After the battle at Crimson Fire Stronghold that day.
Pavilion Master Yang, Yang Jinhong, had stubbornly clung to his last breath, finally living to see their arrival.
And finally living to see Wang Yuehu beheaded.
The moment he saw Wang Yuehu's head, he passed out directly in satisfied relief, his life and breath unknown.
In the end, it was Deputy Pavilion Master Xiang Shou, who happened to carry medicine for treating internal injuries, that kept Pavilion Master Yang's final breath going and allowed him to be transported to Taixi City.
Then.
Countless physicians and apothecaries were summoned within the city, even the esteemed alchemists from Shanglin City.
After examining Yang Jinhong's condition, every one of them shook their heads with unwavering certainty, arriving at an unprecedentedly unanimous conclusion.
No medicine could cure him; no ailment could be saved.
At this point, all they could do was sustain Yang Jinhong's last trace of life, keep that final breath hanging, and wait for him to wake.
To see whether he could live a few more days.
Yes, even the best possible outcome was merely whether he could survive a few more days.
Now, after seven long days, Yang Jinhong, who had remained unconscious all this time, finally opened his eyes today.
And after waking, he immediately sent someone to summon Shen Xiu.
Shen Xiu stepped into the courtyard and entered the room, where he saw the frail Pavilion Master Yang amid the heavy scent of medicinal herbs.
Compared with that day, Pavilion Master Yang had grown even thinner. His cheekbones appeared sunken from his emaciation.
His complexion was as pale as paper; even his lips had turned white, without the slightest trace of color.
His life force was visibly ebbing away.
When Shen Xiu arrived, Yang Jinhong was reclining against the bed