You Poked Me Twenty-Three Thousand Nine Hundred Times

Lin Shou's hand brushed beneath Ning Luowei's ribs, touching the sword and blade wounds on her body as if he were touching a bloody, stormy martial world.

"Do you think the martial world is pretty cruel?"

Ning Luowei suddenly asked.

Lin Shou didn't reply.

Ning Luowei continued on her own, as if after hiding and fleeing for so long, she had finally found an outlet today, chattering on endlessly.

"When I was three, my parents sold me to my master. From then on, I've been training in martial arts with him on the mountain."

"Actually, I don't like martial arts. I like pretty clothes, rouge and powder, needlework, and reading romance novels about men and women falling in love and becoming husband and wife."

"But my master always told me that wasn't the right path. I should pursue a great cause—a woman should be strong, train in martial arts to slay evil, and make a name in the martial world. That's what I ought to do, not waste time on sewing, weaving, or being a wife and mother."

"But I never wanted fame in the martial world. I don't like it at all. Everywhere there's blood and storm."

"Sometimes I think, if only I weren't part of the martial world. I'd work the loom every day, cook meals. I don't ask for much—just simple days, plain tea and simple food. Even if it's poor, even if it's bitter, it's better than living in constant fear, never knowing when I'll die under someone's sword."

"Every time I hold my sword, I think: if only I could throw it into that bloody, stormy martial world one day, escape my sect, marry someone, and live a peaceful life for the rest of my days..."

When Ning Luowei reached this point, her voice faded. The Corpse-Stitching Shop gradually fell silent. In the quiet, it seemed she was waiting for something, but in the end, all she got was Lin Shou threading his needle and saying:

"Time to stitch."

Lin Shou didn't answer a single word she said. He was just a lowly corpse-stitcher in the shop, and he treated this as merely witnessing a living person's Lantern of Life.

Ning Luowei turned her head away and fell silent, sulking over something unknown, until she felt the sting of a needle and suddenly cried out:

"Wait!"

Lin Shou was about to stitch when Ning Luowei stopped him.

"What's wrong?"

"N-No... aren't you going to use Immortal's Drunkenness?"

Immortal's Drunkenness was an anesthetic.

"How would I have Immortal's Drunkenness? I usually stitch corpses, and corpses don't need it."

"But... this will hurt, won't it?"

Good grief, the whole mood was ruined.

"It will hurt, but you're from the martial world. You should be able to endure a little pain. Don't be fussy. I'm going to stitch now."

Lin Shou looked at Ning Luowei's endless fussing and thought to himself, how annoying. Stitching corpses was better—living people had too many demands. Dead people didn't talk so much nonsense.

In Lin Shou's mind, this ruthless character who had killed twelve people in a row, who had come to him in the dead of night with a body full of wounds without a word, even if she was a woman, should have the endurance of Lord Guan scraping his bones to heal his wounds—a person of great fortitude. Going without anesthetic should be fine.

But he hadn't expected that the moment the first needle went in—

Ning Luowei let out a meow of a scream!

The sound carried for what felt like eight streets, setting off the dog at the neighboring Qingcheng Teahouse into a frenzy of barking.

"Come on, miss, you're a fierce figure in the martial world. Can't you bear it a little?"

Lin Shou knew it would hurt, but the truly unbearable pain was yet to come. This was just the first stitch, no worse than piercing an ear, yet she was wailing loud enough for the entire Capital City to hear.

"It hurts! I'm afraid of pain! Isn't there a way without pain? Can you stitch gently..."

Ning Luowei was now as fussy as a child afraid of shots, haggling with the doctor. This woman was ruthless and efficient when killing—why was she so dramatic about getting stitches?

"Forget it, then. No more stitching."

"No, no! Stitch me!"

"If you make a racket like this with every stitch, the authorities will find us sooner or later."

"I'll bear it, I'll bear it. Find me a stick to bite on."

Ning Luowei gritted her silver teeth, her face set in a look of utter sacrifice, all for the sake of restoring her beautiful skin.

Lin Shou went and found a rolling pin for her to bite on.

Then he began to stitch again, needle and thread moving beneath his hands. The Corpse-Stitching Needle Technique was marvelously intricate, aligning the wound's skin and flesh perfectly without the slightest deviation.

The stitched skin surface was smooth as jade, so flat that the stitches were invisible, as if it had always been flawless, never bearing a wound at all!

A needlework skill so exquisite it could stitch a cabbage leaf without leaving visible marks—stitching a person was nothing.

When Lin Shou first saw Ning Luowei's body full of wounds, though it was horrifying, he already knew in his heart that he could stitch them. As long as he wanted to, he could ensure her beauty remained unscathed.

