After Mao Hai left, I shed my wet outer robe and hung it by the stove to dry. The fire crackled cheerily, warming the small kitchen and filling the air with the soft, comforting aroma of heated broth.
I found a bowl and spoon in the dusty cabinet, the porcelain chipped but clean after a quick rinse. It was strange how everything in this house looked frozen in time—like someone had left in a hurry and never returned. Once the soup was properly warmed, I poured a generous portion and brought it back to the bed.
Lan Feng lay where I had left him, his body sunken into the mattress, his lips parted slightly as he breathed. His eyes were open but unfocused, as if he were looking through the ceiling rather than at it.
I sat on the edge of the bed and gently lifted him to a half-sitting position against the headboard, his body weak and pliant under my hands. Supporting him with one arm, I brought the spoon to his lips.
"Feng'er, you need to eat something," I coaxed, my voice soft.
He turned his head away, a faint tremble in his neck. "I don't want to…"
"You haven't eaten since yesterday," I said, gently brushing hair from his damp forehead. "Just a little. Please."
He hesitated, then opened his mouth slightly. He swallowed the first spoonful with difficulty, but he didn't resist when I brought him more. Bit by bit, he allowed me to feed him, though every movement seemed to drain what little strength he had left. After he managed half the bowl, I set it aside and took out a fever-reducing powder I had prepared earlier.
"Here," I said, mixing the powder with water and offering it to him. "This will help."
He drank it obediently, then leaned his head against my shoulder, eyes flickering restlessly around the room.
"Feng'er, you need to sleep," I said, easing him back down onto the bed and adjusting the blankets around him.
"I don't want to sleep," he murmured, his voice dry and fragile.
I frowned. "Why not? What are you afraid of?"
His gaze met mine, wide and glassy. "I feel like… you're just a dream, and if I fall asleep… you'll disappear."
The weight of his words settled heavily in my chest. There was no teasing in his voice, no trace of his usual mischief—only raw, fevered fear.
I reached for his hand, intertwining our fingers. "I'm here," I said. "Feel that? That's me. I'm real. I'm not going anywhere."
His grip tightened faintly, as if anchoring himself to the truth in my words. "You're not an illusion?"
"No, Feng'er," I said, managing a soft smile. "I'm real. And I'm staying right here with you."
He stared at me for a long time, as if committing my face to memory. Then, slowly, he let his head fall back against the pillow.
"Just promise you won't leave me, Gege…"
"I promise," I whispered, brushing my fingers through his hair. "Now close your eyes and rest."
His lashes fluttered shut, and for a long moment, it looked as if he'd finally surrendered to sleep. But then his fingers twitched around mine, and his lips moved.
"Gege…" he mumbled, voice slurred, "there's someone… in my head… trying to…"
I froze. My heart skipped a beat. "Feng'er? What do you mean? Who's trying to—?"
But he didn't answer.
His eyes rolled shut, and his body went limp beneath the blankets.
Panic surged through me. I pressed two fingers to his neck—his pulse was still there, faint and erratic. His breath came in short, shallow bursts.
I placed my hand beneath his head and summoned a thin stream of spiritual energy, weaving it carefully into his skull. My senses combed through the familiar terrain of his brain, brushing past the fragile edges of his still-healing fracture.
The blood clot was still there—intact, unchanged—but this wasn't a normal fever dream. Something was happening, something I couldn't explain. Some invisible force, some disturbance…
As I sat there, watching his fevered sleep, dread coiled in my chest like a serpent. Was his demonic core stirring again, trying to seize control of his body? Or worse… was the real Ruan Yanjun beginning to resurface?
I couldn't ignore the signs. That fragmented murmur, the way his body had gone limp so suddenly—none of it felt ordinary. The thought of the devil within him awakening filled me with unease. Lan Feng, with his childlike innocence and unwavering affection, had become someone I couldn't imagine being without. But if Ruan Yanjun returned, everything would vanish—the laughter, the softness, the delicate trust we had built.
I stroked his hair gently, letting my fingertips comb through the damp strands as I leaned closer, my voice barely a whisper. "Stay with me, Feng'er. Just a little longer."
❖ ❖ ❖ ❖ ❖
The pale light of dawn seeped through the wooden shutters, painting the room in a dull gray hue. The storm had passed, but the lingering chill remained. I had hoped the quiet of morning would bring relief, a sign of improvement—but Lan Feng still hadn't woken. His skin was ashen, lips cracked, and his breaths came shallow and uneven, like whispers of a candle fighting to stay lit.
"Feng'er, wake up," I murmured, placing a hand on his shoulder and giving him the gentlest shake. "Come on, it's morning."
No response.
A tight band wrapped around my chest. Panic threatened to rise again, but I forced it down. I couldn't afford to lose my composure.
