She Took a Deadly Blow for Him

Stretching for thousands of miles, the Ten Thousand Great Mountains rose in overlapping peaks, shrouded in mist and clouds. The mountains teemed with ferocious beasts and were fraught with danger, yet they also produced rare spiritual herbs and demonic beast inner cores, making them an ideal place for cultivators to train and seek treasures.

Murong Yan led seven or eight female cultivators and several attendants, flying on their swords as they searched for high-level demonic beasts in the mountains. Dressed in a plain white brocade robe, a sword hanging from his waist, he stood tall and straight like a pine, gliding through the mist like a white crane spreading its wings. The female cultivators surrounded him, chattering excitedly, occasionally gasping or laughing, creating a lively atmosphere.

Su Wan walked at the end of the group, carrying a medicine box on her back filled with healing pills and bandages. She did not fly on a sword—her cultivation was only at the Foundation Establishment stage, and her spiritual power was naturally weak, further damaged by her use of the Three-Life Spirit Root twice, making sword flight somewhat strenuous for her. She simply followed quietly, her steps light, like a silent shadow.

"Miss Su, you're walking so slowly. What if a demonic beast snatches you away?" a female cultivator in a pink dress turned back and laughed, her tone teasing.

"Exactly," another female cultivator joined in, "if you're scared, just stay close to Young Master Yan. He'll protect you."

The other female cultivators burst into laughter. Su Wan merely lowered her head slightly, saying nothing, and did not quicken her pace.

Murong Yan walked at the front. Hearing the laughter behind him, he turned to glance back. His eyes fell on Su Wan, who was bowing her head, carefully stepping over a large rock blocking the path. Sunlight filtering through the leaves fell on her, making her figure look especially frail.

"Walk faster," he said, his tone not harsh, yet lacking warmth.

Su Wan murmured an acknowledgment and quickened her steps.

The group continued deeper into the Ten Thousand Great Mountains. The spiritual energy grew denser, and the demonic aura thickened. Murong Yan frowned and halted.

"There's a high-level demonic beast ahead," he said, his voice low. "Everyone be careful."

The female cultivators immediately fell silent, their faces showing signs of tension. Murong Yan unclasped his sword from his waist. As the blade left the scabbard, it emitted a clear dragon's roar. He gripped the sword, his gaze sharp as an eagle's, scanning the dense forest ahead.

Just then, the ground suddenly trembled.

"Look out!" Murong Yan shouted.

From the forest ahead, a massive crimson serpent burst forth. The snake was over ten zhang long, its body covered in red scales that shimmered like heated iron in the sunlight. Its eyes were blood-red, and it hissed, emitting a deafening roar.

"Crimson Flame Serpent!" a female cultivator exclaimed. "A fifth-rank beast!"

The female cultivators paled in fear and scattered in panic. Liu Yiyi initially tried to stand firm beside Murong Yan, but when the serpent turned its gaze on her, those crimson eyes made her tremble, and she too fled.

"Young Master, be careful!" the attendant Qingfeng shouted.

But Murong Yan did not retreat. He swung his longsword, sending a golden sword aura slicing toward the serpent. The Crimson Flame Serpent roared in fury, its massive tail sweeping toward the sword aura, colliding with a thunderous boom.

Dust and stones flew everywhere. Murong Yan was forced back three steps, a trace of blood seeping from the corner of his mouth. He had underestimated this beast—it was not an ordinary fifth-rank demonic beast but one that had already cultivated an inner core at the peak of the fifth rank, with strength comparable to a Nascent Soul cultivator.

"Young Master!" Su Wan stood not far away, watching the blood at the corner of Murong Yan's mouth, her face instantly turning pale.

"Don't come over!" Murong Yan shouted back, his eyes fixed on the serpent.

Enraged by the strike, the serpent hissed, opening its gaping maw and spewing a ball of blazing crimson flame directly at Murong Yan. He raised his sword to block, the golden sword aura colliding with the flame in a blinding burst of light.

But this time, Murong Yan could not hold it off.

Earlier, he had indulged in drinking and entertainment at Azure Cloud Hall, depleting his spiritual power, and because he had underestimated the beast, he had not exerted his full strength from the start. Now, facing the serpent's all-out attack, he found himself overwhelmed.

The flame broke through the sword aura's defense and rushed straight toward his face.

"Young Master!"

Su Wan's voice turned shrill.

She did not know how she managed to dash over. She only saw the flame rushing at Murong Yan, saw the brief flash of shock in his eyes—perhaps he had never been so close to death. Her body reacted before her mind; she threw herself forward with all her might.

"Su Wan!" Murong Yan's eyes widened.

Su Wan shielded him.

The flame struck her squarely on the back.

"Ugh—"

A muffled groan. Su Wan's body flew backward like a leaf swept away by a gale, crashing heavily onto the ground. Her back was charred black, blood staining her plain white robes like red plums blooming in snow.

"Su Wan!"

Murong Yan's voice seemed torn apart.

