Chapter 23: Fever

The boy was held in the girl's arms, his nose pressed against her shoulder. The scent of grass and trees overpowered the smell of blood—a fragrance both strange and familiar.

"Why... did you come back?" he asked in a low voice.

The girl’s hand, which had been supporting him, briefly pulled away to touch the wooden door beside them. In an instant, branches sprouted from the wood, wrapping around them and lifting them upward. Her hand returned to his back just as quickly, holding him tight once more.

Ye Miwei did not know how to answer this question; perhaps Xie Yuzhu would have had a better one. She had only looked back while running, seeing the boy kneeling on the ground in despair, and suddenly recalled Xie Yuzhu’s words: "At the very least, when he falls, you should help him up, shouldn't you? It must hurt so much to fall like that!"

Ye Miwei said, "Well... even though this is a dream, even though everything you see is fake, even though they cannot kill you and their blows cause no pain, still..."

She could utter countless "even thoughs," but she could not find a single "but" to follow them. Just as she did not understand why Xie Yuzhu wanted her to help Wen Ci, she could not find any reason to support this "but." She did not grasp the meaning of such an action; it was futile and superfluous. Even if it were a mere gesture, there was no necessity to perform it.

Though she did not understand, she had promised. She had promised Wen Ci that when he "fell" again, she would be there to catch him.

"But I have decided to save you," Ye Miwei replied.

The boy buried his head in her embrace, tightened his arms around her neck, and remained silently mute.

A sea of blood roared through the giant gates, crashing down with the force of thunder and lightning, causing the heavens and earth to tremble. The giant gates rocked violently under the immense pressure. The branches grown from the *Shengji* technique, which were climbing the wooden doors, swayed wildly. Ye Miwei lost her footing and tumbled, but as the *Wanxiang Senluo* rotated, countless new branches extended to catch them.

Ye Miwei held Wen Ci as they collided against the branches. A deafening crash echoed as the furthest gate, loosened by the deluge of blood, swayed and collapsed. It was so high it seemed bottomless, crashing down like a crumbling mountain onto the gate before it.

In an instant, all the gates collapsed one after another, reaching Ye Miwei and Wen Ci in a heartbeat and plunging them into the sea of blood. As her head sank beneath the crimson surface, Ye Miwei heard a distant, ancient voice.

"Come back... you promised you would return..."

"How long do you intend to run? You deceived me... Wu Enci! You must return!"

"Do you think you can escape? Do you think you can outrun me! I will find you! Once I drag you back... you will never be able to return to that world again!"

The voice echoed endlessly in the sea of blood, as if pulling one into a perpetual descent.

Branches stubbornly pierced through the wooden gates that weighed them down, growing upward to drag them back to the surface. Ye Miwei freed one arm to cling to the lattice of a fallen wooden window. The sea of blood rose to their chests and continued to surge. The boy clung to the door as well, coughing violently, spewing bright red blood—whether his own or the blood-water he had inhaled, she could not tell.

"Wen Ci, you must wake up!"

In the crisis, Ye Miwei analyzed the situation with startling clarity: "This is just a nightmare. You said you hate the sight of blood, yet you were wounded and bled yesterday—that is likely why you dreamt of this sea of blood. You said someone was chasing you relentlessly, which is why you hear that voice calling you back. As for these mountains of corpses and giant gates, I do not know their origin, but they are all your illusions. In short, as long as you wake up, we can both be saved."

The boy froze. He stopped coughing, bowed his head, and stared at the wooden door beneath his hands in silence.

From this angle, Ye Miwei noticed a thin, long red mark on his neck, about a finger’s width, extending from his jaw to his collarbone. It was not a wound; it looked more like a birthmark.

She remembered that Wen Ci had no such birthmark.

The boy slowly raised his head, as if remembering something. The fear and sorrow in his eyes faded, leaving only a pure, hollow blackness. His voice was calm.

"Sister, you are mistaken. I am not him."

"I am not him; I am his nightmare."

Ye Miwei’s eyes widened, reflecting the boy’s cold expression. He continued, "I am just like this sea of blood, these mountains of corpses, the giant gates, and the shouting. When he wakes, I will disappear."

The sea of blood surged. Silence fell between the two, the waves rolling over them, gradually rising to their chins. Ye Miwei’s silver-white hair floated in the blood, staining it red. Her own aura was always pale; perhaps she had never been so vivid until this moment.

She blinked, and blood dripped from her lashes, sliding down her cheeks.

She asked sincerely, "Then, if you die, will he wake up?"

"If that were the case, would you regret saving me just now?" the boy countered.

"If I regretted it, could you die right now?"

"Why should it be me who dies and not you?"

"Do you want me to die?"

"Does he want you to die?"

"I don't know. Sometimes he seems to, but most of the time, he doesn't."

"You just said you wanted to save him. Will you save him? Just like you came back to save me?"

"Yesterday, I promised. If he needs me to, I will."

The boy had been strangely cold throughout their conversation, but upon hearing her last words, he suddenly burst into laughter. Clinging to the wooden door, a sorrowful madness, mismatched with his age, appeared in his eyes. He laughed until he began to weep, his tears diluting the blood on his face, looking like a true madman.

Then he leaned toward her, staring into her eyes with his pitch-black gaze, and said, word by word: "Then you must save him."

With that, he shoved her hard backward. Ye Miwei was pushed into the sea of blood, sinking into the vortex. The old man’s voice, which had just begun to rise, faded into weakness, and the sense of suffocation and the metallic tang of blood peaked for a single heartbeat.

