Please, Don’t Die - Chapter 58

In a vast expanse of white mist, a swirling mass of black and red energy frantically gnawed at golden petals.

“Gnawing” might not be the most accurate term, at first, its power was feeble, appearing from the outside as if it were merely circling the petals. But as it circled, the edges of the petals began to fray, the fraying slowly expanding until irregular, jagged gaps formed.

Only after He Qingsheng had completely devoured the petals of the Mianrihui flower did she gradually regain some semblance of consciousness.

The black mist unfurled, stretching for hundreds of miles, or perhaps even farther, yet it was no more than a drop of ink dissolving into the sea. Before and behind her, the white mist remained dense, obscuring any trace of her origin when she looked back and offering no hint of a destination when she peered ahead.

She began to wander aimlessly. At first, she could still muster the energy to search for an exit, but she soon realized that no matter which direction she went, there were no obstacles to block her path.

No barriers, no living creatures, no end in sight.

Coupled with her frequent drowsiness, she developed a habit of drifting and sleeping wherever she pleased.

As time passed in the white mist, He Qingsheng began seeking out patches of mist tinged with red threads to rest and recover.

The red threads bore a resemblance to the hues of her own black-and-red energy, yet for some inexplicable reason, she found the red threads in the mist far more beautiful.

Unfortunately, the mist was thick, and the red threads were hard to come by. When she first regained consciousness, she had been surrounded by a considerable number of them, but as she moved, they all vanished into the black mist. After that, whenever she wanted to see the red threads again, she had to search painstakingly for them.

Sleep, wake, sleep again… an endless cycle, timeless and unmeasured.

He Qingsheng had no idea how much time had passed in the outside world, but lately, her periods of wakefulness had grown longer.

It was a good sign. Sorting through her memories no longer left her as utterly exhausted as it had in the beginning, when she could barely last a few seconds before falling back asleep.

As she became more lucid, the white mist around her thinned slightly, and a few strands of red threads drifted out from nowhere, carrying with them the faint scent of herbs and greenery.

As usual, she reached out to brush against the red threads.

But this time was different, the delicate threads coiled around a pair of pale, slender fingers. He Qingsheng froze. It seemed her spirit had finally recovered.

She tentatively attempted to consume the surrounding mist, but before she could even make contact, the mist rapidly dispersed, clearing a bright path ahead. At the end of the path, a radiant light shimmered.

He Qingsheng raised an eyebrow, glanced back at the desolate expanse behind her, and then stepped toward the light.

In an instant, the world burst into brilliance.

The chirping of insects, the calls of birds, the roar of a waterfall, all flooded her ears. Blinding sunlight and an overwhelming verdant landscape clamored into her vision, abruptly bringing her world to life.

Thud!

The sound of a sword piercing flesh.

He Qingsheng twitched her lips. World, you’re a little too lively.

Hovering in place, it took her a while to adjust to the brightness before she could clearly see the scene before her.

Seven or eight corpses lay haphazardly across the shrubs and grass, each killed with a single, precise strike. The blood seeping from their bodies soaked the earth, lending the grassy patch a sinister aura.

Amidst it all stood a tall, elegant man in green robes, untouched by a single speck of dust. In his hand was a bloodstained sword, and with swift, decisive movements, he peeled the face from the last corpse.

Upon closer inspection, oh, an old acquaintance, Ji Yuchen, a direct disciple of the Zhenyuan Sect. Back when she had slaughtered the Zhenyuan Sect’s main lineage, Ji Yuchen had coincidentally returned to his family home, narrowly escaping death.

He Qingsheng watched intently as Ji Yuchen took his last breath, thoroughly pleased by the sight of his wide-eyed, unwilling expression as he died. Her fingers itched with satisfaction, so much so that she failed to notice the man in green suddenly turning around, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on her.

Prickled by the intense gaze, He Qingsheng belatedly looked up and met a pair of dark, fathomless eyes, like a deep well filled with water, yet chillingly cold.

