For the entire week, I was free to roam Zhaoyun City. The bustling streets, the fragrant aroma of street food, and the warm smiles of light cultivators offered a reprieve from the constant shadow of Ruan Yanjun. I considered taking the chance to escape—severing the strange tie that bound me to him—but I hesitated.
This freedom felt like a test.
Ruan Yanjun wasn't careless. He didn't strike me as someone who would leave without calculating every possible outcome. If I ran, it would only confirm his suspicions that I couldn't be trusted. And with his connections, I doubted there was anywhere I could hide where he wouldn't find me.
The thought of upsetting him again lingered in my mind. If I made a mistake, I knew he would restrict my movements once more, keeping me shackled at his side. I didn't want that—not the confinement, nor the quiet disappointment in his eyes that always felt like a dagger to my pride.
So, I stayed.
As the days went by, the toll of my relentless exploration began to show. It started with a subtle unease in my chest, a pressure I knew all too well, growing heavier with each hour. By evening, I was coughing up blood once more, the vivid crimson staining my hands—a grim reminder of my fragility.
By morning, I could barely stand. My legs trembled beneath me, and every breath felt like I was inhaling shards of glass.
I hadn't realized how dependent I'd become on Ruan Yanjun's medicines until now. His experimental concoctions—however unorthodox—had kept me stable for months. Now, without him, my condition was spiraling out of control.
How ironic. I, a renowned alchemist once hailed as the Divine Mage, couldn't even manage my own ailment. And yet, a demon—someone who had no formal training in alchemy—had been the one keeping me alive.
After Jinjing's death, I had lost the will to continue searching for a cure. My grief had hollowed me out, leaving me a shell too tired to fight. It was easier to rely on Ruan Yanjun, to let him take charge while I passively accepted whatever fate awaited me.
But now, the poison ravaging my body left me no choice. The balance of my dual cores had become dangerously unstable, the light and dark energies warring within me like restless storms. I spent the next two days meditating, desperately trying to calm the cores and suppress the poison before it consumed me entirely.
I must have overestimated my strength. The next time I opened my eyes, I wasn't on the floor where I had been meditating. I was in bed, my limbs heavy and my mind sluggish.
At first, I couldn't tell if it was day or night. The light in the room was soft and golden, either the dim glow of a lantern or the first rays of dawn. My vision was too blurry to make sense of it. Even the edges of reality felt frayed, as though I were caught between a dream and waking.
Then I heard his voice.
"Take this."
Ruan Yanjun's deep, commanding tone cut through the haze, anchoring me to the present.
I blinked, trying to focus, and saw his familiar silhouette leaning over me. He was sitting beside the bed, his presence as solid and steady as a mountain.
"Lord Ruan," I whispered, my voice barely audible. My heart skipped unexpectedly, the sight of him stirring a wave of relief so profound it almost made me tear up. I hadn't realized how much I'd wanted him to return until now.
His hand brushed against my cheek, his fingers warm against my cold skin. "Take this," he said again, pressing a pill against my lips.
I obeyed, though it took all the strength I had to swallow. The pill slid down my throat, its bitter taste spreading quickly. I gasped for air as it settled, already feeling a strange warmth radiating through my body.
"You're back," I managed to say, though the words felt heavy on my tongue.
"Don't talk," he replied softly, his tone uncharacteristically gentle. "You need to rest."
But I didn't want to rest. A strange fear took hold of me, a fear that if I closed my eyes, he would vanish again. I wanted to ask him where he had been, why he had left without telling me, but I couldn't summon the energy to speak.
Instead, I reached out with trembling fingers, grasping his hand. It was a simple gesture, but it carried everything I couldn't put into words.
Stay.
He didn't pull away. His fingers curled around mine, firm and reassuring.
The warmth of his touch lulled me into a fragile sense of safety. My eyes grew heavy, and despite my resistance, sleep began to claim me.