The edges of Zhang Xiaohou's scar began to peel away.
Beneath the peeling skin was fresh, flawless flesh.
The skin grew, spread, and covered the vicious scar—twenty centimeters long and deep enough to expose bone—at a speed visible to the naked eye.
It took only a few breaths.
The scar on Zhang Xiaohou's face, which had nearly disfigured him, vanished.
At the same time, the bewilderment that had lingered in his eyes for ten whole days disappeared as well.
Those vacant eyes finally focused into a clear glimmer of light.
He slowly raised a hand and touched his face.
He looked at his palm, then raised his head to look at He Yu, who stood opposite him with tears streaming down her face.
His lips moved.
"Xiaoyu."
His voice was hoarse, as though he had not spoken for a very, very long time.
"Xiaohou!!!"
He Yu threw herself into his arms and burst into tears.
Zhang Xiaohou awkwardly patted her back, his own eyes reddening.
"Sorry for making you worry. I'm sorry."
Su Xiaoluo sat kneeling on the ground, utterly dumbfounded.
She studied medicine.
More than anyone else present, she understood what that scar meant.
Severed nerves, a fractured skull—she had exhausted everything she had learned over ten years and every medicinal herb she could find, yet she had only barely managed to keep the wound from worsening.
And Fu Ye.
He had merely pointed with a finger.
"Teacher Fu Ye!"
Zhang Xiaohou broke free of He Yu's embrace, staggered forward several steps, and dropped to his knees with a thud.
He said no pretty words.
He simply bowed his head heavily, pressing his forehead against the rough earth of the wasteland. His voice was muffled and heavy.
Fu Ye's footsteps paused for a moment.
Then he continued walking forward.