His face had shed its youthful softness, the sharpness of his brows and eyes now carrying a frost-like severity, his features honed into a striking edge. No longer androgynous as before, yet still breathtakingly beautiful.

As Ying Qujie drew closer, He Qingsheng suddenly noticed he seemed to have grown a little taller.

He spoke, his voice tinged with a hint of grievance: “Shengsheng, they all bullied me when you weren’t here.”

He Qingsheng glanced at the longsword in his hand, its blade gleaming, its tip dripping with blood, clearly a weapon of exceptional lethality.

He Qingsheng remained silent.

With a subtle flick of his wrist, Ying Qujie tossed the sword aside.

He then raised his hand naturally, as if to touch her cheek. Knowing it wouldn’t make contact anyway, He Qingsheng didn’t bother to dodge, but his hand hovered just a hair’s breadth away.

Unable to decipher the complexity in Ying Qujie’s eyes, He Qingsheng only felt that her gentle physician might not be as harmless as he seemed.

The corpses strewn across the ground were all cultivators. Not far away, the ten-petaled Duyuan flower shimmered with an eerie glow, a rare spiritual herb, marking this as the once-every-fifty-years Dongchuan Forest Secret Realm of the Twelve Walls.

In ordinary trial realms, it was common for people to kill and plunder for treasures and opportunities, let alone in the Dongchuan Forest Secret Realm, where rare treasures abounded.

Rumors claimed many had glimpsed the Endless Spring within Dongchuan, further fueling the belief that the realm held countless wonders.

But those who saw the treasures might not live to claim them, which was why major sects and noble families often sent alliances of elders and top disciples whenever Dongchuan opened. Disciples below the Nascent Soul Perfection stage weren’t even qualified to enter.

She had originally planned to emerge from seclusion slightly before Dongchuan’s opening to lead the Fuliu disciples into the realm for training.

By twists of fate, she had somehow ended up catching the next cycle instead.

As He Qingsheng calculated the time, a sudden realization struck her like lightning, if this was the next opening, then at least seven years had passed since the Battle of Jimo.

Her gaze swept over the corpses before returning to Ying Qujie.

Studying his features, she sighed softly. She knew all too well the nature of most cultivators in the Twelve Walls, bullying the weak, ganging up on others, looting treasures… Even someone as kind as Ying Qujie had been forced to fight.

Images of him, pitiful and alone, being bullied by a crowd flashed through her mind.

Almost involuntarily, she wanted to pat his head, but she held back. Instead, she took a step back and said calmly, “It’s their fault. I’ll take you back to settle the score.”

Most alliance teams from the sects operated in groups of twelve. Counting Ji Yuchen, there were only nine corpses on the ground.

Ying Qujie had already killed nine, effectively making mortal enemies of this faction. Leaving the remaining three would invite endless trouble, they had to be eradicated completely.

“Alright,” Ying Qujie replied with a smile, retrieving the Duyuan flower.

Up close, the bloodstains on the petals, veiled by the eerie glow, became clearer.

Only then did He Qingsheng realize the flower had already been plucked. She instinctively reached toward Ying Qujie’s brow. “Is your soul injured?”

“No,” he dodged her fingers.

A wisp of baleful energy was brushed aside, curling resentfully back around He Qingsheng’s wrist.

He Qingsheng frowned. “The Duyuan Flower, one of the Seven Treasures of Dongchuan Forest, can mend shattered soul fragments. But it requires heart’s blood to harvest. Unless one’s spirit is damaged, why would you go through the painstaking effort to draw heart’s blood just to pick it? Don’t avoid treatment out of fear, Physician Ying.”

She reached out again, but Ying Qujie continued to evade. As they danced around each other, He Qingsheng’s stubbornness flared. Crossing her arms, she chuckled wryly, “Physician Ying, don’t tell me you’ve gotten so used to gathering herbs that you hoard every medicinal plant you see. I know you had that habit in the mortal realm, but this is the Twelve Walls, the Dongchuan Forest mystic realm. It’s perilous beyond measure. You should know-”

“I know.” Ying Qujie pressed his lips together, staring straight at He Qingsheng. “But… do you truly not understand?”