His earlier claim that he might not be able to stitch it well was merely toying with her expectations.

Still, stitching these wounds would take effort. Ning Luowei's injuries weren't just a few—they were hundreds of large and small wounds. How long would it take to stitch hundreds of them?

A rough sack-stitching method—Lin Shou playing Dr. Frankenstein, boldly stitching together a patchwork monster—would be quick and easy, but Ning Luowei would likely be permanently disfigured.

If he used the stitching method from his past life's cosmetic surgery, the workload would be considerable. To some extent, the finer the thread and the denser the stitches, the better the result.

The Corpse-Stitching Needle Technique had its own unique and profound methods. At its peak, it could stitch rice grains and noodles together, far surpassing cosmetic stitches.

But practicing this ultimate technique for long periods was a major drain on one's energy and stamina.

Under the candlelight of the night, Lin Shou's eyes held only wounds and needles and thread, his mind running at full throttle to plan every stitch and line, his hands moving so fast they left afterimages, fully immersed in a state of self-forgetfulness.

By the time the rooster crowed at dawn, morning rays shone upon a jade-like beauty.

On the cold bench where corpses were usually laid, a flawless jade-like woman now sat, her face full of disbelief as she touched her smooth, jade-like skin, finding not a single blemish.

Who could have imagined that this warm, jade-like pale body, just last night, was broken and battered, covered in over a hundred terrifying wounds?

Lin Shou had actually managed to preserve her appearance. Last night, Lin Shou had focused entirely on stitching her wounds, not closing his eyes all night, and she had seen it all.

"Last night, you stabbed me twenty-three thousand nine hundred times."

Ning Luowei said. She had counted every single stitch last night. Over a hundred wounds, Lin Shou had worked nonstop through the night to sew twenty-three thousand nine hundred stitches, preserving her looks.

Of course, hearing this, Lin Shou took it the wrong way. Wait, was she holding a grudge or something?

I worked my ass off all night, and you're counting how many times I stabbed you? Is that how narcissistic women's brains work?

Lin Shou couldn't help but roll up his sleeves and pant legs, revealing both arms covered in bite marks and both thighs bruised purple with pinch marks. It seemed the rolling pin hadn't been used in the latter half of the night.

Ning Luowei watched Lin Shou rolling up his sleeves and said, "What are you doing?"

"I'll count for you—how many times you bit me, how many times you pinched me. Let's settle the score. Don't try to scam me."

Ning Luowei covered her mouth and laughed. With all her wounds stitched and her looks preserved, she was in a great mood. Especially after last night's heartfelt talk, she now found Lin Shou pleasing to the eye from every angle.

This girl wasn't bound by worldly conventions either, not as shy as most young ladies. She even stretched out her pale, slender leg and deliberately rubbed against Lin Shou, teasing him:

"Hey, am I pretty?"

Where do you get that confidence? Lin Shou thought, but he had no mind to deal with Ning Luowei right now.

One night, stitching twenty-three thousand nine hundred times with intense focus—what did that mean? His needle speed had broken one stitch per second.

And this wasn't mindless repetitive labor. To stitch wounds back to perfection, every needle and thread required mental effort.

It was like a master embroiderer spending a lifetime's effort on a masterpiece over decades, and Lin Shou had churned it out in one night.

His head felt like it was about to split open, his whole being dizzy and foggy, his mind a mess of mush.

If it weren't for his Corpse-Stitching Needle Technique reaching perfection, combined with his recent insight into Subtle Perception boosting his logical ability, Lin Shou figured he'd have given himself a stroke from the strain.

What made it worse was that after all this effort, Lin Shou hadn't stitched a corpse, but a living person.

Before stitching, Lin Shou had wondered if a living person could trigger the Record of Selling Corpses. After finishing, sure enough, it didn't trigger.

Stitching corpses counted. Stitching living people didn't.

Lin Shou felt deeply that he'd been taken for a ride all night.

After pouring in so much effort and energy, he got no reward compensation from the Record of Selling Corpses. His heart was wounded.

And now Ning Luowei was showing off in front of him, only adding to his irritation. Lin Shou shooed her off the cold bench and said:

"Cut it out. You're worse than a corpse. Corpses are more useful than you."

Ning Luowei was stunned by Lin Shou's words, staring at him blankly. Huh, huh, I'm worse than a corpse? Corpses???

Lin Shou chased Ning Luowei off, climbed onto the cold bench himself, and lay down. He was too exhausted from the night.

Before falling asleep, he thought to himself that he'd never stitch a living person again. Too much of a loss. Corpses were way better.