When consciousness slowly returned, Gene found himself submerged in a haze of muffled pain. His first glimpse of the waking world was not the familiar ceiling above him but a pair of tear-reddened eyes—Lingyue's eyes. They shimmered like peach blossoms soaked in spring rain, swollen and raw from sleepless weeping.
Only then did he notice her face: pale with exhaustion, framed by a few stray strands of hair that had slipped loose from her usually perfect coiffure. It was clear she had been keeping vigil at his side for a long time, so long she had forgotten even to comb her hair.
"You're awake at last…" Lingyue's voice trembled as her lips curved into something between a smile and a sob. But before she could finish, tears broke free and fell in glittering trails down her cheeks.
Gene's chest felt as though it had been split open by blades. Every breath was fire raking through shattered ribs and bruised organs. He could hardly move; even drawing in air was a battle he dared not wage too heavily. He tried to speak, but only a grimace answered her, his lips tightening with the weight of pain.
"Are you thirsty? Do you want some water?" Lingyue asked softly. Her words were tender, yet brimming with helpless worry.
He didn't answer. His senses were dulled, sluggish as though he were still wandering the threshold between life and death. Was he thirsty? Hungry? He couldn't tell. The only certainty was pain, a deep and unrelenting ache that chained him to his mortal shell.
Lingyue gently scooped up water with a porcelain spoon. Just as she raised it to his lips, a knock echoed at the door.
"Who is it?" Lingyue's voice immediately sharpened, her patience threadbare.
"Junior Sister, it's me," came a middle-aged man's voice, calm yet cautious.
Lingyue's brows pinched together. "Second Brother, what do you want?"
The man outside did not enter, only asked in a steady tone, "Has the boy awakened?"
"What are you scheming?" Lingyue snapped, her voice laced with frost.
"Junior Sister, Uncle Luyan wishes to see you."
"I refuse." Lingyue dipped the spoon again, ignoring the muffled presence at the door.
A weary sigh drifted through the wood. "I understand your mood, but matters have grown too loud to ignore. There must be an explanation… especially concerning Junior Brother Tianyu."
At that name, fury ignited in Lingyue's chest. She rose so quickly her chair scraped across the floor and stormed toward the door.
"An explanation? Feng Tianyu demands one, but Gene does not? He saved my life! If you will not grant him justice, then I shall take it myself! The wound on Tianyu's back came from my sword—if there must be punishment, punish me! Or do you mean to seize me as well?"
"Junior Sister, calm yourself," the man coughed awkwardly, trying to soothe her. "Tianyu lies gravely injured. Retribution can wait. It is Master who sent me. It is… improper for a maiden to tend alone to an unfamiliar young man. Let Third Aunt come in and relieve you."
Lingyue yanked the door open with a snarl.
"Gravely injured? Tianyu suffered a cut on his arm and back—no broken bones, no torn organs! That is not grievous. Gene, however, has shattered ribs, crushed lungs, wounds that may yet claim his life. That is grievous! Tell my father this: I will not leave! I will stay because I do not trust you. You would repay virtue with treachery, silence the truth with blood!"
"Junior Sister, those are heavy words. He saved you—how could we ever…"
"He did not just save me. He saved my life!" Lingyue's voice broke, trembling under the weight of raw emotion. "Second Brother, I am not in the mood to argue. Please leave."
"Junior Sister, Master—"
"I said I will not go! I will remain here until he recovers! Even if my father himself comes, I will not leave. And tell Uncle Luyan this: if he seeks to punish, let him punish Feng Tianyu first—for betraying gratitude, for killing without cause. Drive him from the Soul-Guard Alliance, and I will accept any sentence afterward!"
Silence stretched beyond the doorway before the man's voice returned, tinged with resignation. "Junior Sister, your pursuit of Tianyu across the eastern and western peaks—everyone has seen it. Tianyu will surely face judgment. But you, a young woman, alone with a strange boy… it is not fitting. Let Third Aunt tend him, if only to share your burden."
From the side, an older woman's voice sounded—gentle, apologetic. "Miss, forgive me. I should have been here sooner. Please, allow me to serve."
But Lingyue shook her head sharply. "No. I will do it myself."
The man's tone grew firmer, though still pleading. "Junior Sister, forgive my bluntness. You have never served another in your life—how could you possibly care for the gravely injured? Spare yourself. Spare him. Let Third Aunt—"
"Enough. Leave me!" Lingyue's patience snapped.
They lingered, still entreating. At last, in her fury, Lingyue hurled the porcelain bowl at the ground. It shattered into shards, water splattering across the floor. Both figures outside recoiled instinctively as Lingyue slammed the door shut with a thunderous crack.
The draft of cold air swept across the chamber, biting into Gene's battered lungs. The sudden chill raked through him, aggravating his broken ribs. He gasped once, choked—and darkness swallowed him again before the water could touch his lips.
---
When next he awoke, time had slipped through his fingers like sand.
Again and again, he drifted between sleep and wakefulness. Sometimes he woke coughing on water hastily fed to him, sometimes with searing pain. Just as the Second Brother had warned, Lingyue was wholly untrained. She had never served another, never learned the small arts of care. Her hands trembled as she fed him; she did not know how to turn him without pressing on his wounds. Yet still she stayed, clumsy but resolute.
Fortune, perhaps, favored him. The Soul-Guard Alliance was rich in spirit herbs and remedies. It was not Lingyue's inexperienced tending that kept him alive, but the medicines placed by his bed. Even so, Gene felt no resentment. How could he? She had fought for him, defied her clan for him. Rumors whispered that after he coughed blood and collapsed, Lingyue had chased Feng Tianyu across the mountains, blade in hand, merciless and unyielding.
The knowledge humbled him. And so, though his consciousness grew clearer each day, he feigned sleep, too uncertain of what words could possibly bridge the gulf between them.
Two more days passed.
Half-dreaming, Gene heard muffled voices beyond the door—one a man's, another Lingyue's, broken by stifled sobs. He could not catch the words. He did not try. The sorrow in her voice was enough.
Moments later, the door creaked open. Footsteps quick and light carried her to his bedside. Fingers pressed against his arm, shaking him gently.
Gene lingered a moment, pretending to surface slowly, then opened his eyes.
"There's good news," Lingyue whispered, a fragile smile breaking through the tears still clinging to her lashes.
Gene's throat was dry, his voice ragged as sand scraping stone. "Your father agreed to take me as a disciple?"
Her smile deepened, softening her tired face. "Better than that."
Gene blinked, struggling to imagine what could surpass such fortune. "What is it?"
Lingyue's lips curved into a smile radiant with triumph and relief. "My father has spoken. When you are healed, he will give you justice before all. Whatever you ask… he will grant."