Departure

Half a quarter of an hour later,

The pitch-black room had been lit by the Bright Pattern Lamp, its white glow illuminating the entire chamber.

Beside the square table,

Xu Yuan sat in a chair with his upper body bare. Ran Qingmo sat opposite him, her face expressionless. The sheathed Ink Sword lay on the table.

Xu Xinyao, dressed in her nightclothes, stood beside Xu Yuan and carefully applied medicine to his wounds.

The sound of that sword cry had naturally woken her. Still half-asleep, she'd come out to take a look and spotted the hole Sword Qi had cleaved through the roof of the neighboring room. After standing stunned for a moment, she ran over, pushed open the door, and entered. Inside, she'd found the bed collapsed, Ran Qingmo holding a sword, and her Third Brother sprawled in a pile of firewood.

The room was quiet. No one said a word. The only sounds were the soft rustling of Xu Xinyao handling the medicine jar and tearing strips of bandage.

The piercing pain from his ribs made Xu Yuan's brow furrow, but he didn't make a sound.

Two of his ribs were broken, and the bones in his hand were probably cracked as well.

That Sword Qi hadn't struck him. If it had, Xu Xinyao would be tending his grave now instead of applying medicine.

As he endured the pain, Xu Yuan stared at the innocent-looking Big Ice Block across from him.

After kissing his cheek, Ran Qingmo had gently released his hand and started to rise.

Could he let the meat delivered right to his mouth get away? Of course not. He had to savor every last bite.

That was what Xu Yuan had thought, and that was what he'd done.

One hand on her waist, the other