The Arrow is on the Bowstring

Just past the Si hour, Li Tui went to the kitchen to fetch the medicinal meal.

Passing by the courtyard in the southwest corner, he found the gate tightly shut. Through the wall came heavy, ragged gasps and the dull thud of fists striking something hard.

Thud! Thud! Thud! Each strike followed the last in quick succession, enough to make one's teeth ache.

He slowed his pace, and just as he was about to leave, the door creaked open.

Zhao Wen walked out.

He wore only trousers, his upper body bare. His skin glowed with an unnatural, flushed heat, as if he had just been pulled from a steamer. There wasn't a single patch of intact skin on his chest or arms; bruises layered over torn flesh, blood mixed with sweat, forming a glistening, sticky mess. He walked to the water vat at the corner of the courtyard, scooped up a full ladle of cold water, and without blinking, poured it over his head.

"Splash."

Water mixed with streaks of blood trickled down his lean spine, soaking a dark patch into the mud.

He raised a hand to wipe his face, water droplets dripping from his hair. As he looked up, his gaze met Li Tui's.

Those eyes were vacant, devoid of focus.

Zhao Wen stared at him for a long moment, then suddenly bared his teeth.

The smile was fleeting, barely moving his facial muscles, yet it radiated a desperate, life-risking ferocity.

Then he turned and headed back into the courtyard. The door slammed shut behind him, and immediately, the heart-wrenching sound of impact resumed, faster and heavier than before.

The moment their eyes met, the Treasure Mirror, which had been silent for so long, suddenly emitted an exceptionally clear ripple before quickly returning to stillness.

Li Tui lowered his eyes, stood in place for a moment, and turned to leave.

By the Wei hour, Li Tui returned to the main courtyard with the medicinal meal.

In the training room, Zhao Yuanchong was still struggling against the iron-wood stake. His palms whistled with force, but his breathing was erratic and his movements were floaty. After all, his Qihai point had only just been opened, and his true qi was still unruly.

After finishing a set of palm techniques, he stopped, panting heavily, and took the medicine bowl to drain it in one gulp. Wiping his mouth with his sleeve, he suddenly asked, "Did you see Zhao Wen?"

Li Tui: "I did."

"What... did he look like?" Zhao Yuanchong's voice was tight.

"He was training," Li Tui answered briefly. "Very desperately."

Zhao Yuanchong gripped the empty bowl, his knuckles turning white. He stared at the bottom of the bowl, and after a long while, a voice squeezed out of his throat: "Ranxue Pill... I've heard Uncle Sheng mention it. Once that stuff is swallowed, the internal organs feel as if they've been branded by a hot iron; there's basically no chance of survival." He paused, his voice dropping lower, unable to suppress his agitation.

"They used that on him... are they really not planning to leave him any way out?"

He slammed the bowl onto the table with a sharp "clack."

"What exactly is Father trying to do?" He seemed to be asking Li Tui, or perhaps himself, his eyes reddening. "Driving us one by one... to this point?"

Li Tui lowered his eyes and didn't respond. He could hear the anger and chill in Zhao Yuanchong's words.

Zhao Yuanchong didn't seem to expect an answer. He took a deep breath and reset his stance, his palm strikes becoming faster and more violent, each one causing the wooden stake to tremble and rustle.

By the Xu hour, Zhao Yuanchong finally stopped, exhausted.

His back pressed against the cold wall, his chest heaving violently, every breath tearing at his throat with a hoarse rasp.

His outstretched hands were a bloody mess, skin and flesh stuck to wooden splinters, yet he seemed not to feel the pain, staring fixedly at the carnage in his palms.

He swallowed the Pulse-Protecting Pill handed to him by Li Tui and, after regulating his breath for a moment, spoke in a hoarse voice: "What about Zhao Hao?"

"He was practicing his sword on the west side of the Martial Arts Arena this afternoon."

"How was it?"

"The sword wind was too fast; I couldn't see the technique," Li Tui replied truthfully. "I only heard the sound of the air being sliced, one after another. Several guards passing by took a detour the moment they caught a glimpse."

Zhao Yuanchong was silent for a moment, his lips curling into a cold, mirthless arc: "Everyone is dodging him... he really has gone all out." He paused, his voice lowering. "That's right, at this point, who still holds back?"

As he spoke, he reached into his robes and pulled out the jade box.

"Young Master," Li Tui reminded him, "you have already used today's ration."

"I know." Zhao Yuanchong stared at the two remaining Qi-Condensing Powders in the box, his fingertips brushing against the pills. "But when Father gave Zhao Wen the Ranxue Pill, did he leave anyone any room to breathe?"

He picked one up and held it against the dim lamplight; the pill's translucent white surface reflected his bloodshot eyes.

"Losing on the arena is just a disgrace. But if Father thinks... that I can't even beat a madman like Zhao Wen," his Adam's apple bobbed, his voice turning dry and raspy, "then in his eyes, I truly have become a useless pawn."

Before the words had even faded, he shoved both pills into his mouth and tilted his head back to force them down.

"Ugh!"

Zhao Yuanchong's entire body curled up violently, his hands digging deep into the ground. His skin instantly flushed a deep red, and fine, dense blood vessels bulged hideously beneath his skin.

His teeth ground together with a creaking sound, the veins on his temples throbbing wildly. A beast-like growl squeezed from his throat, yet he stubbornly refused to collapse, frantically guiding the two violent surges of medicinal power—which threatened to tear his meridians apart—to smash fiercely against his Danzhong point!

Li Tui stood at the doorway, watching the figure trembling in agony, refusing to fall.

The air was filled with the strange fragrance of the pills, mixed with a trace of fresh blood.

In Li Tui's chest, the pulsing of the Blood Bodhi suddenly became intense and greedy, as if it had caught the scent of the most alluring aura—the smell of life burning in a desperate situation.

The bowstring was pulled to its limit.

And the arrow, once on the string, had to be fired.