In the past, my friends often mocked me due to the unfortunate coincidence of my name, which was homonymous with Song Qingshu. They even bestowed upon me the unflattering nickname, "King of Spare Tires." Back then, I was brimming with pride and confidence, dismissing their jibes with a laugh. Little did I know that I would become entangled in a tragedy akin to Song Qingshu, the epitome of a spare tire.
"Enter," spoke the woman in azure robes seated at the table, her voice calm after a brief pause.
Song Qingshu's conviction regarding his current predicament solidified to about 80%. This was indeed the world of Yitian Tulongji. No one would go to such lengths to orchestrate these meticulously familiar scenes merely to deceive him. What baffled him, however, was his vivid recollection of his own demise.
Based on their conversation, it seemed to be the time of the Shaolin Temple's Lion Slaying Convention. Song Qingshu had suffered grave injuries, and the woman in azure robes—his nominal wife, Zhou Zhiruo.
Instinctively, Song Qingshu feigned unconsciousness. In the original tale, the marriage between him and Zhou Zhiruo was a mere facade. Initially, Zhou Zhiruo held little affection for him, and due to various television adaptations, Song Qingshu was left with a lasting impression of Zhou Zhiruo's cunning and ruthlessness. Knowing that the true Song Qingshu had been replaced by his own existence, she would undoubtedly dispatch him to the afterlife without hesitation, employing the Nine Yin White Bone Claw.
Having already tasted death once, Song Qingshu yearned to avoid such a fate once more. At that moment, Zhang Wuji entered the room and inquired, "How severe are Brother Song's injuries? Lead me to him."
Upon his arrival, Zhou Zhiruo refrained from turning her head, her voice icy as she remarked, "His bones are shattered, and his wounds are grave. Survival seems unlikely. Whether he can last through the night remains uncertain."
Hearing these words, a wry smile crept onto Song Qingshu's lips. "This young lady truly lacks compassion. The previous owner of this body was her husband in name as well. Yet, with his life hanging by a thread, she remains indifferent. Could it be that she desires him to become a grieving widow, falling into the embrace of Zhang Wuji once more?"
Zhang Wuji interjected, offering a glimmer of hope, "You know, my medical skills are formidable. I will spare no effort in his treatment."
These words sparked a flicker of hope within Song Qingshu's heart. Zhang Wuji had acquired the true teachings of the Immortal Physician, Diegu, and with his expertise, there was a chance to salvage his life.
Curiosity tinged Zhou Zhiruo's voice as she inquired, "Why did you save him?"
Startled by her question, Song Qingshu lying on the bed marveled at the unfortunate fate of the original body's owner. It seemed that things were not going well for him, with his wife seemingly yearning for his swift demise.
Song Qingshu lay on the bed, his mind reeling in stunned disbelief. A surge of pity washed over him for the original owner of this body. It was apparent that things were not going well for him, as his own wife seemed to harbor a sinister desire for his swift demise.
Zhang Wuji, too, was taken aback by Zhou Zhiruo's words. "I express my deepest condolences to you, and I am truly sorry," he uttered, his voice laced with remorse. "Moreover, I am indebted to you for sparing my life earlier today. Brother Song is gravely injured, and it is my duty to do everything in my power to aid him."
Zhou Zhiruo's voice carried a quiet solemnity as she spoke, "I am well aware of your benevolence towards your subordinates. How could I remain oblivious to it? If you can save Brother Song, how would you have me repay you?"
Something felt amiss in this situation. Why did it resemble a conversation between a married couple? How could she ask such a question with such melancholy? Song Qingshu caught a glimpse of vulnerability in the eyes of the original body's owner. Although Zhou Zhiruo was not truly his wife, a sense of sympathy welled up within him.
Zhang Wuji's response broke the tension. "A life for a life. I implore you to show mercy to my adoptive father." Song Qingshu breathed a sigh of relief. Thankfully, Zhang Wuji possessed an indecisive nature. If he were as shameless as Wei Xiaobao, Zhou Zhiruo might have already thrown herself into his arms.
