What the hell is going on now!
It was already dark.
Yet within Sanyulou of Chu’nan City, the scent of medicine lingered in curling wisps, and incense rose in waves.
Yu Jinnian sat behind a writing desk in the room, quietly flipping through the record books of the past few months. Beside him, a small clay stove was gently brewing a pot of medicine. When the decoction had boiled long enough that the lid began to rattle and hop, he stood up, poured in the water he had prepared in advance, and continued simmering. He dipped a fine brush tip in cinnabar and marked a few strokes in the ledger. Just then, a faint cough came from the bed.
Hearing it, he set down his brush and walked over, sleeves gathered neatly. On the bed, the man stirred his eyes, slowly opening them.
Min Xuefei blinked drowsily. His whole body ached, chilled, and weak. He remembered racing through a forest trail amid the clashing of swords when he was knocked unconscious. Yet now, upon waking, he found himself in an unfamiliar house, enveloped in the scent of strong medicine. Could it be that the runaway carriage had taken him to some village, and kind villagers had saved him?
He thought to get up and express thanks for saving his life—only to turn his head and come face to face with someone very familiar.
That “very familiar” someone grinned wide. “Well now, Second Master Min, awake already? Surprised?”
“……” Min Xuefei’s head throbbed. “Yu Jinnian? Why is it you?”
Yu Jinnian sat beside the bed, checking his forehead and taking his pulse. “Now, now. Without me, do you think you’d still be lying here?” The pulse was a bit weak, but nothing too serious. He’d simply been on the run for days, injured and worn out. Yu Jinnian relaxed, and his tone turned playful. “Let’s see, by my count, this is the third time you’ve landed in my hands.”
“Looks like we’re destined to clash—our stars don’t align.” Min Xuefei tried to move his arm, but winced in pain with a sharp intake of breath.
Yu Jinnian raised his brows in approval. “That’s right. Now stop moving. You’ve got two gashes on that arm. Nothing major, just a slight fever. Rest for a few days and you’ll be fine. Compared to last time—when you stabbed *yourself* clean through—this is nothing. Just a few bruises from bouncing around in that carriage, and a dent in your forehead… Honestly, Master Min, were you *playing bumper carts* with the thing?”
*Bumper carts,* what a ridiculous metaphor. Min Xuefei groaned from the headache and glanced around slowly. “Is this the capital? Or Chu’nan?”
Yu Jinnian handed him a cup of warm water, propping him up to drink before answering with a nod. “This is Chu’nan Prefecture. But I heard you were headed to Fengcheng. That’s not exactly nearby. What brought you to our neck of the woods?”
Min Xuefei’s expression darkened, and he suddenly fell silent.
Yu Jinnian had only meant to make light conversation. Seeing that he didn’t want to talk, he figured the man had run into trouble in Fengcheng and fled south. Min Jie was a former imperial envoy—ending up like this was hardly something one would be proud to speak of. Yu Jinnian didn’t press him and got up to leave.
But not before feeding him the medicine.
Propped up with one arm, Min Xuefei drank the bitter brew, and just as Yu Jinnian was about to leave, he suddenly asked, “Who rescued me?”
Yu Jinnian blinked. “Who? You were the only one in that carriage.”
Min Xuefei frowned deeply, then slowly shook his head. “Forget it.”
Yu Jinnian thought he was being odd. But just as he stepped out of the room, he saw Shi Xing and Duan Ming carrying a severely injured man inside. They kicked open a spare room, and Yu Jinnian hurried after them. One look at the person on the bed and he nearly jumped.
“What happened to this one?!” he exclaimed.
Compared to the loud-but-lightly-wounded Min Xuefei, this man truly looked like a bloody mess. His body was soaked in red, one sleeve sagging heavily with blood, the ends dripping onto the floor. In his sleeve was a tightly clenched sword. Though the man was unconscious, he refused to release his grip. It had nearly taken breaking his fingers to pry the blade away.
While everyone struggled, Yu Jinnian snatched a brush from the desk and stepped forward. He ran one hand along the man’s arm to locate the pressure point, then used the butt of the brush to sharply jab the small sea point at the elbow. The man’s arm jolted, his fingers briefly loosened, and the sword clattered to the ground.
Shi Xing scooped it up at once. “Young Master always has a trick up his sleeve!”
