Ying Jia lay motionless on the silk sheets, her consciousness floating in a strange haze as warm energy continued flowing through her decimated body.
She could feel Tianlong's hand still pressed against her chest, the pink spirit's ethereal touch adding to the torrent of life force flooding her system.
But what confused her more than the miraculous healing was the simple question echoing in her mind: 'Why?'
Why was this man—this emperor who barely knew her—going to such lengths for someone like her? She was nothing now. A broken shell, a dying husk that had been systematically drained for decades. What possible benefit could he gain from wasting his precious resources on her?
The vitality coursing through her veins was unlike anything she'd experienced, even in her divine days. It wasn't the cold, sterile energy of celestial cultivation, but something warm and alive, pulsing with genuine care rather than obligation.
'Crack.'
