Fang Lin moved without hesitation.
He twisted his body sharply sideways, using only the narrow space allowed by the door. The incoming blade brushed past him in a flash of cold steel, ripping through his robe as it skimmed dangerously close to his abdomen.
A breath closer—and it would have been fatal.
Ling'er, rushing forward with uncontrolled force, failed to stop in time. The sword in her hands plunged straight into the wall opposite the doorway with a heavy thud, the blade sinking deep into the wood.
The impact jolted her body forward.
Her head struck the wall immediately after.
Bang.
The white cloth wrapped around her forehead—tied earlier to cover a wound—came loose at once, fluttering away as pain flashed across her face. Her strength gave out, and she collapsed onto the floor, the sound of her fall echoing faintly through the corridor.
The air went still.
Only the trembling sword buried in the wall and the ragged sound of her breathing remained.
The wound on her forehead,never fully healed since Morning, split open once more.warm blood seeped through her hair, dripping silently onto the cold floor below.
The sword remained embedded deep within the wall, its hilt quivering faintly, as if resisting the stillness around it.
Time itself seemed to freeze.
The flickering candlelight faltered, the air turned heavy, and in that suspended moment-between breath and heartbeat-everything stood perfectly, terrifyingly still.
When Fang Lin finally came back to his senses, the first thing he did was glance down at his abdomen.
"There's no blood…"
Only his torn robe fluttered slightly, the fabric ripped open where the blade had passed.
That close.
If he hadn't twisted his body at that exact instant, his Martial Dream would have ended forever.
A deep breath escaped his lips, the tension in his chest finally loosening. Relief washed over him like a delayed wave.
Then—
His gaze shifted.
Toward the place where Ling'er had fallen.
Fang Lin murmured softly, his eyes fixed on the blade,
"This sword… it feels strangely familiar."
His gaze sharpened.
"Don't tell me… is this the very sword I bought for Vren?"
Realization dawned on him like a cold ripple.
"Right… I was the one who told Ling'er to bring it."
His brows knit slightly.
"Then why was she so furious? I was just about to open the door."
His eyes shifted.
Ling'er was slowly trying to push herself up from the floor, trembling as she supported her weight with her hands. Strands of her hair were stuck to her forehead, soaked and clinging from the blood that had flowed earlier.
The bleeding had stopped now
Ling'er's strength finally gave out. Her hands began to tremble violently, her body swaying as she was about to collapse once more—
When two hands caught her.
One steadied her near the shoulder, the other braced her firmly from the opposite side, stopping her fall just in time.
Fang Lin exhaled softly, his voice low.
"Of all places… this had to happen in my room."
He studied her pale face.
"She's about to lose consciousness."
Leaning closer, he spoke near her ear, careful not to raise his voice.
"Ling'er… can you hear me?"
"Are you still okay?"
Her lips parted. Her voice came out broken, barely more than breath.
"I… am… sorr—"
Her body went limp.
Fang Lin caught her weight fully this time.
His eyes darkened.
Should I inform another servant and have her taken away?
That would be the simplest solution.
But the thought that followed made his expression tighten.
The moment they learn she charged into my room with a sword… guards will be stationed outside without question.
And that… is exactly what I cannot allow.
Looks like I have no choice but to treat her here, Fang Lin thought.
But putting her on the bed… no. That won't do.
It wasn't that I couldn't share the bed with her—
But the blood would stain the sheets.
And once someone noticed those stains in the morning, they would immediately realize that something had happened during the night.
An attack.
And once that conclusion was reached, everything would circle back to the same outcome—
Guards.
Unwanted eyes.
Complications I absolutely could not afford.
His gaze shifted to the side of the room.
Near the candle stood an old wooden chair, worn and plain, its surface rough with age.
Fang Lin's eyes lit up faintly.
"That's it.
I'll seat her there instead."
He bent down carefully and lifted Ling'er into his arms—
One hand supporting her legs, the other steadying her back.