He rushed over and lifted her from the ground. Her body was light, as if weightless, yet when he held her, it was scorching hot—the heat of the flame's burn. Her face was pale as paper, but her lip was bitten and bleeding, her brows tightly knitted as if enduring immense pain.

Yet she opened her eyes and looked at him.

"Young Master..." Her voice was faint, like a breeze about to dissipate, "Are you... all right?"

Murong Yan looked at her, momentarily speechless.

He had lived a hundred and twenty years, weathered countless storms, suffered numerous grave injuries, and had never panicked. But now, looking at her pale face and the horrifying wound on her back, his hands trembled.

His mind went blank, leaving only one thought:

Was she going to die?

The one who had always stood silently behind him, whom he had never taken seriously, whom he had casually called a "handmaiden"—was she going to die?

"Su Wan..." His voice was hoarse, frighteningly so. "Hold on. I'll take you back."

He lifted her, activated his spiritual power to its fullest, and soared on his sword. He flew so fast that the wind cut like blades against his face, but he paid no heed. He only wanted to get back quickly, to save her.

The person in his arms grew hotter and hotter, her breathing fainter. Her head rested against his chest, her eyes closed, her long lashes casting dark shadows on her pale face.

"Su Wan, don't fall asleep." Murong Yan lowered his head, his voice carrying a barely noticeable tremor. "Don't fall asleep, do you hear?"

She did not answer.

His heart raced, pounding as if it might burst from his chest. He looked down at the woman in his arms, truly seeing her for the first time—her fine brows, small nose, thin lips. She was not exceptionally beautiful, but looking closely, there was an indefinable tenderness and resilience in her features.

She had been by his side for a hundred years.

A hundred years. He had never truly looked at her.

"A-Yan..."

The person in his arms suddenly murmured softly.

Murong Yan shuddered.

What did she call him?

A-Yan?

He looked down at her pale lips, wondering if he had misheard. But then she murmured again, her voice as light as a dream:

"A-Yan..."

A-Yan.

How long had it been since anyone had called him that? He himself could barely remember, apart from his parents and elders, who else had ever addressed him so. And this woman, who had always stood silently behind him, now in her delirium, called him that.

Murong Yan held her and flew faster. The wind roared past his ears, but he felt his heartbeat was louder than the wind.

He returned to Murong Manor, rushed straight to his own quarters, and laid Su Wan on the bed. He shouted for servants, "Call the physician! Hurry!"

Panic erupted in the manor. The physician hurried over, examined Su Wan's injuries, and his face grew grave. "The burns are severe, and the beast's fire poison has invaded her body. On top of that, her spiritual power was already damaged... Whether she survives depends on her own fate."

Murong Yan stood by the bed, his face dark and intimidating. He seemed not to hear the physician; his eyes were fixed on the unconscious woman.

Her back was covered with medicinal herbs, a thin blanket over her, only her pale face exposed. Her breathing was faint, her chest barely rising and falling, as if she might stop at any moment.

"Leave," Murong Yan said, his voice low but carrying an unquestionable authority.

The physician and attendants withdrew, gently closing the door behind them.

Only Murong Yan and the unconscious Su Wan remained in the room.

He sat down by the bed, watching her. His gaze moved from her brows to her nose, then to her lips. It was the first time he had been so close, so focused on looking at her.

Her lips were thin, pale, now almost devoid of color from blood loss. Her brows were slightly knitted, as if she were having a bad dream. Her face was pale, yet her cheeks bore an unnatural flush—a sign of high fever.

Murong Yan reached out to wipe the sweat from her forehead. But his hand stopped mid-air.

His fingers hovered an inch above her skin, yet he hesitated to lower them.

Suddenly, he realized he knew nothing about this person.

Where did she come from? What did she like? What did she fear? Why was her spiritual power so weak? Why had she always followed him?

He had no answers.

For a hundred years, he had grown accustomed to her presence, to her bringing him medicine when he was injured, to her waiting outside his training chamber when he was in seclusion, to her standing quietly behind him, as ubiquitous as air, yet as overlooked as air.

But he had never asked her who she was.

"Su Wan..." He whispered her name, his voice hoarse like sandpaper. "Who... are you really?"

The woman on the bed did not answer. She remained unconscious, breathing faint, clinging to life.

Murong Yan withdrew his hand and sat down by the bed. He did not leave, nor did he call anyone in. He just sat silently, watching her.

Outside, the sky turned from dusk to night, then from night to dawn. The entire night, he sat there, unmoving, his gaze never leaving her face.

The next morning, when the first rays of sunlight streamed through the window lattice, the woman on the bed suddenly stirred.

Her lips parted slightly, as if she were saying something. Murong Yan leaned down, bringing his ear close to her lips.

"A-Yan..."

She murmured again.

This time, he heard it clearly.

Murong Yan straightened up, looking at her pale face, and remained silent for a long time.

His brows were tightly furrowed, a complex turmoil of emotions churning in his eyes—shock, disbelief, panic, and a stirring he himself could not identify.

He had lived a hundred and twenty years. For the first time, he felt so unsettled.