Then, it all vanished.

Ye Miwei blinked and took a step back. The warm sunlight of late spring and early summer fell upon her. Before her stood an ordinary wooden door and a deserted corridor. Birdsong drifted past the window, and her shadow was cast upon the doorframe.

Judging by the angle of the shadow, not much time had passed; it was as if nothing had ever happened.

She pondered for a moment before reaching out to push the door open. Behind it was a small, simple guest room. A figure lay on its side on the bed by the window, curled up under the covers with eyes tightly shut. The sunlight fell on his back, revealing the subtle trembling of his spine.

Ye Miwei walked over and crouched by the bed, reaching out to nudge his shoulder: "Wen Ci, Wen Ci!"

He furrowed his brows and buried his face in the bedding, offering no response. Ye Miwei tried to turn his face toward her, but when her hand touched his cheek, she found the temperature shockingly hot.

Her palm was suddenly seized. Wen Ci slowly turned his head to look at her. His eyes were only slightly open, dim and unfocused, as if he were not yet fully awake, appearing strangely docile.

The cheek beneath her palm was burning as if it might melt, yet the hand of his that covered hers was ice-cold, as were his rings and bead bracelet.

Ye Miwei stood up immediately and walked out the door, calling out as she went, "Yuzhu, Cangshu! Wen Ci seems to be ill!"

Wen Ci watched her walk away from the doorway; the figure overlapped with the one he had seen in the sea of blood, running past the giant gates while holding the boy. After a long moment of confusion, he buried his face back into the bedding.

"Ye Miwei..." he breathed, only the name escaping his lips.

The tone was as peaceful as a sigh, filled with a sense of relief.

There were no more nightmares in his sleep this time.

When Wen Ci awoke amidst the clamor, his vision was dim, and the bed beneath him was swaying. He stared at the low ceiling with a blank mind for a while before realizing he was in a spacious carriage, with a wet cloth placed on his forehead.

His left collar was pulled aside, revealing a finger-length wound on his chest, which seemed to have been cleaned again.

The road was rough, and the carriage jolted back and forth, enough to make one dizzy and nauseous—if Ye Miwei could feel motion sickness, this would surely be the cause. Just as Wen Ci attempted to sit up, a hand pressed him down.

Ye Miwei’s face appeared in his field of vision. She was no longer wearing her grey cloak, but a blue and white dress. Her silver hair fell over her as she leaned in, examining him carefully.

"You're awake? Your timing is perfect; it’s just turned dark."

"The noise is too loud."

"What noise?"

Wen Ci said softly, "The dreams of everyone."

Most people worked at sunrise and rested at sunset, so as soon as night fell, the dreams of the multitude within a hundred-mile radius began to churn in his mind like a noisy cauldron. Usually, he could coexist with them, but now, weakened by illness, he felt powerless. His thoughts moved as if trudging through a swamp, heavy and laborious.

Thus, Wen Ci’s demeanor was uncharacteristically peaceful, and his voice was weak.

Under normal circumstances, Ye Miwei would have immediately asked about the strange nightmare he had just suffered. She opened her mouth, but remembered Xie Yuzhu’s earnest, long-winded, and heartfelt exhortations before she boarded the carriage, urging her to care for Wen Ci’s health.

So, Ye Miwei swallowed the question on the tip of her tongue and began to tend to his condition. "Your wound festered and became inflamed after it had healed. The doctor said your body is extremely strange; the wound was supposed to be fatal, so it shouldn't have healed so quickly. But since it had healed, it shouldn't have become so severely infected again."

Even as the doctor left after prescribing the medicine, he had kept clicking his tongue in disbelief, exclaiming that it was utterly inconceivable.

Wen Ci frowned and asked, "...You brought in a doctor?"

"Yes. Xie Yuzhu and Cangshu went to the nearest town to fetch one. She also bought two carriages, saying you should rest well for these next few days as we head toward Mount Chongdan."

Wen Ci’s gaze shifted to the carriage curtain, where a shadow was vaguely visible.

"The coachman outside?"

"Oh, that is a clay puppet controlled by Yuzhu."

"...She certainly uses them with ease."

Wen Ci was somewhat surprised, then let out a laugh. "Miss Xie has finally become a spiritual bandit, charging ahead without regard for the consequences—worthy of being your disciple, Ye Miwei."

After a pause, he reached out to hook the *Qiankun* pouch at Ye Miwei’s waist. "Give me the pouch."

Ye Miwei unfastened it and handed it to him. Wen Ci fished out a white medicine bottle and poured the pill inside into his mouth.

Before her eyes, the infection in his wound began to recover at a visible rate. The skin around the wound even displayed blue patterns, spreading along his meridians to his limbs and bones.

Ye Miwei lifted his arm in surprise, turning it over curiously to inspect the patterns on his skin. "What kind of medicine is this?"

"The medicine you made when you were studying me all those years ago. It only works on me."

"Is it mixed with *Cang* crystals, circulating in your blood?"

"Yes. You went to great lengths to keep me from dying," Wen Ci said with a flat tone.

She had once reshaped his entire body’s meridians and organs, to the point where his internal organs were no longer where they were supposed to be. It made him difficult to kill from severe trauma, but prone to becoming gravely ill from minor ailments. Thus, fatal wounds were not the issue; it was the inflammation caused by the recovery process that was truly lethal.