Hu Xiaotian first gave the rapist a preliminary physical examination and confirmed that he was still alive. He had to admire the scoundrel's tenacious hold on life. Murong Feiyan had plunged her sword into his belly, leaving a deep wound and considerable blood loss. Yet he had hung on from last night until now without breathing his last. Despite severe anemia, he was still clinging to life. Now, however, Hu Xiaotian did not want him to die. According to what the middle-aged scholar had just said, if this scoundrel died, all of them would be buried with him. These men were desperate outlaws, and they were likely to carry out whatever threats they made. The rapist deserved death a thousand times over, but their own lives were far too precious to throw away alongside his.
The middle-aged scholar looked rather nervous. "How is he?" he asked with concern.
"The odds are heavily against him," Hu Xiaotian said.
Both Zhou Wenju and the middle-aged scholar sucked in a cold breath. Zhou Wenju did so because, if Hu Xiaotian said there was nothing to be done, the wounded man was certain to die. He himself had no way to save him, and if the man died, they would all be buried with him. His own death mattered little, but his medicine boy had dragged the innocent Hu Xiaotian into this as well. Even in death, his conscience would find no peace.
The middle-aged scholar, however, drew that sharp breath out of concern for the patient. "You had better not forget what I just said," he said coldly. "I always keep my word."
"I said the odds were against him, not that he was certain to die," Hu Xiaotian said. "There's still a chance."
Zhou Wenju inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. Hu