It was an excellent sword—thin-edged, yet sturdy. When struck lightly with the back of a finger, it sang with a keen tone. Strangely, it seemed to repel blood. Though the tassel was stained beyond recognition, the blade itself remained spotless, gleaming with a chilling light. Blood beads rolled off like water from a lotus leaf, a marvel of craftsmanship.
If one looked closely, they could see two characters engraved at the junction of hilt and blade: “Wuzai” (No Calamity).
Yu Jinnian took the sword and studied it, the name tugging at a memory. After thinking a while, he murmured, “*Quji*…”
He had seen a similar sword before—in Yan Chang’s cabin. Hanging on the wall was a blade carved with “Quji.” That one had a broader blade, while this “Wuzai” was more elegant and refined.
Duan Ming and Shi Xing both turned to look at him. Ji Hong, who had arrived upon hearing the commotion, now stood still in the doorway.
Yu Jinnian wasn’t sure what he’d said wrong, but the way everyone looked at him suddenly felt… off. Flustered, he returned the sword to Shi Xing and quietly shifted over to check on the injured man on the bed. He soaked a towel in the basin, wiped along the man’s blood- and mud-streaked face and neck, and was startled again when the true face beneath the grime was revealed. “Jing Zhong?”
“He’s the one who saved Young Master Min,” Duan Ming said quietly, glancing back at Ji Hong. He lowered his voice to Yu Jinnian. “Please, Young Master—do what you can. The Heir… has many questions for him.”
“He’s lost so much blood…” Yu Jinnian sighed with worry. “I’ll do my best.”
He gave quick orders to fetch Old Master Luo, and called for two skilled surgeons and a few nimble nurses. “Prepare several pots of clean water. Bring silk thread, and get the stove boiling. Boil and sterilize my usual surgical knives and needles… This kind of deep wound must be stitched up.”
The staff sprang into motion. Yu Jinnian washed his hands thoroughly and used cloth dipped in spirits to clean the blood obscuring the wounds. He had someone press on the worst of them to stop the bleeding temporarily. Once his instruments were sterilized and brought over, he dismissed unrelated personnel and began the delicate work of stitching.
But Jing Zhong’s greatest danger wasn’t the wounds—it was blood loss. The sight of strip after strip of blood-soaked bandages made Yu Jinnian’s right eye twitch. He could attempt a simple blood transfusion, but there wasn’t time now. All he could do was clean the wounds and close them. If anything went wrong mid-surgery, it would be Jing Zhong’s fate.
Yu Jinnian, with needle and scissors in hand, began slowly stitching the torn skin and flesh back together. Old Master Luo anxiously assisted, rinsing wounds with clean water and clearing away blood. Some medical aides observed, learning, while others bustled in and out, fetching fresh hot water.
One young medical apprentice—likely new to the field—looked pale. Watching Yu Jinnian calmly fish through torn muscle with a silver tweezer, revealing raw flesh and pale bone, he gagged and ran out to retch.
“Found it,” Yu Jinnian announced, isolating a torn vessel. Hearing the apprentice vomiting, he clicked his tongue. “Never seen blood before? How are you going to be a physician? If you’re going to vomit, do it outside—don’t foul my workbench.”
Two others quietly slipped out as well. Those who remained were ones willing to learn this difficult technique. One even took over Old Luo’s work—his age made it hard for him to stand for long. The assistant helping hold the wound open tried to steady himself. Watching Yu Jinnian knot the suture thread so fluidly, he marveled: *How can he do this? This is a living person!*
But Yu Jinnian *could*—and without fear. How much courage and experience did it take to do something like this?
Without looking up, Yu Jinnian explained while stitching: “See this wound? Long and curved. It won’t close properly on its own. If you just slap some ointment on and bandage it, it’s likely to fester and rot in a few days. Then you’d have to cut out the whole section of flesh.”
The others said nothing—just listened intently, hoping to learn all they could. The aide holding the wound was so focused that when Jing Zhong’s body suddenly jerked with a groan—waking in agony—he fumbled the instrument and nearly struck Yu Jinnian’s hand with it.
“If you drop it, replace it. Don’t reuse it. Do you panic like this with your own patients?” Yu Jinnian frowned, thankful for his fast reflexes. He turned to another. “You—pierce the Ximen and Hegu points. Relieve his pain.”
