Shen Manyun’s gaze involuntarily followed Yan Feiguang as he walked. She hid behind the window, her focused eyes discreet and careful, with no sense of presence.
She saw the man in black that Yan Feiguang was carrying seemed lifeless, his limbs drooping limply, as if he had melted.
He entered the medical hall.
Unable to resist her curiosity, Shen Manyun shifted her position; from her spot, she could see the situation in the medical hall by moving the screen aside.
In the original book, Yan Feiguang had few appearances, and there was no description of his own life.
So Shen Manyun felt a bit intrigued.
In the main hall, Song Yuchen was dozing off in front of the medicine cabinet. When she heard Yan Feiguang’s footsteps, she quickly straightened up.
“City Lord?” Song Yuchen approached and asked.
As her gaze met Yan Feiguang supporting the person, she took a half step back, seemingly a bit frightened.
“Is it a Soul… Soul Clan?” Song Yuchen guided Yan Feiguang to place the injured person on the bed, asking in surprise.
“Mm.” Yan Feiguang nodded slightly.
Soul Clan? Shen Manyun was also surprised by this scene.
The original book mentioned this race; they usually looked like ordinary people.
However, under special circumstances, if they were provoked, they would transform into terrifying, bloodthirsty monsters.
It was as if an evil seed was buried within their bodies, or perhaps their ordinary appearance was merely a disguise.
The original book described that many disasters were caused by the Soul Clan, and the female protagonist had been trying to find ways to exterminate this harmful race to humanity.
Now, Yan Feiguang actually brought a Soul Clan member here to treat their injuries?
Shen Manyun quietly watched everything unfold, and her small movements were noticed by Song Yuchen.
The girl turned back and smiled reassuringly at Shen Manyun: “Miss Shen, if you’re scared, you can hide first. The Soul Clan isn’t rare in Wuwang City.”
Song Yuchen didn’t attempt to treat the unconscious Soul Clan member; she asked Yan Feiguang, “City Lord, I can’t treat the Soul Clan. Should I go back and call my master?”
“No need, he can’t either.” Yan Feiguang’s gaze was lowered; he had also noticed Shen Manyun observing everything, but he didn’t mind.
He took off the wrist guard from his left hand and retrieved a small steel knife from Song Yuchen’s medicine box.
“Get some hemostatic medicine.” Yan Feiguang decisively pulled open the collar of the man in black on the bed.
Then, he made a cut on his wrist, and instantly, blood gushed down, dripping onto the bare chest of the man in black.
When Shen Manyun saw Yan Feiguang bleed, she immediately turned her head away, not daring to look again.
However, the man’s scream on the bed was particularly sharp, pulling her gaze back.
As soon as the blood from Yan Feiguang touched the man’s chest, it seemed as if something inside was stirring, causing the skin over his chest to turn pale.
With a “puff,” that thing that had been stirring burst forth from his chest.
It was not a terrifying creature, nor was it an organ from his body, but a living flower.
This flower had golden-yellow petals, radiant like the sunset at dusk, splendid and enchanting beyond belief.
Shen Manyun felt her breath catch for a moment, as if she were suffocating; she recognized this flower.
This flower was called the Evening Orchid. True to its name, it only blooms at dusk when day transitions to night, wilting completely after the sun has set.
Though beautiful, its blooming moment is fleeting; once the dusk has passed, it withers entirely, and the whole plant dies.
An Evening Orchid takes over a hundred years to grow; for a century, they lie buried in dark soil, blooming once, only to die at dusk.
A hundred years of darkness exchanged for the fleeting, fragile beauty of the Evening Orchid, like a dream or a bubble, vanishing in an instant.
On the protagonist’s birthday, Yan Feiguang had gifted her an Evening Orchid that would not wither.
No one knew how this Evening Orchid survived the dusk, preserved by Yan Feiguang.
Now, Shen Manyun witnessed the Evening Orchid growing from the heart of a living Soul Clan member.
Upon seeing this flower, Yan Feiguang’s brow furrowed slightly.
He held the knife in one hand, pressing down on his wrist wound a bit more, causing the blood to flow faster.
Shen Manyun’s fingers gripped the wooden frame of the screen tightly, feeling a tingle run down her spine.
His wound was so deep, yet he remained motionless, as if he felt no pain.
At this moment, the limbs of the Soul Clan member on the bed had completely softened, resembling a puddle of black mud on the bed.
All the blood that Yan Feiguang had shed was absorbed by the man’s body.
What on earth was happening? Shen Manyun was frightened, yet she couldn’t tear her gaze away.
Her eyes fell on the wound on the Soul Clan member’s chest, which had been opened by the Evening Orchid.
As Yan Feiguang’s blood was absorbed, the wound began to slowly heal, but the speed of healing was very slow.
The body structure of the Soul Clan was completely different from that of humans.
When their wounds opened, they were like patches, as if countless pieces of black flesh were intricately stacked to form their bodies.
Now, Yan Feiguang’s blood was guiding their body to heal, the torn flesh reconnecting according to some woven pattern.
This didn’t seem like healing; it felt more like… mending.
Yes, it was mending.
The power that Yan Feiguang transferred to the Soul Clan became a needle threading through fabric, invisibly weaving the Soul Clan’s body back together, following the instinctual healing pattern of their bodies.
However, guiding this healing process required Yan Feiguang to shed a significant amount of blood.