The Duyuan Flower dissolved into an emerald glow that vanished into He Qingsheng’s body. As if her throat had been squeezed shut, she fell silent at once.

After a long pause, He Qingsheng forced an awkward smile. “Physician Ying, your chivalry knows no bounds. Though we’ve only known each other briefly, you’ve already aided me to this extent. Meeting you is my fortune, and I shall remember this kindness, repaying it even if it means knotting grass or holding a ring in my mouth.”

“Chivalry?” Ying Qujie let out a low laugh. After a while, as if exhausted from laughter, his lips flattened into a meaningful line. “Knotting grass and holding rings won’t be enough repayment.”

He Qingsheng broke into a cold sweat.

The next moment, the world spun, and the scenery shifted.

A lush bamboo grove encircled a wooden cabin that appeared before them. In front of the house, a neatly arranged herb garden thrived with rare medicinal plants.

A current of air nudged He Qingsheng forward, following Ying Qujie’s steps into the courtyard.

This was Ying Qujie’s storage spirit realm.

He Qingsheng curiously surveyed the land. In the distance, mountains displayed varied landscapes, this spirit realm wasn’t small, but its owner seemed to have only opened this small bamboo courtyard to visitors.

Ying Qujie strode ahead briskly while He Qingsheng floated behind him, pondering his current cultivation level.

Seven years. The Twelve Walls were unlike the mortal realm. He Qingsheng didn’t dare imagine how he had arrived here, much less how a mere mortal could cultivate to the point of entering the Dongchuan Forest mystic realm in just seven years.

Either thought alone made her chest tighten.

Amidst her swirling thoughts, He Qingsheng plucked out a question: “Physician Ying, how fares the elder madam?”

“Grandmother is in good health, with decades of life left. The mortal realm is peaceful, she and Matron Su Lan traveled south of the river. She also supported my journey to wander.” Ying Qujie pushed open the wooden door.

His answer, as always, was reassuring. Knowing his grandmother was aware of his whereabouts eased He Qingsheng’s heart slightly. The mortal realm being peaceful also confirmed that the breaches in the spirit realm remained undisturbed.

At the very least, in the seven years she had been secluded from the world, the remnants of the Sunfire Sect and their mastermind had indeed suffered heavy losses, just as she had predicted.

Ying Qujie turned back to call her. “Come in.”

“Alright.”

The interior of the small wooden cabin was simple yet immaculate. Though rustic, every corner exuded refined elegance. On the table in the inner chamber sat an unadorned white plum blossom, while several carving knives of varying sizes lay casually on the windowsill beside a few well-worn scrolls.

He Qingsheng imagined that Ying Qujie must have lived in such an environment during his studies at Tianyu Mountain, serene and peaceful.

Floating a step behind Ying Qujie, she watched as he casually lifted a plain gauze curtain.

As the veil fluttered down, the figure seated gracefully on the daybed was fully revealed. He Qingsheng’s eyes widened abruptly,

It was an exquisitely crafted puppet, identical to her in every way.

Unlike the palm-sized wooden puppet from before, the current doll stood as tall as her, with skin that was translucent, supple, and tinged with a faint flush of blood, surpassing even the appearance of a living person. Every texture and fine hair on its surface was clearly visible. Even the most skilled puppeteer from the Twelve Walls might not have been able to create a puppet as lifelike as the one before her now.

As He Qingsheng stood dazed, a gentle breeze brushed past.

Then, she fell into a warm embrace.

Ying Qujie buried his face in the crook of her neck, and the long-lost sensation of a living person’s touch reached her. He Qingsheng could feel the layers upon layers of forbidden arts woven into him.

She thought Ying Qujie had truly grown taller, standing on tiptoe alone wasn’t enough to keep her steady.

Hesitantly, she slowly wrapped her arms around his slender waist.

“Physician Ying, did you carve me shorter?”

“No.”

“Physician Ying…”

“Don’t speak.”

“Oh.”

Something warm and cool dripped onto her neck.