Her movement resembled that of a small creature. He Lingchuan raised his left hand and stroked her smooth, soft cheek. "How would I dare drink?"
"Come inside." She pushed the door open. "Let me see the wound."
Once inside the room, Sun Fuling produced two fluorescent spores before peeling off He Lingchuan's outer coat.
The wound A'luo had treated in haste several hours ago was seeping blood again.
Faced with such a gaping bloody hole, Sun Fuling did not flinch in the slightest. She took a pair of shears to carefully cut away the soft cloth, fetched a full basin of warm water, and said as she changed the dressing, "Did it reach your lungs?"
"No. I dodged in time."
"Still, the Zhongfu acupoint is mangled, and the bone is broken." Sun Fuling frowned. "Over the coming days, your lung qi will be disrupted, leaving you short of breath and coughing frequently."
Having said that, she broke into a few coughs herself.
She had not recovered from her own illness either.
He Lingchuan pulled her into his arms, wrapping his arm around her waist, and asked, "Did you take your medicine?"
"I did." Sun Fuling moved carefully, taking pains not to bump against his injury. "A'luo is a dab hand at treating wounds, but not so adept at curing sickness."
"A'luo is a military medic. Everyone has their specialty," He Lingchuan said, resting his chin gently on her shoulder, immediately enveloped in a faint scent of wood. "Shall I have his master come examine you?"
"Call upon Master Helian again?" Sun Fuling chuckled. "He's so busy in Panlong City that he can hardly tear himself away. This minor ailment of mine will clear up in a few days. There's no need to trouble the old gentleman to travel thousands of li."
She nudged his other shoulder to remind him, "Your wound is still bleeding!"
"Let me hold you a moment." Relying on the privilege of being an invalid, he refused to budge. "Blades were clashing today; I nearly didn't make it back to see you."
Sun Fuling's heart softened after all, and she gently draped an arm around his neck.
The two leaned quietly against each other, sharing a gentle, fleeting sense of warmth and fortune.
If only the wound did not hurt so much. He Lingchuan bared his teeth in a silent grimace. The painkiller's efficacy had worn off, and the agony was sweeping back in full force.
"Does it hurt?" Sun Fuling asked by his ear, as though she could see it.
"...Yes."
"Then sit up straight." She pushed him upright and turned to fetch the salve. "The sooner we apply the medicine, the sooner you sleep. You'll be a fair bit better by tomorrow."
She was coaxing him like a child.
Her touch in tending wounds was deft and practiced, by no means inferior to A'luo's.
Just as He Lingchuan was about to speak, Sun Fuling popped a small pill into his mouth.
*Gulp.* He swallowed it. "What is this?"
"A sleeping aid." She pointed toward the couch, and he obediently moved over. "Injured and exhausted from a whole day's toil, you need to rest. For Fu Shanlie to wound you this badly, he is indeed no ordinary man."
He Lingchuan gave a short laugh. "I cut off one of his arms too. His injuries are worse than mine."
Was there really any need to compete over this? "So which of you actually won in the end?"
"We'll know in a couple of days."
The medicine took effect with startling speed. He Lingchuan took her hand, but before he could say another word, his eyelids grew heavier and heavier.
Before drifting off to sleep, he heard her cough twice more.
***
Pitch darkness surrounded him, accompanied by an ache in his right shoulder. He Lingchuan felt with his left hand—the splint was still strapped over his right chest.
It seemed he had not yet returned to reality.
Where was this?
Not far off, a speck of green light flickered faintly.
He raised his guard and cautiously moved toward it.
Ahead lay a small pool, no more than two zhang across, its surface smooth and clear as a mirror.
Beyond the pool, darkness engulfed everything, so thick one could not see one's own outstretched fingers.
He Lingchuan came to a halt by the water's edge and looked down to observe.
The depth was uncertain, but beneath the surface rested a hazy green silhouette of light, bound fast by knotted dark-red threads like a fish caught in a net.
The green silhouette noticed He Lingchuan as well and surged violently toward him.
He Lingchuan did not move a muscle.
He had guessed what this thing was. This was the Dafang Pot's domain; it would be a miracle if the creature could touch a single hair on his head.
Sure enough, before the green light could breach the surface, the red net mercilessly jerked it back into place.
The green silhouette suddenly spoke in human tongue:
"He Xiao!"
He Lingchuan let out a faint sneer.
This had once been a "fate" he could not escape, yet now, he stood looking down upon it from above.
The strong and the weak had traded places; the perspectives were inverted.
"An avatar of Nailuotian—nothing more than this."
Only the victor had the right to say such words.
"Didn't you proclaim yourself the God of Fate?" He Lingchuan mocked. "Aren't you equally bound and manipulated by 'fate' now?"
He recognized the red threads binding Nailuotian's avatar; they bore a striking resemblance to the technique Nailuotian had used during the battle in the realm. Was the Dafang Pot paying it back in its own coin?
Even so, after concluding the battle in the Panlong Realm, he had asked the Dafang Pot to let him see the fate of Nailuotian's avatar with his own eyes.
It was a reasonable demand. After scheming so painstakingly for so long, he could not let his efforts go unrewarded.
Over the subsequent three months, however, that wish had gone unfulfilled, leading him to think the Dafang Pot had simply ignored him.
Now it seemed it had merely finished its work at last.
In the battle of the Panlong Realm, the Dafang Pot had gained the most. Digesting the Qianling Treasure Lid and the celestial god's avatar alone was enough to keep it occupied for quite some time.
Nailuotian's avatar ceased its struggles and swiftly coalesced into human form.
That stature, those facial features, even the right arm slung across its chest... were completely identical to He Lingchuan.
He Lingchuan gazed at the avatar beneath the water. It looked just like his reflection in the pond, only bound helplessly by the net.
*Heh.* If he had failed to withstand Nailuotian's divine descent back then, the one bound and hung upside down in the sea of consciousness right now would probably have been himself, wouldn't it?
That would have been his original script of fate.
The Dafang Pot possessed quite a sense of humor, having swapped their scripts and roles entirely.
The reflection spoke, its tone fraught with both resentment and bewilderment. "Just what method did you use to steal the Qianling Treasure Lid from Mount Xu?"
After being captured by the Dafang Pot, it had pieced together many things, feeling both sudden realization and sheer disbelief.
This lad had dared to let He Chunhua summon the celestial god's avatar in the Panlong Realm precisely because he was certain the Dafang Pot would intercept it.
So many people had entered the Panlong Desert—why had the Dafang Pot aided him alone?
Unless there was a profound connection between the two. Unless... he had reclaimed the lost lid for the Dafang Pot, restoring the divine artifact to completeness.
Nailuotian's avatar naturally knew Mount Xu had been raided not long ago, and knew what treasure had gone missing from Zhaixing Tower.
Whoever was connected to the Dafang Pot was nine times out of ten the very culprit who had wreaked havoc in the Heavenly Palace!
Tracing backward from the outcome, it had not been difficult for Nailuotian's avatar to string these clues together and uncover the truth.
He Lingchuan stood with his hands behind his back. "By leveraging circumstances to set a trap, just like I did against you."
Since the incident at Mount Xu, this was the first time he had openly admitted it to an outsider.
Yet Nailuotian's avatar remained confounded. One question still eluded its comprehension:
Why He Xiao?
What entitled He Xiao to this?
This youth was merely a vessel it had reserved over a decade ago, raised along the dissolute path He Chunhua had charted for him. At most, he possessed a modest measure of dynastic fortune—how could he possibly win the Dafang Pot's favor, and what right did he have to pull off deeds that shook both realms?
Chapter 884