When treating patients, Yu Jinnian seemed like a different person—none of his usual smiling mischief, just focus and precision. The aide, scolded, lowered his head and fetched a new, sterilized tool before returning.
Jing Zhong had awoken from the pain—it was as if he were being flayed alive. His vision swam with shadows, and his lips moved soundlessly. Somewhere in the blur, someone called his name. He forced his eyes open through the pain—and saw the same young healer who had saved him once before.
“Stitching the wound…”
“Hold on… It’s almost done…”
Everything looked like a wavering mirage—bright, mottled, distorted. He couldn’t see clearly, nor hear well, but the pain was terribly real. It was swallowing him whole. Then, through the shifting haze, someone walked toward him—a figure in white and red robes, tall and handsome, descending as if from the sky.
The figure looked like an immortal. But as he stood before Jing Zhong, the latter’s legs buckled as if weighted with lead. He collapsed to his knees, clutching the man’s robes, crying soundlessly like a sinner seeking forgiveness.
“Not your time yet,” said the immortal, voice feather-light as he stroked Jing Zhong’s head. “Protect him for me. Don’t let him do anything foolish—go now.”
…When he looked up again, the man had vanished. The mirage faded. All that remained was a vast, dark ocean—still, soundless.
“All done. Someone stay with him—don’t let him roll over onto the stitches,” Yu Jinnian said, tossing the needle and scalpel into the tray and wiping sweat from his brow. “Whether he pulls through isn’t certain. Prepare some *Sini Tang* for emergencies, and feed him diluted salt water frequently.”
Only now did he realize how absorbed he’d been. As he reached the door, he saw Duan Ming and Shi Xing standing guard like door gods. That made him suddenly remember—Ji Hong!
“Jing Zhong is stable for now. He’ll need monitoring for the next two days. Have the house physician prescribe blood-nourishing medicine… Where’s your prince?”
Duan Ming paused, then replied, “He… went back. Said he was… tired.”
Yu Jinnian glanced at the moon outside and frowned. Ji Hong had retired rather early tonight. Feeling uneasy, he turned to check on Min Jie in the next room.
Min Jie was sipping water with a servant’s help. He had already heard that Jing Zhong had been rescued and was being treated. Seeing Yu Jinnian come in calm and composed, he figured Jing Zhong had likely survived. He was relieved—now the truth could come out. But another part of him felt bitterness. *Even if I learn the truth… so what?*
He glanced at Yu Jinnian and suddenly saw a sliver of hope. “I’m fine. Go back… go check on Shuluan.”
Yu Jinnian felt puzzled. They all looked like they had something to say but wouldn’t say it. “What’s wrong with him? Duan Ming said he was tired and went to rest.”
“He came by earlier to see me. He didn’t look right. That sword…” Min Xuefei propped himself up, speaking more urgently now. “You haven’t seen it. But years ago, when he had those *episodes*, he had the same look—like he’d lost his soul. He wouldn’t respond, kept mumbling nonsense, and couldn’t recognize anyone. He claimed he saw the dead, said he wanted to join them…”
Was the dead person he mentioned his second brother, or… his mother?
But even if he had suffered such episodes in the past, why would he suddenly relapse now, without warning?
Yu Jinnian felt a growing unease in his chest. After bidding farewell to Min Jie, he turned and hurried home. As soon as he entered the courtyard, even the normally boisterous Young Master Jiang approached him nervously, asking whether Lord Ji was in a bad mood. Apparently, Ji Hong had returned with a cold expression, shut himself into his room, and hadn’t spoken a word since. Jiang couldn’t explain what exactly was different about this coldness—only that it felt… terrifying.
“Go,” Yu Jinnian said, “have the kitchen warm the pot and make a bowl of Three Delicacies Congee with two small side dishes.”
He sent Jiang away and then slowly pushed open the bedroom door.
“…A’Hong?”
The moon hung high and thin. The late summer night was still stuffy. Yet not a single window was open in the room. The carved incense ball near the window had rolled to the ground and shattered. A copper basin sat askew by the bedside, its flames still roaring, burning something unknown. Half a candle floated, melted in the wax. On the footrest by the bed sat Ji Hong, unmoving, hugging the sword named “Wuzai.” The flickering fire lit his face in shifting layers. On the ground, his sleeve pressed messily over a few extinguished candles.
