?
"Uncle Liang!"
Shen Le let out a heart-wrenching cry and lunged forward. The porcelain bottle fell onto the bedding, then rolled off onto the floor. He did not spare it a glance, merely trembling as he reached out to feel for the old man's breath.
One second, two seconds, three seconds. Had the side of his fingertip caught a faint wisp of air?
Was he still alive?
Panicking, he looked around, then picked at the hem of his clothes. He tore his lapel and pulled off a small tuft of kapok. Tugging and tugging, he drew out an exceedingly thin strand and held it before the old man's nostrils...
It moved!
Thank heavens, that strand of kapok moved!
Shen Le closed his eyes and let out a long breath of relief.
Though this was within the Porcelain Tower's memories, though this "Uncle Liang" had lived more than a thousand years ago, though all his care, concern, and instruction had been for that young master of the Lu Family...
Their nearly year-long companionship was real. The hands-on instruction was real. So was the fact that, whether they were working or eating meat, Uncle Liang had always put Shen Le first.
Even within a memory, how could Shen Le possibly not feel grateful or moved?
Having released that breath, he hurriedly opened his eyes again and reached for the old man's carotid artery.
The pulse beneath his fingertips was so weak it was almost imperceptible, as chaotic as tangled threads. Clearly, even if the old man was alive for now, his condition was extremely grave.
By Shen Le's experience—more precisely, by the experience he had gained in the Western Regions during the Tang Dynasty—when someone of this age had weakened to such a state, ordinary medicines likely could not save them...