Pei Jin frowned. “Does the Guide not like drinking blood?”
The answer was obvious—what normal person would enjoy drinking blood?
Ji Xiao’s brow was equally furrowed. “But we don’t have any other food suitable for a Guide here.”
Lin Chuan finished treating Mingzhou’s wound and swept his gaze across everyone present. “Guides have weak constitutions and can’t withstand hunger. We need to find a way to make the Guide drink the blood, otherwise…”
He didn’t finish the sentence, but everyone understood what he meant.
Otherwise, the Guide might starve to death.
Guides weren’t Sentinels—their bodies were extremely frail, as everyone knew.
Ye Lingxi sat with her back to them, crouched beside a rock, curled into a tiny ball.
She could feel their gazes behind her and hear their murmuring voices. She couldn’t understand them, but she could sense their anxiety.
But she really didn’t want to drink blood!
She lowered her head and buried her face in her knees.
Footsteps approached.
Light, steady, making faint rustling sounds as they trod through the wild grass.
Ye Lingxi didn’t look up.
The footsteps stopped beside her, and then she felt someone sit down next to her.
She tilted her head and peered through the gap between her knees and arms.
It was Mingzhou.
The man whose face was covered in black tattoos had sat down beside her.
He was still holding the metal cup half-filled with fresh blood, its surface reflecting the pale red moonlight, giving off a cold, eerie metallic sheen.
Mingzhou didn’t immediately offer the cup to her.
He just sat there, one leg stretched out, the other bent at the knee, his posture as casual as if he were at home.
Then he spoke.
His voice was low, gentle, and unhurried.
“Once, on the battlefield, I was trapped for twenty-seven days.”
Ye Lingxi couldn’t understand him, but the man’s voice, set against the night, was unexpectedly pleasant to listen to.
Deep, magnetic, like the strings of a cello, or a stream flowing slowly through the dead of night.
“Back then, we were deep behind enemy lines. Our supply lines were cut off, and the nutrient solution had long since run out.”
Mingzhou’s gaze drifted into the distance, as if piercing through this barren land to see a scene from long ago.
“On the thirteenth day, we started drinking Star Beast blood.”
He smiled—a faint smile, so subtle it was barely visible, but the curve at the corners of his eyes did soften somewhat.
“It wasn’t good.
Gamey, astringent, with a strange aftertaste.
Shi Qi’s mental entity is the Silver Wolf, which is sensitive to smells. He vomited three times the first time he drank it. Later, he got used to it, and it didn’t matter anymore.”
Ye Lingxi didn’t know what he was saying, but she could feel that this person was telling her something in a very gentle tone.
His expression was relaxed, his voice soft, like he was coaxing a child throwing a tantrum.
Ye Lingxi’s head, buried in her knees, unconsciously lifted a little.
Mingzhou noticed her movement and turned to look at her. Her face was reflected in his dark eyes, and the curve of his lips softened even more.
“I’ve also eaten Star Beast meat. Raw.”
He continued, his voice still soft.
“No fire, no seasoning. Just ate it raw. It was tough to chew, like chewing on a tire.”
Ye Lingxi blinked.
She couldn’t understand, but she seemed to sense something.
Was this person… trying to comfort her?
Using a language she couldn’t understand, telling her things she didn’t know.
But his tone, his expression, his gaze…
All of it was too gentle for someone speaking to a “reserve food supply.”
“It doesn’t taste good,” Mingzhou said. “But it fills your stomach, gives your body energy, and lets you keep fighting.”
He paused, his gaze settling on her face, looking at her intently.
“It lets you survive.”
Ye Lingxi met those eyes.
They were dark, deep, like a night sky without stars.
In that night sky, there was no danger, no threat—only something… she couldn’t quite name.
Something like concern.
Something like heartache.
Like he was saying to her: I know you don’t want to, but I want you to live.
Mingzhou’s voice fell, and silence lingered for a few seconds.
Then, he offered the cup of blood toward her again, his movements light and slow, giving her ample time to prepare herself mentally.
Ye Lingxi looked at the cup, then at the man’s face.
In the cup was crimson blood.
On the man’s face was a gentle smile.
Suddenly, she understood.
Was this man… trying to keep her from going hungry?
He was using the only method he could think of, trying to fill her stomach, to give her something to sustain her.
She wasn’t sure if her guess was right.
Ye Lingxi was silent for a few seconds. Then she lowered her head, grabbed her backpack, unzipped it, and reached inside to rummage around.
Mingzhou watched her movements, a flicker of confusion passing through his eyes.
A moment later, he saw Ye Lingxi pull out a square box from that strange backpack.
The box wasn’t large—it was bright red, with patterns and writing printed on it that he couldn’t understand.
Ye Lingxi placed the self-heating hot pot on her knees, then rummaged through her backpack and pulled out a small bag of spicy strips.
She thought for a moment, then held the spicy strips out to Mingzhou.
When you have something tasty, you should share it—though she wasn’t sure whether this humanoid menace even ate human food.
Mingzhou instinctively reached out and took them.
He looked down at the spicy strips, then up at Ye Lingxi, a flicker of confusion passing through his eyes.
What is this?
The packaging was a rather outdated-looking composite film bag, and inside it held an orange-red strip-shaped object that felt soft when squeezed.
In all his twenty-odd years of life experience, he had never seen anything like this.
Was it a personal belonging of Guide Lingxi?
Was she showing it to him?
Asking him to hold it for her?
Mingzhou held the spicy strips with great care, wanting to ask Ye Lingxi what they were—but when his gaze drifted over to her, all his attention was captured by the neat little square box she was fiddling with.
Ye Lingxi didn’t notice Mingzhou’s reaction at all.
All her attention was on the self-heating hot pot on her knees.
The bright red packaging box, the familiar design, the familiar lettering—it felt especially heartwarming in this completely unfamiliar place.
She tore open the packaging and took out the contents one by one.
The vegetable packet, the vermicelli packet, the soup base packet, and the familiar disposable chopsticks.
Suddenly, Ye Lingxi felt that her surroundings had become unnaturally quiet.