Between Life and Death

Ning Rongrong held Zhang Mo as she knelt amid the ruins.

Moonlight spilled through a break in the clouds, shining on his face. It was frighteningly pale, without a trace of color. Dried blood crusted dark red at the corner of his mouth.

She reached out and felt for his breath.

It was faint.

So faint it could stop at any moment.

"Zhang Mo," she called, her voice trembling. "Zhang Mo, wake up."

He didn't respond.

Ning Rongrong lowered her head and looked at the man in her arms. Most of his clothes were in tatters, and his exposed skin was covered in bruises, cuts, and blood—so many injuries that hardly a patch of him was unmarked. The worst was his chest. It had caved in, as if his bones were broken.

She thought back to the fight.

He'd faced Huyan Li and five Soul Elders all by himself.

How many punches had he taken from Huyan Li? Ten? Twenty? Every one of those punches could have killed a Soul Beast, yet he'd endured them all.

For what?

So she'd have a chance to escape?

Ning Rongrong's tears welled up again.

She clenched her teeth and forced them back.

She couldn't cry.

Crying wouldn't help.

She took a deep breath and tried to remember what she'd learned at the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect.

What did healers do when treating someone?

First, they examined the injuries, then used Soul Power to nourish the wounds, and finally fed the patient pills...

She didn't have a healing Martial Soul. All she could do was support others.

But support abilities could heal, too. One of the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect's secret arts used one's own blood essence as a catalyst to forcibly repair another person's injuries.

The price was that every bit of blood essence consumed shortened one's lifespan by the same amount.

Ning Rongrong looked at Zhang Mo's pallid face and didn't hesitate.

She bit into her wrist, brought the wound to his lips, and let her blood flow into his mouth.

The blood ran fast, warm and tinged with a sweet, metallic taste. With her other hand, she summoned the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Pagoda and used what little Soul Power she had left to guide the blood essence into his body.

"You can't die," she whispered, her voice hoarse. "You promised me."

Zhang Mo didn't react.

She kept talking. "You said you'd take me with you if you ran. You haven't taken me running yet."

He still didn't react.

"You said you'd teach me ancient martial arts. You can't just stop halfway. What kind of teacher does that..."

Her voice began to tremble.

"You said... you said you'd buy me a phone... You haven't bought it yet..."

Tears welled up again, blurring her vision. She wiped them away with her sleeve and kept feeding him blood.

The wound on her wrist had stopped bleeding; the blood had clotted. She bit into her other wrist and changed sides.

Zhang Mo's face was still just as pale.

Pale as it had been that day at the funeral home, when she'd seen...

No.

No, that was wrong.

Ning Rongrong shook her head hard, flinging the thought away.

She remembered what Zhang Mo had said to the fake mother in the illusion.

"What I fear most is making someone wait for me, only to never come back."

She stared at his face and said, slowly and clearly:

"I'm waiting for you. Do you hear me?"

Zhang Mo's brow twitched.

Barely—a movement so slight it was almost impossible to see.

But Ning Rongrong saw it.

Her eyes lit up, and she kept feeding blood into his mouth.

"You heard me, didn't you? Then wake up."

Zhang Mo's brow twitched again.

This time, more noticeably.

Ning Rongrong's heart was pounding so hard it felt ready to leap from her throat. She stared at his face, afraid to blink.

Then his eyes opened.

They were unfocused and weak. He looked at her for several seconds before his gaze slowly settled on her.

He looked at her, moved his lips, and managed a hoarse sound:

"...Rongrong?"

Ning Rongrong froze.

Then she threw herself onto him and clung to him with all her strength.

"You scared me half to death!" she cried. "Do you know how badly you scared me?"

Zhang Mo could barely breathe with her holding him so tightly, but he didn't push her away.

He could feel her whole body trembling and warm drops falling onto his neck.

He raised a hand and gently patted her back.

"It's all right now," he rasped.

Ning Rongrong ignored him and kept crying.

She sobbed so hard she could barely catch her breath.

Zhang Mo simply held her and waited for her to finish.

