The living room was eerily quiet, with only the sound of their breathing.
Ye Mochen still hadn’t let go; instead, his grip tightened.
He greedily savored the slight coolness of her fingertips, drawing in the herbal scent from her that soothed his very soul.
His deep, unfathomable eyes churned with heavy suspicion and scrutiny, as if trying to pierce through her soul.
“Why did you save me?”
His voice was soft, yet it fell like a boulder into a deep pool, stirring invisible ripples between them.
He had never imagined he would ask this question.
Nor had anyone ever given him the chance to ask it.
To too many people, his existence was a threat, a mistake.
Ran Weiyi didn’t avoid his gaze; instead, she met it head-on.
Her eyes were clear and frank, without a trace of impurity.
“Because I want you to live.”
Her voice wasn’t loud, but each word was distinct, searing fiercely into Ye Mochen’s heart.
Ye Mochen’s hand, still gripping hers, suddenly stiffened.
To live.
This word was both familiar and foreign to him.
He had always been alive—alive in pain, alive in betrayal and loneliness.
The obsession and madness in Ye Mochen’s eyes gradually faded, replaced by a kind of almost bewildered fragility.
He was like a child lost for too long, finally hearing a voice calling out to him.
Slowly, he released her hand.
“Mm.”
A hoarse monosyllable rolled from his throat.
It wasn’t an agreement, but a surrender.
It was the first time he had handed over his own wretched life, which he had struggled with for half a lifetime, into another person’s hands.
The room Jiang Pei had prepared was the innermost quiet chamber in the entire manor.
The soundproofing was absurdly good; once the heavy wooden door was closed, it felt as if they were cut off from the world.
The room was spacious and silent. In the center stood a wide, soft couch. To one side, a set of brand-new silver needles was neatly arranged on a tray. Beside it was an unopened jar of strong liquor and a brass brazier half a person’s height, its charcoal burning brightly.
Ran Weiyi walked over, using fire tongs to adjust the charcoal, making the flames burn more evenly.
A wave of heat washed over her, casting a faint blush on her pale cheeks.
She picked up a silver needle, skillfully dipped it in the strong liquor, then held it over the charcoal fire to sterilize it.
Ye Mochen stood not far away, his gaze fixed intently on her.
He watched her slender fingers deftly handling those cold instruments.
He also watched the flickering flames ignite two small fires in her cool, clear eyes.
“Ye Mochen.”
Ran Weiyi’s voice broke the dead silence.
“Come here, lie down, and take off your shirt.”
Her tone was as casual as if she were saying, “The weather is nice today,” without a hint of shyness or awkwardness.
But Ye Mochen just looked at her, neither speaking nor moving.
His deep eyes revealed a trace of stubborn dependence.
Ran Weiyi sighed helplessly, put down the silver needle in her hand, and walked toward him.
“Do you want me to help you take it off?” Ran Weiyi stopped in front of him, tilting her head slightly upward.
He was more than a head taller than her; she had to look up to see his expression clearly.
Ye Mochen’s Adam’s apple bobbed once, but he still didn’t speak, silently acquiescing.
Fine.
She would have to do it herself.The blood-stained white shirt had long since become tattered rags. When her cool fingertips touched his scorching skin, his tall frame visibly trembled.
As the man’s muscular upper body was fully exposed to the air, even Ran Weiyi, who was accustomed to all kinds of wounds, was momentarily stunned.
Those wounds were deep enough to reveal bone, old and new ones interwoven together, gruesome and terrifying.
It was hard to imagine what kind of willpower he had relied on to endure them time and time again.
It was the most malicious curse this world had inflicted upon him.
Ran Weiyi’s heart felt as if it were being tightly clenched by an invisible hand, aching until it went numb.
The words in the book were far less than one ten-thousandth as shocking as witnessing it firsthand.
Was the author who wrote this novel perhaps a sadist?
She lowered her eyes, concealing the turbulent emotions swirling in her gaze, leaving only the calm of a healer.
“Relax.”
She spoke, her voice deeper than before.
Ye Mochen lay prone on the soft couch. Hearing her words, his tense back miraculously began to relax, bit by bit.
Ran Weiyi said no more. Holding a sterilized silver needle, she gently placed her fingertips on the acupoint on his back.
The skin beneath her fingertips was icy cold, unlike that of a living person.
Without the slightest hesitation, she located the acupoint, applied pressure with her fingertips, and the first silver needle steadily pierced the “Dazhui” acupoint on his back.
“Mmm…”
A suppressed groan, pushed to its limit, escaped from between Ye Mochen’s clenched teeth. His body shuddered violently, his muscles instantly tensing like iron.
The sharp pain of the needle piercing bone, mixed with the intense agony of old wounds being disturbed, made his vision darken repeatedly.
But he did not move. He did not even entertain a single thought of resistance.
Because the person behind him was Ran Weiyi.
Ran Weiyi’s hand was steady.
The second needle, the third, the fourth…
One by one, the cold, gleaming silver needles precisely pierced the major detoxification acupoints on his back.
Her movements were swift and accurate, without a single unnecessary action, as if she were not facing a living person but a senseless puppet.
Cold sweat dripped incessantly from Ye Mochen’s forehead. He gritted his teeth tightly, swallowing all the pain back into his stomach.
He could feel strange sensations of soreness, numbness, swelling, and pain, centered around the silver needles, beginning to surge chaotically through his rigid meridians, like countless ants gnawing at his bones and blood.
Just as he was about to reach his limit, Ran Weiyi’s voice sounded again—clear and cold, yet carrying a strangely soothing power.
“Done.” She withdrew her hand, looking at her handiwork.
Dozens of silver needles formed an esoteric array on his scarred back.
From the tip of the first needle inserted, a drop of thick, foul-smelling black blood slowly seeped out, dripping onto the snow-white bedsheet.
That shocking black color confirmed the accuracy of her judgment. It also declared that the most difficult first step of this salvation had been taken.
The drop of black blood seemed to have a life of its own, spreading across the snow-white bedsheet and emitting a nauseating, cloyingly sweet stench. The air in the room seemed to grow thick because of it.
Ran Weiyi picked up the tray beside her, using tweezers to grasp a clean piece of medical cotton. Her expression did not change in the slightest.
She leaned down, her movements gentle yet swift, wiping away the drop of filthy blood. Her fingertips inadvertently brushed against the skin of his back once more.Still cold. But not like before, carrying a dead object-like stiffness.
Ye Mochen’s body tensed once more because of her unintentional touch.
That unfamiliar, subtle, slightly ticklish electric current, starting from where her fingertip touched, instantly spread throughout his entire body.
He had never experienced such a feeling before.
Women to him were either scheming pawns or mediocre people who feared him like snakes or scorpions.
No one dared to get this close to him.
And no one would use such calm hands to touch his already decaying body.