Just then, a soft knock came at the door, followed by the creak of wood as Mao Hai stepped inside. He carried a tray with a steaming bowl of congee and some boiled greens, the comforting scent momentarily piercing the tension in the room. His eyes drifted to Lan Feng and immediately darkened with concern.
"Your friend doesn't look good," he said quietly, placing the tray on the small table. "Eat while it's hot. You need your strength."
"Thank you," I replied sincerely. "But I'll tend to him first."
He gave a quiet nod, his gaze lingering on Lan Feng's still form before stepping back. "Let me know if you need anything."
The door closed behind him, and silence returned.
I sat by Lan Feng's side again, my appetite fading beneath the weight in my stomach. The steam from the congee curled gently into the air, fragrant and warm, but I couldn't bring myself to touch it. I could only look at him—his pale face, his damp forehead, the way his hand lay limp beside the blanket like a fallen petal.
I can't lose him.
Swallowing hard, I reached for the clay pot nestled in the folds of my bag. When I uncorked it, a rich earthy aroma spilled out, carrying the faint, silvery shimmer of spiritual energy. The elixir was ready.
I set the clay pot aside and reached for a sealed flask. Uncorking it, I poured a few drops of Dreamless Poppy Decoction into a small cup. Carefully, I lifted his head and brought it to his lips. "Drink this, Feng'er… It'll keep you safe while I work."
Even in his haze, he swallowed instinctively, the bitter herb leaving a faint floral trace on his breath. Within moments, his muscles slackened, and his breathing deepened—unnaturally still and quiet.
I moved slowly, carefully. Easing him onto his stomach, I propped his upper body on a folded blanket. His skin burned with fever, and though he stirred faintly, he didn't wake.
"I'm sorry, Feng'er," I murmured, brushing aside the damp strands clinging to his neck. "This will hurt… but it's the only way to help you."
From the kitchen, I fetched the sharpest knife I could find. I cleaned it meticulously—rinsed it in freshly boiled water, dried it with a clean cloth—and then infused it with spiritual energy. A faint blue glow shimmered along the blade, flickering like silent lightning.
Returning to the bed, I gently turned his head into place. My hands trembled slightly as I positioned the knife over the old scar on his skull. I paused, forcing a breath past the tightness in my chest.
First, I shaved the strands of hair around the scar—just enough to expose the area I needed. If Ruan Yanjun returned, he'd surely be furious about a bald patch on his head. I wasn't ready to face that particular wrath.
I traced the old scar with my thumb. This wasn't my first time performing such a procedure—but it was the first time it mattered this much.
With steady, precise control, I reopened the wound.
The soft slice of blade through skin made my stomach twist, but I didn't let my hand falter. Lan Feng remained utterly still, cradled in the grip of Dreamless Poppy's spell—his body obedient, serene.
Sweat beaded on my forehead as I probed deeper, searching for the blood clot nestled beneath the bone. My spiritual energy lit the path within, guiding my hand as I parted tissue with utmost care.
Then I found it—a dark, pulsing mass, larger than I'd feared. It radiated faint traces of corrupted energy, clinging to life like a parasite unwilling to die.
This was the source of his agony. The obstruction that had nearly taken him from me.
My chest tightened as I began the delicate work of separating it from the surrounding tissue. I used both blade and qi, my hand unwavering as I maneuvered through the fragile depths. Finally, with one last pulse of effort, I drew it free.
It landed in the waiting bowl with a sickening thud.
Gone.
Relief surged through me like a crashing tide. My arms trembled from the effort, but I wasn't done yet. I bathed the wound in a cleansing stream of spiritual energy, burning away every lingering trace of corruption before sealing the incision with focused qi. The skin knit together beneath a soft blue glow, and I wrapped the area with clean bandages.
Only then did I ease him onto his back, cradling his head carefully in my arms. His face was pale, but his breathing was no longer ragged—it was calm. Steady.
I reached for the clay pot and poured the elixir into a small cup. Carefully, I brought it to his lips.
"Drink this, Feng'er," I whispered, my voice hoarse with strain.
At first, he didn't move. His lips remained slack, barely parted. But I coaxed his throat with gentle pressure—light, practiced touches—urging his body to remember the motion. Slowly, he swallowed. The silvery elixir slid down his throat, glowing faintly as it disappeared inside him.
A moment passed.
Then his chest gave a subtle shudder, and a soft pulse of light stirred beneath his skin. His spiritual energy rippled faintly, like a breeze across still water.
He twitched once… then stilled.
But this time, it was the stillness of peace.
His breath deepened. His temperature began to fall. The fever had broken.
I leaned back, my limbs trembling from exhaustion. But my hand still reached for him, brushing a lock of damp hair from his brow. His skin was no longer burning. His pulse was strong.
I sat there in silence, unable to move away. Watching the rise and fall of his chest. Counting each breath. Listening for any sign that he was still with me.
My fingers smoothed back his hair one last time.
"Rest now, Feng'er," I murmured, my voice barely a breath. "But you'll need to wake up soon."