His movements were cautious, controlled.
He murmured under his breath, almost to himself,
"This is the first time I've ever carried a girl like this…"
A brief pause.
"Well… it's true. I've never had a girlfriend. Not in this world—"
"—and not in my real life either."
His brows furrowed slightly.
"She's just a servant. Why am I even overthinking this?"
He placed her gently onto the chair.
Ling'er's head drooped forward, her face hidden by loose strands of hair, her body utterly still under the dim candlelight.
The room fell silent once more—
Heavy, tense, and filled with things that could not be spoken aloud.
Fang Lin stepped forward and pulled the sword out of the wall.
The blade came free with a dull scrape, its trembling finally settling. Without another glance, he carried it back and placed it alongside his other swords.
Only then did he turn back.
He opened the jade pill box and walked toward Ling'er, stopping in front of her.
He studied the wound on her forehead carefully, his expression tightening.
"How many pills will it take to treat this…?" he murmured.
The injury was deeper than he had expected. Because the wound she suffered in the morning had never properly healed, it had split open again, worsening under the impact.
"Why didn't you take a pill this morning…?"
He paused.
Then a bitter smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
"…Right. What am I even thinking?"
"A servant would never waste something like that."
His fingers tightened around the jade box.
"So what do I do now?"
"Do I give her a pill… or not?"
"If I didn't, she would remain like this until morning.
And if someone came to check his room at dawn and saw her in this state—
They would immediately know something had happened during the night.
That was not an outcome I could allow."
"…Fine," Fang Lin exhaled quietly.
"It's just pills. I can always get more later."
He took out two pills from the jade box. Supporting Ling'er's chin, he gently pried her lips open and placed the pills inside.
"These should at least stabilize you," he said softly.
The candle flickered, casting long shadows across the room.
Suddenly, Fang Lin clutched his head with both hands.
A sharp, tearing pain surged through him.
"Why… why does it hurt this much…?"
he muttered through clenched teeth.
"It feels like something is trying to rip me out of this body…"
His steps staggered as he reached the bedside the bed and dropped down heavily, barely managing to sit.
Then realization struck him.
"…I get it now," he breathed, his voice unsteady.
"Someone is trying to wake my real body."
Irritation flashed across his face.
"Damn it, Maxel—why now?" he snapped under his breath.
"I still have things left to do here."
Before he could finish the sentence, the strength drained from his limbs.
His body tilted backward—
And Fang Lin collapsed onto the bed, consciousness slipping away as darkness swallowed his vision.
The candle flame trembled violently…
Then steadied, as if nothing had happened.
----------
Several hours later—
A faint warmth brushed against Ling'er's consciousness.
Her eyelashes trembled.
Slowly, painfully, she opened her eyes.
The first thing she felt was dull throbbing pain blooming across her forehead, as if her skull had been split open and crudely stitched back together. She let out a weak gasp, her fingers curling unconsciously.
"…Where… am I…?"
Her vision was blurred. The world swayed as though it were underwater. After a few breaths, the haze receded enough for her to recognize her surroundings.
A dimly lit room.
A single candle burning steadily.
The familiar scent of wood, herbs… and medicine.
Her body stiffened.
This was—Fang Lin's room.
Ling'er's heart skipped violently.
She tried to move, only to realize she was sitting upright on a wooden chair. Her clothes were still intact, though her sleeves were stained faintly with dried blood. A cool sensation lingered on her forehead—someone had treated her wound.
Treated…?
Her breathing grew shallow.
Fragments of memory surged back like shattered glass—
The sword in her hands.
Her anger.
The door opening.
Fang Lin's shocked eyes.
Her face drained of color.
"I… I tried to—"
Her lips trembled, the words refusing to come out.
Ling'er instinctively touched her forehead. The wound that should have been burning with pain was now sealed, wrapped neatly, the bleeding long since stopped.
A pill.
No—pills.
Her eyes widened in disbelief.