This mending process appeared quite complex, yet it was clear and understandable to Shen Manyun.
She had a natural ability to see through those intricate lines and quickly grasp their interwoven patterns.
She could learn all the stitching techniques after just one look; it was her job and the value of her existence.
Her gaze moved up from the Soul Clan’s terrible wound, following the stream of bright red blood, and she saw that the wound on Yan Feiguang’s wrist had already turned pale.
Beside her, Song Yuchen anxiously rummaged through her medicine box for healing ointments and bandages several times but dared not step forward to stop him.
Seeing his wound heal slightly, Yan Feiguang picked up the small knife again, intending to make another cut.
At this moment, Shen Manyun finally mustered her courage; instinctively, she lunged forward and softly said to Yan Feiguang, “Don’t…”
Yan Feiguang looked at her, but Shen Manyun quickly lowered her head, her voice very soft: “I… can I try?”
“I can stitch it up… no… I can heal him.” After observing earlier, Shen Manyun had already seen the Soul Clan’s unique body structure clearly.
Yan Feiguang would not have believed her, but Shen Manyun had unwittingly used the word “stitch.”
In all of Wuwang City, or perhaps the entire world, there was no one who would treat the Soul Clan.
They were beings meant to be exterminated, and no one was willing to expend energy researching how to save them.
Perhaps, before Shen Manyun, only Yan Feiguang understood the Soul Clan in the entire world.
But even Yan Feiguang could only guide the Soul Clan’s body to self-heal by continuously expending energy.
The body structure of the Soul Clan was too intricate and complex; it was impossible to discern with the naked eye how the flesh and blood that made up their bodies were woven into a complete form.
Even if Yan Feiguang felt powerless, he knew that the Soul Clan’s body was structured like fabric.
A careless word from Shen Manyun made him believe in her.
Yan Feiguang took a piece of high-quality gauze with golden wound medicine from Song Yuchen’s hands and pressed it against his wrist to
stop the bleeding.
He turned to Shen Manyun and said, “Come.”
Shen Manyun’s limbs felt weak, but she quickly lunged forward, holding a needle that Song Yuchen had given her.
Though this needle was delicate, it was too thick for the Soul Clan’s exquisitely intricate body structure.
Shen Manyun sighed softly as she gazed at the Evening Orchid growing on the Soul Clan’s chest—one she might soon give to the
protagonist.
Indeed, she couldn’t do anything; what good was it to see clearly? There were no tools here.
How could there be such fine needles in this world?
She lowered her head, lost in thought, feeling all the courage she had just mustered vanish, her excited heartbeat slowing down.
“I’m sorry, I…” Shen Manyun felt a bit ridiculous, her whole body devoid of strength.
She still held the embroidery needle in her hand, and in her disappointment, her grip slowly tightened.
The sharp needle tip nearly pressed against her finger.
But Yan Feiguang’s hand brushed away the embroidery needle.
The injured Soul Clan member had fallen silent, and the room was quiet; the sound of a needle dropping was clear and piercing.
Shen Manyun’s body trembled in surprise.
Yan Feiguang leaned down, and a misty white light glowed at his fingertips, gathering the blood he had spilled.
The blood coalesced into an extremely fine needle, almost invisible to the naked eye.
Yan Feiguang couldn’t hold this needle in his hand; he could only use magic to present it before Shen Manyun.
With just one glance, he could see Shen Manyun’s predicament.
This blood needle was so fine that it was hard to see, but it was very clear in Shen Manyun’s eyes.
“I’m sorry, no… thank you.” When Shen Manyun raised her hand, her fingers were no longer trembling.
She was born to do this.
With two fingers, she pinched the blood needle, squinting her eyes; the sky had darkened, and the indoor light was dim.
Yan Feiguang stood still, the misty white light he had given to Shen Manyun rose into the air, becoming extremely bright, illuminating everything in the room.
Now everything was clear; Shen Manyun bent down, picking up the needle. Her fingers were slender and nimble, with thin calluses from years of sewing at the thumb and index finger.
She hooked her fingers, drawing a part of the Soul Clan’s body closer; these fragments of flesh and blood appeared to her as tattered cloth.
Now, she needed to stitch the tattered cloth back together according to the original weaving technique, making it as good as new.
This was difficult, yet achievable.
Shen Manyun patiently searched for the “threads” scattered around the Soul Clan’s heart, the blood needle flying up and down.
To the onlookers, the Soul Clan’s wound was indeed slowly healing.
This speed was even faster than when Yan Feiguang supplied him with blood energy.
“This…” Song Yuchen had somehow found a crystal mirror and put it on, squinting hard but still unable to see Shen Manyun’s movements or the extremely intricate structure of the Soul Clan’s body.
Shen Manyun’s eyes became extremely sharp upon seeing these fabrics, far more sensitive than an ordinary person’s.
Song Yuchen said nothing more, just quietly watched alongside Yan Feiguang as Shen Manyun treated the Soul Clan.
After a long time, Shen Manyun felt her body stiffen, exhausted to the point where she could barely lift her hands.
But fortunately, the Soul Clan’s wound had been completely “stitched” up, and as the wound healed, the Evening Orchid that had grown on
him also fell.
It did not fall to the ground; Shen Manyun saw her slightly trembling hand, catching a glimpse of Yan Feiguang leaning down.
He bent over, reaching out, carefully and steadily cradling the flower in his hand.