Tong Shuxue nodded. “So we now have two choices. First, take the initiative and eliminate all the people conducting the search. But doing so may alert them and bring a larger-scale mountain search. Second, strengthen concealment, create more false impressions outside the cave, and make the search teams believe there is nothing unusual here.”
Zhao Jingyuan remained silent for a moment.
If it had been before, he would have chosen the first option without hesitation—strike first and eliminate future trouble. But now, his body had just undergone surgery and could not move at all. Although Tong Shuxue’s methods were miraculous, she only had ten people. Even if each one could match a hundred enemies, it would still be difficult to guarantee complete safety against a large-scale military siege.
More importantly, he did not want to drag her down.
Zhao Jingyuan finally made his decision. “The second option. Focus on concealment. Only consider counterattack if we are discovered.”
Tong Shuxue looked at him with slight surprise.
She had thought this once war-hardened War King would prefer an iron-blooded approach, but he had instead chosen the more cautious method.
She nodded in agreement. “Alright, then let’s do that. Ling Yi, deploy more vibration sensors near the cave entrance and expand the coverage to five kilometers. Ling Er, take people to create misleading traces around the area—amplify the movements of hunters and wild animals to cover up our human traces.”
“Yes.”
The two robots immediately left to carry out the orders.
Tong Shuxue then looked at Mo Shen. “From now on, your people should minimize going out. Hunting and water collection will be handled by my people. Focus on taking care of your Prince and prepare for combat at any time.”
Mo Shen cupped his fists. “Understood.”
After giving these instructions, Tong Shuxue finally felt a wave of fatigue. She glanced at the time displayed on the medical pod—it was already past nine in the evening.
“Everyone, go rest.”
She spoke as she turned her wheelchair toward the dimensional space, then added one more instruction before leaving.
“Zhao Jingyuan, stay in the medical pod tonight for observation. Nurse An will take care of you. If you feel any discomfort, report it immediately.”
Zhao Jingyuan nodded, looking at her with a complicated gaze. “Thank you.”
Tong Shuxue waved it off and said nothing more. Her figure vanished from the cave hall.
After returning to the small villa inside the dimensional space, Tong Shuxue collapsed directly onto the sofa.
Her left leg injury had improved significantly, but prolonged sitting still caused soreness.
The fractured ribs had mostly healed, though faint pain remained whenever she breathed.
Zero Four walked over. “Major General, do you need a massage?”
Tong Shuxue waved a hand and closed her eyes.
“No. Go do your own tasks.”
Her mind had been tightly strained the entire day. Although the surgery had been mainly performed by Dr. Jian, she had been the only one present who fully understood the surgical principles, and she had monitored every change in the data throughout the procedure.
Zhao Jingyuan’s physical condition had been better than expected; his cellular activity had recovered quickly. That was a good sign for future treatment.
But the matter of the military boot print had cast a shadow over her thoughts.
This valley was indeed concealed, but it was not absolutely safe.
If the Emperor truly sent a large army to search the mountains in a full sweep, this cave would eventually be discovered.
What would happen then?
Fight head-on? Ten robots plus Zhao Jingyuan’s hundred-plus men—against thousands of troops, what were their chances?
Escape? Zhao Jingyuan had just undergone surgery and could not move at all.
Moreover, leaving this relatively safe environment would severely reduce treatment effectiveness amid constant instability.
Tong Shuxue rubbed her temples, feeling a headache coming on.
She only wanted a quiet place to recover from her injuries—how had she gotten dragged into such trouble?
Ling Yi’s voice came through the communicator. “Major General, deployment complete. Vibration sensors now cover a five-kilometer radius around the cave. Any object with human weight will trigger an alarm.”
Tong Shuxue opened her eyes. “Good. Also place animal pheromones near the sensors to attract wildlife and further mask our presence.”
“Understood.”
The communication ended. Tong Shuxue stood up from the sofa and slowly walked to the window.
Perhaps she should prepare a backup plan for herself.
If things truly got out of control, she could retreat into the dimensional space with her robots and leave—but what about Zhao Jingyuan and the others?
She was not a saint. She had no obligation to risk her life for strangers she had only recently met.
Yet for some reason, when she thought of Zhao Jingyuan gritting his teeth on the operating table, or the light in his eyes when he held a sword, she felt uneasy at the idea of simply leaving.
Forget it. She would take things one step at a time. It had not reached the worst point yet.
Outside the mountain valley, night had deepened like ink.
Deep within the forest, several pairs of eyes were still vigilantly scanning their surroundings, blades and swords pushing aside the undergrowth from time to time.
The search parties had not given up.
Inside the medical pod, Zhao Jingyuan was not asleep.
A dull pain spread through his arms, legs, and body, like countless needles pricking deep within his flesh.
But compared to the pain during surgery, this level was almost negligible.
What concerned him more was something else.
When Dr. Jian reconnected the tendons in his wrist, for a brief moment, he felt a faint sensation in his index finger—not pain, but the feeling of being touched.
It had only lasted an instant, but it had felt so real that his heart had raced violently.
“Nurse An.”
Nurse An, who was organizing instruments, turned around with a standard smile. “Your Highness, do you need something?”
Zhao Jingyuan hesitated, then asked: “During the operation just now, the doctor said my finger reacted. Was that true, or was it my illusion?”
Nurse An walked to the bedside and activated the holographic medical record.
“The data shows that at minute 73 of the surgery, your right index finger did produce a weak neural electrical signal. Although the signal was very faint, it proves that the neural pathway was not completely destroyed and may recover.”
Zhao Jingyuan stared at the curve on the screen. It was not an illusion.
It was real.
His finger still had sensation.
“How long?” he asked, his voice carrying an urgency he did not even realize. “How long until it can move?”
Nurse An explained patiently: “That depends on your recovery. The R5 agent accelerates cellular regeneration, but the nervous system rebuilds slowly.
According to the model, if you cooperate with treatment and rehabilitation, you should be able to attempt simple movements in about three months—such as holding a pen or a spoon.”
Three months.
Zhao Jingyuan closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
As long as he could hold a sword again, as long as he could stand again, let alone three months—even three years, he would wait.
Outside, the night grew deeper.
The cave remained quiet, broken only by the faint hum of the medical equipment and the distant footsteps of night guards on duty.