He reached for Mo Ting Feng’s pulse, brows drawing tight. Then his hand went to Mo Ting Feng’s waist, searching for the medicine bottle—
Nothing.
Zhuang Yu Heng’s gaze flicked to Gu Cang Yue, then back. Whatever he wanted to say, he swallowed it. Worry sat plain in his eyes.
Gu Cang Yue scoffed. “So much for the Dream Realm’s number one fighter. This is all you’ve got?”
Mo Ting Feng didn’t answer. He lowered himself to sit and began regulating his breathing, jaw clenched hard enough to crack teeth.
Zhuang Yu Heng lifted a hand and tapped several key points along Mo Ting Feng’s body, sealing the worst of the reversed meridians and easing the pain—temporarily.
He sighed, rubbing his forehead. “You two really are… nothing but trouble.”
Dust Warden Office dungeon.
Bao Er was bound inside the soul-trapping Heaven Net, Nian Niang still lodged within her.
No matter how Ding He Ran and the others questioned her, something strange happened: Bao Er’s mouth moved, shaping words, twisting into responses—but no sound came out. And no one could read anything from her lips.
It was as if her voice had been severed from the world.
Soon they realized the problem wasn’t her body.
Once Bao Er was a certain distance away from Song Wei Chen, even with a complete living soul to cling to, the chaos wraith couldn’t communicate normally with anyone.
If Song Wei Chen were here, she’d probably say she was a signal tower—without her as the base station, it didn’t matter how powerful your phones were. You were still holding a brick.
Ding He Ran stared at Bao Er, thinking hard. Then inspiration struck.
He grabbed brush and ink and wrote: If you can understand this, we’ll let you go.
He held it up.
Bao Er didn’t react.
Ye Wu Jiu frowned. “Could it be… Bao Er can’t read?”
Ding He Ran tried again, drawing pictures—simple, clear promises of freedom.
Still nothing.
In Bao Er’s eyes, Ding He Ran’s movements, his voice, even the objects in his hands all blurred behind a layer of fog. She couldn’t make out anything at all.
The interrogation stalled in a dead end.
Ding He Ran stared at the silent child and let out a long breath. For the first time in his life, he missed White Robe so much it hurt.
“I wonder how Brother Wei is doing…”