"That was worth mentioning?" she muttered under her breath.
Chu Yang did not catch it. "What?"
"Nothing."
She still sat down.
The fire was pleasantly warm, and the scent of roasted flatbread mingled with pine smoke, inexplicably making her feel at ease. Tang Monk opened a packet of medicine beside her and handed it over. "This is Flesh-Regenerating Powder given by a master at the temple earlier. It is no miracle medicine, but applying some should help."
Su Wanwan quickly waved her hands. "No, I—"
"Take it." Tang Monk's tone was gentle. "It is nothing precious."
She had no choice but to accept it. "Thank you, Master."
Tang Monk smiled but said no more.
Su Wanwan lowered her head to look at the little packet of powder in her hands. Its paper corners had been folded neatly, and it carried a faint, fresh herbal scent. For a moment, an indescribable ache swelled in her chest.
It was not as though she had never been hurt before.
While fleeing for her life, sharp rocks had scraped the tip of her tail. While hiding, demon hunters' arrows had grazed her shoulder. Late at night, she had hidden alone in tree hollows and licked her wounds. No one had ever asked whether she was in pain, much less given her medicine.
She pressed her lips together and put away the packet. After a while, she quietly rose and went to the stream.
Sun Wukong was crouched on a rock, washing the pot while cursing. "Who burned the bottom of this pot so black? I've been scrubbing forever, and it still won't come off."
"You were the one going at the hotpot lamb hardest last night. Who else would have blackened the bottom?" Su Wanwan walked over and crouched beside him. "Let me see."