Between Life and Death

Ning Rongrong held Zhang Mo, kneeling amidst the ruins.

Moonlight leaked through the cracks in the clouds, illuminating his face. That face was terrifyingly pale, devoid of any color. Dried blood hung at the corners of his mouth, forming dark red scabs.

She reached out to check his breath.

It was very weak.

So weak it felt as if it could snap at any moment.

"Zhang Mo." She called to him, her voice trembling. "Zhang Mo, wake up."

He did not respond.

Ning Rongrong looked down at the person in her arms. Most of his clothes were shredded, and the exposed skin was covered in injuries—bruises, lacerations, bloodstains, dense and packed, with hardly a single patch of intact skin. His chest was the most alarming part, sunken in as if the bones had shattered.

She recalled the battle from moments ago.

He had stood alone, facing Huyan Li and five Soul Elders.

How many punches from Huyan Li had he taken head-on? Ten? Twenty? Each punch could have killed a spirit beast, yet he had endured them all.

For what?

To give her a chance to run?

Ning Rongrong's tears welled up again.

She gritted her teeth, forcing the tears back.

She could not cry.

Crying was useless.

She took a deep breath, struggling to recall everything she had learned at the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect.

What did healing masters do when treating wounds?

First, assess the injuries, then use Spirit Power to nourish the affected areas, then administer medicinal pills...

She did not possess a healing-type martial soul; she was only a support type.

But support could also heal—there was a secret technique in the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect that used one's own essence blood as a catalyst to forcibly repair a wounded person's injuries.

The price was that for every bit of essence blood consumed, an equal amount of one's lifespan would be lost.

Ning Rongrong looked at Zhang Mo's pale face and did not hesitate.

She bit open her wrist and pressed the wound to his lips, letting the blood flow in.

The blood flowed rapidly, warm and carrying a metallic, sweet scent. With her other hand, she summoned the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Pagoda, using her remaining Spirit Power to guide that essence blood into his body.

"You cannot die." She whispered, her voice hoarse. "You promised me."

Zhang Mo did not respond.

She continued, "You said that if you ran, you would take me with you. You haven't taken me running yet."

He still did not respond.

"You said you would teach me ancient martial arts, but you stopped halfway through? What kind of teacher does that..."

Her voice began to tremble.

"You said... you said you would buy me a phone... you haven't bought the phone yet..."

Tears welled up again, blurring her vision. She wiped them away with her sleeve and continued to feed him her blood.

The wound on her wrist had stopped bleeding; the blood had congealed. She bit open her other wrist and switched positions.

Zhang Mo's complexion remained just as white.

As white as the one she had seen that day at the funeral home...

No.

That was not right.

Ning Rongrong shook her head violently, casting the thought away.

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

"What I fear most is making those who wait for me wait in vain."

She stared at his face and said, word by word:

"I am waiting for you. Do you hear me?"

Zhang Mo's brow twitched.

It was very slight, so light it was almost imperceptible.

But Ning Rongrong saw it.

Her eyes lit up, and she continued to feed him her blood.

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

Zhang Mo's brow twitched again.

This time, there was significantly more.

Ning Rongrong's heart felt like it was about to leap out of her throat. She stared at his face, not daring to blink.

Then, his eyes opened.

Those eyes were incredibly weak, his gaze unfocused, taking several seconds before slowly sharpening.

He looked at her, his lips moving as he let out a hoarse sound:

"...Rongrong?"

Ning Rongrong froze.

Then, she threw herself onto him, hugging him with all her might.

"You scared me to death!" she cried out, sobbing. "Do you have any idea how much you scared me!"

Zhang Mo was struggling to breathe under her embrace, but he didn't push her away.

He could feel her entire body trembling, and he felt warm liquid dripping onto his neck.

He raised his hand and gently patted her back.

"It's alright now," he said hoarsely.

Ning Rongrong ignored him and continued to cry.

