Chapter Twelve: Ambushed

Just as she had in the days before, Zhan Yan entered her study to attend to various matters. But as she focused on her work, a sudden, inexplicable pain stabbed at her chest. Pressing her hand to her heart, bewildered, she tried to make sense of it. Yet the pain only spread, growing more insistent. She did not know what it meant—was her body trying to tell her something? Her mood grew restless, and she could no longer concentrate on her tasks.

She walked to the entrance of the Valley of No Worries, then used her lightness skill to head toward Immortal Cloud Mountain. In less than a quarter of an hour, she landed atop the mountain peak. With her keen hearing, she seemed to catch the sounds of a fight below. Ordinarily, she would not bother with such matters, but as the ache in her heart flared again, she sighed in resignation and sped in the direction of the commotion.

Standing ten paces from the scene, she saw hundreds of men dressed in black besieging a man in a dark brocade robe. He appeared calm and unhurried, composed even under attack. She recognized him instantly—it was Feng Youran. She didn't need to see his face to know; that unique aura of his would reach her even if he were hidden among thousands.

It was clear these were death warriors, relentless in their pursuit. Hundreds assailed him at once, and already corpses littered the ground. They wielded not only martial skill but all manner of deadly weapons, many coated with poison. Feng Youran's abilities were formidable, yet surrounded by so many armed with poisoned blades, all he could do was defend himself. When the black-clad men saw they could not kill him immediately, they sent a signal flare into the sky, seeking reinforcements. Soon, a black-robed man appeared before Feng Youran—Zhan Yan recognized him as the very one who had poisoned her that night. Sensing the urgency of the situation, she leapt into the fray, flinging a handful of embroidered needles from her sleeve. Wherever the needles struck, black-clad men fell. Taking advantage of their momentary confusion, she slipped away from the mountain with Feng Youran.

She brought Feng Youran straight into the Valley of No Worries. Seeing the pallor of his face, her heart tightened with worry. Looking more closely, she saw small flying daggers embedded in his left shoulder and right arm, his brocade robe stained with blood. She could not say why, but a surge of anger rose within her.

"Are you a fool? The esteemed Lord of the Pavilion, ambushed and wounded! If you can't win, why not escape? And where were your subordinates—are they just eating for nothing?" Far away, Li Hun and the others, whom Feng Youran had strictly forbidden to follow him, all sneezed at once and felt a chill.

"You care about me," he said cheerfully, seemingly unfazed by the blood still seeping from his wounds. It was not a question, but a statement.

"Like hell I care. Live or die as you please," she retorted, looking away, her expression betraying her discomfort.

"Truly? It seems your wish will come true soon—my blood is nearly gone," he replied with a wry smile.

She glanced at him, realizing his face was indeed nearly translucent with pallor. Setting aside her annoyance, she hurried to stop his bleeding and tend to his wounds.

As she silently and carefully dressed his injuries, her serious expression softened something deep in his heart. He felt that being together, even in silence, was enough.

"Why did you go out alone today? Do those people bear a grudge against you?" Perhaps to break the silence, she could not help but ask. Under her gaze, she nearly blushed.

"I wanted to see you, so I left them all behind—even dismissed my hidden guards."

"Then why didn't you run if you couldn't fight them?"

"I was going to, but when I saw you arrive, I decided to stay. I wanted you to save me, just this once."

Zhan Yan found herself speechless—this man was truly shameless.

"I really can't move this time, and I can't defeat you. Are you going to throw me out again?" He looked at her with an innocent expression, clearly playing the victim.

"Get on the bed and rest. Once you're recovered, get out," she snapped, glaring at him.

"I don't even have the strength to get onto the bed," he pressed his advantage.

"Then don't lie down. Just sit there," she replied, unmoved.

"Hmm, I truly have no strength left," he said pitifully.

Ignoring him, Zhan Yan turned and left the room.

Feng Youran gave a bitter laugh. This woman truly had a heart of stone.

"Miss, the medicine you requested is ready," Qing Yun knocked at the door.

"Bring it in," she replied.

"It's time for your medicine," Zhan Yan said as she carried the bowl inside, finding Feng Youran still slumped weakly in the chair, as if too exhausted even to notice her entry. She sighed, then helped him onto the bed, not noticing the slight smile that flickered across his lips. Supporting him against her shoulder, she deftly caught the medicine bowl as it slid into her hand.

"Drink your medicine." As she brought the bowl to his lips, she didn't realize how gentle her voice had become. He obediently opened his mouth and drank it all in one go. With a flick of her wrist, the bowl landed softly on the table without a sound. She produced a handkerchief and wiped the remaining medicine from his lips, then gently laid him back on the bed. That night, she did not chase him away. Her bed was large; she pushed him toward the inside and lay down on the outer edge herself, unaware of the impropriety by ancient standards for men and women.