A long while passed before her crying gradually quieted, fading into little hiccups.

She lifted her head and looked at him.

Her face was streaked with tears, her eyes swollen like walnuts, and her nose was red. Her lips were bloodless, frighteningly pale.

Zhang Mo watched her for a few seconds, then noticed her wrists.

Both were wounded, and blood was still seeping from them.

His expression changed.

"What did you do?"

Ning Rongrong drew her hands back, trying to hide them, but he caught them.

He stared at the wounds. They were deep, bitten into her skin. Blood was still running down her wrists and dripping off.

He looked up at her.

Under his gaze, Ning Rongrong grew uneasy and looked away. She murmured:

"N-nothing."

Zhang Mo said nothing.

He lowered his head and stared at the wounds for a long time.

Then he suddenly pulled her into his arms and held her tight.

Even tighter than she'd held him.

Ning Rongrong froze.

"Z-Zhang Mo?"

He didn't speak. He just held her.

She could feel his heart beating fast, thump after thump. His breathing was heavy, each breath coming one after another.

After a long while, he finally spoke, his voice as rough as sandpaper:

"Idiot."

Ning Rongrong was taken aback, then quietly protested:

"You're the idiot."

Zhang Mo said nothing.

But his arms tightened around her.

Moonlight spilled over them.

Far away, the five Soul Elders who'd fled had long since vanished. The ruins were quiet, save for the wind and the occasional chirp of insects.

They stayed wrapped in each other's arms, neither saying a word.

After a long while, Ning Rongrong suddenly spoke:

"Zhang Mo."

"Hmm?"

"Say what you said just now again."

Zhang Mo blinked. "Which part?"

Ning Rongrong buried her face against his chest, her voice muffled:

"The part about... waiting."

Zhang Mo thought for a moment, then said:

"What I fear most is making someone wait for me, only to never come back."

Ning Rongrong fell silent for a few seconds.

Then she murmured:

"Then don't make me wait too long from now on."

Zhang Mo looked down at her.

She still had her face buried and refused to look up. But her ears had turned bright red.

He gave a quiet, soft "Mm."

Ning Rongrong said nothing more.

But where he couldn't see, the corners of her mouth curled up slightly.

Moonlight fell quietly.

The ruins stood in silence.

They sat there in the ruins, holding each other.

No one knew how much time passed before Ning Rongrong suddenly said:

"Zhang Mo, is that Huyan Li really dead?"

Zhang Mo looked toward the fading golden specks not far away.

They were already very faint, nearly gone. Only one object had fallen to the ground, glowing with a faint light.

He nodded. "He's dead."

Ning Rongrong gave a quiet "Oh" and didn't ask anything else.

A little while later, she spoke again:

"Will those five who ran away come back?"

Zhang Mo thought it over. "I don't know."

Ning Rongrong fell silent.

Zhang Mo said, "Even if they do, there's nothing to fear. Their leader is dead. The rest aren't much of a threat."

Ning Rongrong gave a quiet "Mm."

Another silence fell.

Suddenly, she pulled herself out of his arms and looked at him.

"Can you walk?"

Zhang Mo tried moving his leg and grimaced in pain.

"...Not really."

Ning Rongrong stood up, bent down, and draped one of his arms over her shoulder.

"Then I'll help you."

Zhang Mo blinked. "You can't support me."

Ning Rongrong glared at him. "Why do you have to talk so much?"

Zhang Mo fell silent.

Ning Rongrong gritted her teeth and hauled him upright.

She was a head shorter than him, small and slender. Supporting a grown man as they walked made them look like an ant carrying a grain of rice. But she clenched her teeth and made her way forward, one slow step at a time.

Zhang Mo looked down at her.

Tear tracks still streaked her face, her eyes were still swollen, and her lips were still pale. But she was walking.

One step at a time, steady and sure.

He suddenly remembered what she'd said a moment ago.

"I'm waiting for you."

He looked away and fixed his eyes on the road ahead.

The road stretched long through the night, its end impossible to see.

But someone was there beside him, supporting him.

Somehow, it didn't seem so hard to walk anymore.