Twilight (1)

Spirit Medicine Peak, World-Saving Hall, side room.

The wooden door stood ajar. A bronze bell hanging from the eaves stirred in the mountain breeze, occasionally letting out several crisp, clear chimes.

The room was simply furnished. Three small red-clay stoves stood side by side by the window, one of them burning fiercely. Medicinal fragrance permeated the air, and a red pottery medicine pot bubbled atop the stove, its rising steam condensing into fine droplets upon the window lattice.

Lin Huaixu lay sprawled on the couch, baring his teeth in pain. His black fitted outfit had been pulled down to his waist, exposing a back that was not especially broad but clearly defined with muscle. At this moment, though, a vicious wound occupied most of it.

The edges of the wound carried an eerie bluish-black hue—the mark of Baleful Intent erosion. The flesh had curled outward, and faintly reddened sinews and bone could be seen beneath. His forehead pressed against the cool sandalwood edge of the couch, black stray hairs drenched in cold sweat and stuck to his neck, trembling slightly along with his body.

The sound of a silver blade cutting away rotten flesh was particularly clear. The woman holding it wore a grayish-yellow outer robe over the uniform of an inner sect disciple. She appeared to be around twenty-seven or twenty-eight, her hair loosely pinned up with a wooden hairpin, several loose strands falling beside her cheeks without making her look the least bit disheveled.

At that moment, the woman lowered her eyes and carefully carved away the blackened rotten flesh at the wound's edges with focused concentration. With every cut, the young man's muscles tensed another degree, and the cold sweat at his temples gathered into streams.

The medical cultivator swept her gaze over the wound continuously seeping