Spring, 21st Year of the Jingde Era, Great Sheng Dynasty
By the end of the early morning hour, sunlight finally broke through the mist atop the cliff. Slivers of golden light pierced the vines clinging to the rock face, spilling onto the grass outside the cave.
Dew still clung to the tips of the grass. A gentle breeze stirred the blades, letting droplets fall onto Wen Yinyue’s skirt, forming small damp patches.
She had just finished half an hour of cultivating the Nine Heavens Mystical Spirit Art. Her inner energy had circulated through her meridians three times. Though still as weak as a thread, it had successfully suppressed some of the burning pain caused by the Thousand Mechanisms Pull poison.
Opening her eyes, she saw that most of the darkness inside the cave had receded. Outside, the green grass stretched before her, and at its far edge, the faint sound of flowing water reached her ears.
Her throat felt dry and rough, as if sandpaper had scraped it.
Wen Yinyue steadied herself against the cave wall and slowly rose. As she moved, the holes in her moon-white silk skirt widened, revealing her forearms streaked with moss and mud. The half-broken silver-bell belt at her waist hung loosely around her hips. With each step, the two fragments of bells jingled faintly, “ding-ling, ding-ling,” their sound sharp in the quiet cliffside.
She bent to adjust the skirt’s hem—not out of concern for appearance, but to prevent the ragged fabric from scraping her skin. In this fragile state, her body could no longer bear any additional injuries.
As she walked along the rock wall, dew soaked her embroidered shoes. The soles were worn thin, allowing her to feel the jagged stones beneath her feet.
Still, she didn’t stop. Her gaze was fixed on the shimmering water ahead—the creek. It was her only source of clean water, and she had to reach it.
After walking for what felt like half an incense stick’s time, the creek came fully into view.
It was narrow, no wider than three feet. The water was so clear that smooth pebbles at the bottom were visible. Along the banks, clusters of purple wildflowers were in full bloom. Dew on the petals caught the morning light, scattering like tiny diamonds.
Water trickled down from a crack above the cliff, forming a shallow pool at the creek’s edge. Ripples danced across its surface, reflecting Wen Yinyue’s current appearance.
She leaned over the pool and studied her reflection. Her hair hung in disarray over her shoulders, streaked with mud. Her face was pale, almost translucent. Yet her eyes shone brightly, filled with a sharpness and calm that didn’t belong to this disheveled body.
“So… this is the Wen Yinyue of now.” She murmured to her reflection, lightly touching the water. Ripples spread, blurring her image.
The fetal movement she had sensed last night lingered in her mind. But with such a faint stir, she could not yet determine the exact condition.
She needed a precise diagnosis. As the heir of the Wen family, versed in both martial arts and medical poisons, pulse diagnosis was her fundamental skill. Even without a pulse pillow or herbs, she could rely on her fingertips to uncover the secrets hidden in this body.
Wen Yinyue found a relatively flat stone by the creek and sat down. Dew coated the rock, and a cool chill seeped through her thin skirt, making her shiver.
She adjusted her posture, resting her right wrist on her left knee. Using the index, middle, and ring fingers of her left hand, she gently pressed the “cun, guan, chi” pulse points on her right wrist.
As her fingertips touched the skin, she held her breath.
Even with her weakened inner energy, she could sense pulses far more acutely than an ordinary person.
At first, she detected only chaotic pulses, flickering like a candle in the wind—sometimes strong, sometimes weak. This was the Thousand Mechanisms Pull toxin moving through her meridians. Each pulse carried a subtle resistance, as if fine sand blocked her blood vessels.
But as she infused her inner energy slowly, another faint sensation emerged.
It was light and gentle, hidden beneath the main pulse, like newly sprouted willow branches in early spring—fragile, yet resilient.
It lacked the strength of a normal pulse, yet each beat harmonized with her main pulse. It clung to the main current, drawing nourishment from it—undoubtedly the pregnancy pulse.
Her fingertips paused, and her heart clenched slightly.
She recalled what her modern-day master had taught her about detecting a pregnancy pulse: “The pulse is smooth like beads rolling on a plate. In the first month, it’s faint, hidden within the main pulse. Only with focus can you sense the fetal energy. If the fetal energy harmonizes with the mother, the pulse flows strong; if not…”
She ignored the rest, concentrating on the subtle pulse beneath her touch.
