Wang Youan woke the following evening.
Fang Mo was checking the Alchemy Hall's inventory with Mo Qianshan in the Duty Room when Iron Bull's footsteps sounded in the corridor, heavy and powerful enough to make the floor tiles tremble.
Fang Mo put down the ledger.
"He's awake?"
Iron Bull nodded.
Fang Mo rose from his chair and headed toward the guest quarters.
As he reached the Stone Chamber's door, an extremely hoarse cough sounded inside, followed by heavy panting.
Fang Mo pushed open the door.
Wang Youan sat on a straw mat, his back against the stone wall. He had torn off the bandages around his face himself, revealing the vicious saber scar running from his left eyebrow to his right jaw. Pale, watery blood still seeped from the dark purple edges of the wound.
When he saw Fang Mo enter, he grinned.
The pull of the scar made that smile ugly.
"You little brat, you've turned your father's Heavenly Prison into this damned mess."
Fang Mo crouched before him.
"Never mind what I've done to the Heavenly Prison. Tell me about yourself. Who beat you into this state?"
Wang Youan touched the scar on his face and sucked in a cold breath.
"A bunch of rats that crawled out of who knows what hole. They wore strange robes, and I'd never seen the cultivation arts they used. They seemed like arts for the dead."
"How many?"
"About thirty altogether, coming in batches. The strongest was at Half-step Dharma Aspect. The rest were all in the Divine Treasure Realm."
Old Yan drew a sharp breath at the door.
"Thirty Divine Treasure Realm cultivators and one Half-step Dharma Aspect, and you held out alone for so many days?"
Wang Youan tilted his head and glanced at Old Yan.
"Old Huang, you're