She cried until she was gasping for air.

Zhang Mo just held her like that, waiting for her to finish.

After a long time, Ning Rongrong's sobbing slowly quieted down, turning into intermittent hiccups.

She lifted her head to look at him.

Her face was covered in tear tracks, her eyes swollen like walnuts, and her nose was red. Her lips were devoid of color, frighteningly pale.

Zhang Mo stared at her for a few seconds before suddenly noticing her wrists.

There were wounds on both wrists, still oozing blood.

His expression shifted.

"What did you do?"

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

He stared at the wounds; they were deep, made by teeth. Blood was still flowing, dripping down her wrists.

He looked up at her.

Ning Rongrong felt guilty under his gaze, averted her eyes, and whispered:

"N-nothing."

Zhang Mo didn't speak.

He lowered his head to look at those wounds for a long time.

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

He held her even tighter than she had held him just moments ago.

Ning Rongrong was stunned.

"Zh-Zhang Mo?"

He didn't speak, just held her.

She could feel his heartbeat, fast and thumping. She could also feel his breathing, heavy and rhythmic.

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

"Fool."

Ning Rongrong paused for a moment, then softly retorted:

"You're the fool."

Zhang Mo didn't speak.

But the arms holding her tightened once more.

Moonlight spilled down, bathing the two of them in its glow.

In the distance, the five Soul Elders who had fled were long gone. The ruins were quiet, save for the sound of the wind and the occasional chirping of insects.

They just held each other like that, neither saying a word.

After a long time, Ning Rongrong suddenly spoke:

"Zhang Mo."

"Hm?"

"That thing you said just now, say it again."

Zhang Mo was taken aback: "Which part?"

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

"It's... that line you were waiting to say."

Zhang Mo thought for a moment and said:

"What I fear most is letting the people who wait for me end up waiting in vain."

Ning Rongrong was silent for a few seconds.

Then she whispered:

"Then don't make me wait too long in the future."

Zhang Mo looked down at her.

She still kept her face buried, refusing to look up, but her ears were bright red.

He gave a soft hum of agreement.

Ning Rongrong didn't speak again.

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

The moonlight spilled down quietly.

The ruins stood in silence.

The two of them just held each other like that, sitting amidst the rubble.

I don't know how much time passed before Ning Rongrong suddenly asked:

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

Zhang Mo raised his head and looked at the pile of golden light particles dissipating not far away.

The light was already very faint, nearly gone. Only one object remained on the ground, emitting a faint glow.

He nodded: "Dead."

Ning Rongrong gave an "oh" and didn't ask further.

After a while, she said again:

"Will those five who ran away come back?"

Zhang Mo thought about it: "I don't know."

Ning Rongrong fell silent.

Zhang Mo said: "Even if they come back, there's nothing to fear. Their boss is dead; the few left won't amount to much."

Ning Rongrong hummed in response.

They were silent for another while.

She suddenly pulled herself out of his arms and looked at him.

"Can you still walk?"

Zhang Mo tried to move his legs, wincing in pain.

"...Not really."

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

"Then I'll help you."

Zhang Mo was stunned: "You can't support my weight."

Ning Rongrong glared at him: "Why do you have so much nonsense to say!"

Zhang Mo stopped talking.

Ning Rongrong gritted her teeth and strained to hoist him up.

She was a head shorter than him, thin and small, and supporting a grown man as she walked looked like an ant carrying a grain of rice. But she gritted her teeth, taking it one step at a time, moving slowly forward.

Zhang Mo looked down at her.

Her face was still streaked with tears, her eyes still swollen, and her lips still pale. But she was walking.

Step by step, steady and firm.

He suddenly remembered what she had said earlier.

"I'm waiting for you."

He withdrew his gaze and looked at the road ahead.

In the night, the road was long, and the end was not in sight.

But with someone beside him to lean on.

It didn't seem so hard to walk after all.