The fetal energy was weak but stable, each beat matching her own pulse. Even within the deadly Thousand Mechanisms Pull, the child had survived.
“One month… just one month.” She whispered, emotions flickering in her eyes.
The original owner’s entanglement with the dark-robed man had occurred exactly a month ago.
By that calculation, this child was his—the man whose jade pendant had been taken by the original owner, the man with whom she had been… intimate. Where was he now? Did he know he had a child?
The thought passed quickly, replaced by the more immediate danger.
She retracted her left hand. The moment her fingertips left her wrist, she sensed something unusual—the toxin’s pulse, which had been subtle, had entwined with the fetal energy.
Wen Yinyue sat upright, pressing her fingers to the pulse again. Her eyes hardened.
Her inner energy flowed deeper through her fingertips. She could now see clearly: the Thousand Mechanisms Pull toxin seemed alive, not only moving through her meridians but creeping into the fetal energy, entwining with it. A strange “symbiosis” had formed—the toxin fed off the blood and energy near the fetus, while the fetal energy struggled to survive within the toxin’s grip.
If she tried to detox forcibly, the medicine would inevitably damage the fetus. At its current fragile state, it might not last even half an hour. Yet if she did nothing, the poison would strengthen over time. Within three months, her meridians could be completely blocked—both mother and child would die.
“A dilemma…” Wen Yinyue leaned against the rock wall, exhaling lightly.
She closed her eyes, recalling medical texts from modern times. The Wen Family Medical Toxin Records described similar cases: a mother’s body filled with deadly poison, yet the fetus survived, living in symbiosis with the toxin.
The records suggested two approaches:
“The first is too dangerous. Without proper herbs or a suitable poison, I can only choose slow detox and nurture the fetus.” She opened her eyes, now calm and determined.
First, she needed herbs to suppress the Thousand Mechanisms Pull. According to the records, it was a cold poison, requiring warming herbs such as Qingdu Grass and Yangtai Flower, which were common in late spring forest streams.
Second, she must continue cultivating the Nine Heavens Mystical Spirit Art. It could suppress the poison and convert her inner energy into a gentle nourishing force, transmitted to the fetus. This would enhance the fetal energy and form a protective barrier around it, preventing further toxin intrusion. It was the only way to protect herself and the child.
Wen Yinyue stood, brushing grass from her skirt, her eyes scanning the creek’s banks. Dew clung to her hands, cold against her skin, yet her movements were careful. Each leaf and flower was examined.
Soon, she found several ground-hugging herbaceous plants in the rocks—serrated leaves with a faint purple underside. Qingdu Grass.
She carefully snapped the stems, avoiding damage to surrounding plants, and placed them in her sleeve pouch—the same pouch holding the white jade pendant. The touch of the herb against the pendant sent a warm, smooth sensation through her fingers.
“Once I find the Yangtai Flower, I’ll first make a decoction of Qingdu Grass.” She murmured, confirming her plan and giving herself encouragement.
Suddenly, faint rustling came from upstream, like an animal stepping on dry branches.
Wen Yinyue’s eyes snapped sharp. Her right hand instinctively went to her waist—no dagger remained, only the half-broken silver-bell belt.
She held her breath, stepping back against the rock wall, eyes fixed on the source of the sound. The cliff bottom was dangerous; now, pregnant and poisoned, she could not let her guard down.
Moments later, a grey-brown rabbit darted from the grass, glancing at her before hopping to the creek to drink.
She exhaled, shoulders relaxing slightly. The sight reminded her of modern days at the family training ground—she once captured a rabbit twice this size with her bare hands. How confident and bold she had been then; now, even a rabbit could make her tense.
“Be patient, Wen Yinyue.” She inhaled deeply, straightened her back. “This is only temporary. Once my inner energy recovers, and I have enough herbs, I will leave this place.”
She looked at her reflection in the creek again. Though still disheveled, her eyes now held determination.
Clutching the Qingdu Grass in her sleeve, she lightly touched her abdomen—within, a new life grew, her reason to survive.
“Wait, Lady Liu, Wen Wanru… and that unknown young master.” Her voice was soft but resolute. “I, Wen Yinyue, will not let myself or this child die at the bottom of this cliff.”
She turned and walked back along the path to the cave. The sun had risen higher, casting her shadow long behind her—a small glimmer of hope amid despair.