Zhou Zhiruo motioned towards the inner hall, her voice remaining calm. "He is inside."
Approaching the bedside, Zhang Wuji examined Song Qingshu's injuries before speaking, "Mrs. Song, it is difficult for me to determine whether I can save Brother Song's life. May I make an attempt?"
The mention of "Mrs. Song" caused Song Qingshu's regard for Zhang Wuji to grow. "If I am healed, I shall overlook the flirtations between you and Zhou Zhiruo," he resolved silently. Indeed, the original Song Qingshu had reason to despise Zhang Wuji, but he had merely inherited Song Qingshu's body without needing to inherit the hatred in his heart. As for the discontentment he had felt before, it stemmed solely from his possessive nature as a man, as Zhou Zhiruo was widely recognized as a great beauty in the martial arts world.
Reflecting on it now, that woman believed that Song Qingshu's character was flawed, and she was not entirely mistaken. Such was society—unless one was a wealthy scion awaiting their demise or a mediocre individual content with idleness, engaging in any struggle would invariably result in assimilation within society's vast melting pot.
In this world, there was little distinction between good and bad people. The misfortune of the wicked lay in exposing their dark side to the majority, while the virtuous, whether intentionally or unintentionally, revealed their good side to all.
Song Qingshu embodied the former in this tragedy. His dark side had been laid bare before the woman by his romantic rival, casting him as the villain. The woman, oblivious to the dark side of his rival, perceived him as a gentleman, even if he were to be slain by said rival.
Lost in contemplation, Song Qingshu barely noticed that Zhang Wuji had already begun the process of setting his fractured bones. Agonizing pain wracked his body, but with the uncertainty surrounding this world, he dared not utter a sound, feigning slumber while enduring the torment.
With steady hands, Zhang Wuji aligned the broken bones, carefully applying the Black Jade Intermittent Ointment. Drawing upon the profound Nine Suns Divine Art, he infused the medicinal properties into Song Qingshu's shattered limbs. After what seemed like an eternity, a sigh of relief escaped Zhang Wuji's lips, and he turned to face Zhou Zhiruo. "Brother Song's life is no longer in grave peril; however, there is a complication..."
Zhou Zhiruo's countenance remained devoid of joy as she calmly inquired, "But what is it?"
"It appears that Senior Brother Song's meridians have been irreparably severed. He may never be able to cultivate martial arts again," Zhang Wuji disclosed, each word striking Song Qingshu's senses like a series of thunderclaps. He was left dumbfounded, acutely aware of the dire implications of being rendered powerless in the martial arts world.
Zhou Zhiruo's expression remained unchanged, her voice indifferent. "Do not burden yourself with guilt. Saving him was no easy feat," she stated, leaving Song Qingshu feeling unsettled. It was as if they were a married couple, and he was the outsider—no, he truly was an outsider.
Concerned that Zhou Zhiruo might be unable to defeat Shaolin Sandu, Zhang Wuji cautiously broached the subject of the formidable King Kong's Magic Circle, suggesting a collaborative effort to unravel its secrets.
Zhou Zhiruo swiftly dismissed the proposition. "While we had an agreement in the past, my husband's life now hangs in the balance. If I were to spare your life today, others would undoubtedly accuse me of harboring lingering affections. Should I seek your assistance once more, the world will brand me shameless and promiscuous."
Anxiety etched across his features, Zhang Wuji implored, "We need only hold steadfast to our convictions. Why should we concern ourselves with the opinions of others?"
Zhou Zhiruo's response permeated the room with a sense of ambiguity as she posed a rhetorical question, "But what if I harbor a guilty conscience?"
Bitterness tugged at Song Qingshu's lips as he expressed profound condolences for the original body's owner. "Oh, wretched Brother Qingshu, what sins did you commit in your past life? Not only has your body been usurped by me, but it seems you were also destined to lose your wife."