The morning mist in the valley had not yet dispersed. Dew from the night before still clung to the grass blades, reflecting the rising sunlight in a shimmering glow.
Outside the cave hall, Zhao Jingyuan sat in a wheelchair with a thin blanket over his body. His arms and lower legs were exposed, with several electrode patches attached to his skin. Fine wires connected them to a silver-gray device beside him.
Doctor Jian stood by the device, his fingers sliding across the touchscreen as he adjusted the parameters.
He explained in a calm voice: “This is a low-frequency electrical stimulation device. It uses micro-currents to stimulate your muscles and nerves, preventing atrophy and promoting recovery. Twice a day, each session lasts half an hour.”
Zhao Jingyuan nodded. His gaze fell on his right hand, which lay open on the wheelchair armrest. His fingers were slightly spread apart. Although he still could not bend them, they were no longer in a completely rigid state.
The machine emitted a faint buzzing sound. Under the electrode patches, his skin began to twitch rhythmically. At first, it was only a mild tingling sensation. Gradually, a dull soreness spread along his arm.
It was not pain, but it was far from comfortable.
Zhao Jingyuan clenched his teeth, fine beads of sweat forming on his forehead.
He forced himself to relax, following Doctor Jian’s instructions. He focused his attention on the stimulated muscles, trying to sense those weak electrical currents.
Doctor Jian observed the data on the device. “Good. The neural signals are responding. Now try to imagine your index finger moving. You don’t need to move it—just imagine it.”
Zhao Jingyuan closed his eyes and imagined his index finger moving.
Once. Twice. Three times.
The sweat on his forehead increased.
“Don’t rush. Rebuilding neural connections takes time. Today’s goal is not actual movement, but establishing a link between intention and sensation.”
Zhao Jingyuan opened his eyes and took a deep breath.
He knew impatience would not help, yet the irritation in his heart grew like wild grass.
His elder brother was suffering in the Imperial Prison. His mother and maternal family were walking on thin ice. Yet he could only sit here like a cripple, undergoing these incomprehensible treatments.
“Again.”
He spoke, his voice carrying a suppressed trace of irritation.
Doctor Jian glanced at him but said nothing. He only adjusted the electrical intensity.
The moment the current increased, Zhao Jingyuan let out a muffled groan.
This time, the soreness turned into sharp pain, as if countless fine needles were piercing deep into his muscles. His arm began to tremble uncontrollably, and his fingers twitched on the wheelchair armrest.
“Stop.”
He gritted out the word.
Doctor Jian immediately turned off the machine.
The surroundings fell silent, broken only by Zhao Jingyuan’s heavy breathing.
His arm was still trembling slightly, and sweat had already soaked through the back of his clothes.
Doctor Jian shook his head. “You’re too impatient. Recovery must be gradual. Forcing it will only backfire.”
Zhao Jingyuan said nothing. He only stared at his hand, his eyes surging with unwillingness and anger.
At that moment, Tong Shuxue walked out of the cave carrying a tray with two bowls of milky-white liquid.
She placed the tray on a large stone nearby and brought one bowl to Zhao Jingyuan. “Doctor Jian specially formulated this nutritional solution for you. It replenishes protein and trace elements. It will help your recovery.”
Zhao Jingyuan looked up at her. In the morning light, her face was edged with a soft golden glow. Her gaze was clear—neither sympathetic nor pitying, only calm and steady.
Strangely, this eased the irritation in his heart.
“Thank you.”
He took the bowl. It was porcelain, and the warmth of it passed through the surface into his palm. This was the first time after his surgery that he had truly held something, even though it was only a passive acceptance.
The liquid inside had almost no smell. Its taste was bland, slightly like rice porridge but smoother and more refined.
Tong Shuxue sat on the stone beside him and slowly drank from her own bowl. Neither of them spoke, and only the faint sound of bowls and spoons clinking could be heard.
After a long while, Tong Shuxue finally spoke. “The three hundred men from last night have been dealt with.”
Zhao Jingyuan’s drinking motion paused slightly. “Casualties?”
Tong Shuxue raised an eyebrow. “We sealed both ends of the narrow mountain pass. With rolling stones, logs, and arrows, none escaped. The bodies have already been cleared.”
She spoke lightly, but Zhao Jingyuan could easily imagine the scene.
Three hundred regular troops were not a ragtag mob. Annihilating them without exposing their advanced weapons would not have been easy.
He chose his words carefully. “Your people are formidable.”
Tong Shuxue smiled faintly. “Not bad. The terrain was well chosen. Your thirty brothers were also quite skilled with the bow, and Mo Shen’s command was effective.”
She distributed the credit, but Zhao Jingyuan understood that the real key lay in her mysterious subordinates and her precise grasp of terrain—as if the entire mountain forest existed in her mind, with every potential ambush point and trap already mapped out.
He changed the topic. “Any news from the Imperial Capital?”
Tong Shuxue set down her bowl and took out a small black device from her chest. It was a palm-sized communication receiver with an illuminated screen displaying encrypted text.
She looked at the screen, her brows slightly furrowing.
“Ling San just sent this back. After the Cheng’en Marquis House’s estates were seized, the Emperor has made new moves. At court yesterday, an imperial censor impeached your maternal uncle’s nephew—your cousin working in the Ministry of Revenue—accusing him of mismanaging treasury funds. He has already been imprisoned.”
Zhao Jingyuan placed his bowl down. “This is a probe, and also a warning. If my maternal family makes any further moves, the next one imprisoned will not be a distant nephew, but my uncle—or even my grandfather himself.”
Tong Shuxue nodded. “Ling San reached the same conclusion. He also reported that security in the Imperial Capital has tightened again. Even vegetable farmers entering the city are being searched. Guards at the gates have tripled. At this rate, the Emperor is determined to dig out you and your people.”
The air fell into silence.
After a long moment, Zhao Jingyuan spoke again, his voice hoarse. “Any news of my elder brother?”
Tong Shuxue looked at him but did not answer immediately. She swiped her finger across the communication device, pulling up another encrypted report.
“The Wise Prince is still in the Imperial Prison. The Emperor has not moved against him for now. However, according to intercepted conversations from prison guards, another unit has been added to the prison’s defenses—members of the Feiyu Army. And…”
She paused, as if choosing her words carefully.
“And what?” Zhao Jingyuan pressed.
“His food intake has been strictly controlled. He is only given one bowl of thin porridge per day.”
Tong Shuxue looked up at him. “This was obtained by Ling Si, who disguised himself as a vegetable vendor and extracted the information from a guard. The Emperor is wearing down his will, trying to force him to reveal the imperial decree and the whereabouts of your nephew.”
Zhao Jingyuan’s breathing grew heavy.
A single bowl of thin porridge was not enough to sustain even a healthy adult, let alone his elder brother, whose health was already weak—and in the damp, dark environment of the Imperial Prison.
He did not dare continue thinking further.
“I need to speed up training. Doctor Jian, increase today’s electrical stimulation by half an hour.”
Doctor Jian frowned. “No. Your body cannot handle it.”
Zhao Jingyuan cut him off. “I can endure it. As long as it doesn’t kill me, push it to the limit. My brother cannot wait. My mother cannot wait. My maternal family cannot wait.”
As he spoke, he reached for the wheelchair armrest, attempting to push himself back toward the machine.
But his hand could not even grasp the armrest properly. He failed to hold it.
This only made his frustration worse. The veins on his arm bulged sharply.