Yu Jinnian’s breath hitched. He stepped forward and gently moved the copper basin away, lest the flames leap high and burn him.
The metal scorched his fingers. He hissed sharply from the heat. Ji Hong, hearing the sound, slowly turned toward him. But instead of checking if Yu Jinnian was burned, he picked up another candle from the floor and, hand trembling, tried to light it again over the fire.
Yu Jinnian took it from him. “I’ll do it—you’ll get burned.”
Ji Hong said nothing.
Yu Jinnian quickly gathered the candles scattered on the floor, lighting them all as Ji Hong seemed to wish. He placed them throughout the room. The chamber brightened immediately—even the darkest corners were banished by the glow. Once everything was lit, he cautiously returned to Ji Hong’s side, tucked his robe around himself, and knelt in front of him, whispering, “There. They’re all lit. What’s going on? Afraid of the dark again?”
He reached to take the sword from Ji Hong’s arms, intending to help him up.
Ji Hong pressed his lips together and raised his eyes to look at him, but he only clutched the sword more tightly.
“Alright, alright. You can hold it.” Yu Jinnian immediately let go, unwilling to argue. He had no idea what this new episode meant, so he tried gently, “Let’s lie down on the bed, okay? Did you eat dinner? I asked them to make some soup and rice—just eat a little and sleep.”
Ji Hong reacted slightly to the mention of food, his mouth opening as if to speak. Yu Jinnian leaned closer to listen, but all he heard were a few fragmented, meaningless syllables. Guessing he was trying to express hunger, he stood to call for food.
But just as he rose, he felt a sudden tug at his sleeve. There was a *clang*.
He looked down—and saw that Ji Hong had even dropped the sword. Both hands clutched his robe, eyes rimmed red, staring up at him in panic and despair. “Don’t go!”
“Don’t go. Don’t leave me alone. I was wrong. I won’t leave the estate again. I won’t ask you to come see me anymore. I won’t, I won’t…”
“Don’t go…”
He repeated the words over and over—“don’t go”—as if he’d been abandoned one too many times and couldn’t take it anymore.
Yu Jinnian’s chest twisted with pain. He knelt back down and wrapped him tightly in his arms, gently stroking his hair, utterly at a loss. “I’m not going anywhere. I just wanted to make you something to eat… If you don’t want to, then we won’t. A’Hong, no matter what happens, I won’t leave you alone.”
Ji Hong buried his face in Yu Jinnian’s shoulder, gripping his sleeve. After a while, he murmured, “Second Brother…” and then mumbled incoherently, “So cold… so dark, I can’t see anything…”
“It’s alright, A’Hong, stop thinking about it,” Yu Jinnian soothed, patting his back gently again and again. Though it was a humid summer night, he still fetched a light blanket and wrapped them both. *If calling him Second Brother gives him peace—then so be it. Let him call me that for tonight if it helps him sleep.*
But why?
Why had Ji Hong suddenly fallen into this state the moment Jing Zhong returned? He hadn’t reacted like this the last time they met. Even Min Xuefei had said that this condition was something from his childhood. So why now?
Yu Jinnian lowered his gaze to the sword tossed on the ground.
*Wuzai…*
And then, slowly, it clicked.
*This was Second Brother’s sword.* The one Ji Yan had carried when he died. It had to be. How else could Ji Hong have reacted like this—dragged so deeply into the past, unable to pull himself free? He had recovered. He no longer feared the dark. He’d even told Yu Jinnian that all of Ji Yan’s things had been burned.
So ,how did this sword suddenly reappear?
And how did it end up in Jing Zhong’s hands?
Yu Jinnian had no other explanation.
Unlike the tenderness he showed Ji Hong, Yu Jinnian’s heart was now seething. He desperately wanted to drag Jing Zhong up by the collar and demand to know what the hell was going on. He hadn’t asked before—because it seemed like Ji Hong didn’t want to talk about it, and Yu Jinnian had trusted him to heal, to move past it.
But clearly… he had placed too much trust in him.
There were some matters where he absolutely could not remain a bystander.
Yu Jinnian now *wanted* to know exactly how Ji Yan had died—and what truly happened all those years ago that everyone refused to speak of.
Because otherwise—
What the hell is going on now?! The person he had painstakingly nursed back to health—reduced to this broken state again, all because of a single sword?