Yunxi Peak.
In an exquisitely furnished room in the inner disciples' residential area halfway up the peak, Yuwen Mingjue lay quietly on a bed, his face as pale as paper.
Bright sunlight streamed through the carved window lattice and fell across him, yet failed to dispel even a trace of his deathly air.
After six days of meticulous care and nourishment from precious pills, he finally looked less wretched than he had immediately after the Azure Qilin Battle.
Back then, he had been drenched in blood, with countless broken bones, and carried back to the peak like a heap of mud.
Although his injuries were now under control, the right arm Yang Jing had broken still hung limply at his side, wrapped in thick bandages. Every movement sent pain piercing into his bones.
His five broken ribs made even turning over difficult. The slightest breath brought a wrenching pain from deep within his organs.
The physician had said that injuries like these would never heal without three months of quiet recuperation.
Yuwen Mingjue tilted his head, staring at the tasseled canopy above his bed. His eyes were steeped in coldness, their depths seething with implacable hatred.
The name Yang Jing circled in his heart like maggots clinging to bone. Every thought of it made his teeth ache with hatred.
He was a gifted disciple of Yunxi Peak and a direct descendant of the Yuwen Family. When had he ever suffered such humiliation?
He had been severely injured before everyone on the Azure Qilin Platform and reduced to the laughingstock of the entire sect. How could he not avenge this?
But however deep his hatred ran, all he could do now was let it churn secretly inside him. He had no way whatsoever to deal with Yang Jing.
The Yuwen Family