"…He healed me?" she whispered.
Her gaze darted around the room, finally landing on the bed.
Fang Lin lay there motionless, his breathing steady, as if he were in a deep sleep.
Relief and fear collided within her chest.
Her fingers clenched tightly against her lap.
"Why…?" she murmured, voice shaking.
"Why would you save me… after what I did…?"
Shame crawled up her spine like ice.
She lowered her head, unable to look at him any longer.
At that moment, Ling'er understood something terrifying—
She had crossed a line that could never be erased.
Ling'er remained seated on the chair, her body stiff with shock.
"What… what should I do now…?" she whispered hoarsely.
"Should I… leave this place…?"
Her legs moved on instinct, carrying her toward the door. Her hand almost reached the latch—
then she stopped.
Slowly, she turned her head back.
Her gaze fell upon the floor.
Blood.
Darkened, half-dried stains marked the wooden surface, unmistakable even in the dim candlelight.
Her breath caught.
"If Fang Lin tells anyone…" her thoughts spiraled wildly, "…if he says that I came here at night… that I tried to attack him…"
Her chest tightened violently. She began breathing heavily, each breath sharp and uneven.
"If the Family Head finds out…"
Her lips trembled.
"…they won't just expel me from the Fang Family."
Her fingers dug into her palms.
"They'll kill me."
A servant who attacked a young lord—
What value did her life hold?
"After all… what am I worth?" she whispered bitterly.
Fear flooded her veins like ice water. Her knees weakened, and she leaned against the door for support, her body trembling uncontrollably.
Ling'er swallowed hard, her thoughts racing.
I should… I should clean the blood, she told herself desperately.
After all… this is my blood, isn't it? Fang Lin wasn't injured… he dodged it in time… didn't he?
Her breathing grew heavier as panic slowly loosened its grip.
With hesitant steps, she approached the bed.
"…Should I check him… just in case?"
Her eyes scanned Fang Lin's body carefully, inch by inch.
No blood.
Only his robe—slightly torn near the abdomen.
Her legs nearly gave out.
"…Thank the heavens," she whispered, releasing a long, trembling breath.
"I… I survived."
Gently—almost reverently—she adjusted his position, laying him properly on the bed. She pulled the blanket over him, covering his chest.
"I just need to clean the room now," she murmured, forcing herself to stay calm.
A few minutes later.
Ling'er returned with a damp cloth. Kneeling on the floor, she wiped again and again, scrubbing the wooden surface until the dark stains faded away.
The blood vanished—
as if nothing had ever happened.
As she straightened up, her gaze fell upon the wall.
The deep hole left by the sword stared back at her like an accusing eye.
"…What about this?" she whispered uneasily.
"Will this… even heal?"
Her fingers trembled, but she quickly looked away.
She moved to the door, her hand gripping the frame tightly.
"No… what matters right now is that I shouldn't stay here any longer," she told herself.
"Maybe… if Fang Lin sees the room clean, he won't tell anyone…"
She paused, her thoughts drifting back to the pills.
"…He isn't that cruel," she murmured softly.
"After all… he even gave me pills."
With that fragile hope clutched tightly in her heart, Ling'er quietly closed the door and slipped into the corridor.
As her footsteps faded into the night, one thought echoed again and again in her mind—
Please… let everything be fine tomorrow.
Ling'er clasped her hands together tightly, as if praying to the heavens themselves.
"Fang Lin… please forgive me," she whispered, her voice trembling.
"I truly didn't want to do this. I was only consumed by anger—anger because Fang Qing insulted me today… because he rejected me."
She walked toward the left-side house, her steps slow and unsteady.
Moonlight poured down upon her figure, bathing her entire body in pale silver. Her tears shimmered as they slid down her cheeks, glowing faintly under the night sky.
"I wanted to stay by Fang Qing's side,"
she continued softly.
"I believed that if I remained with him long enough, he might one day accept me… even as a concubine wife. That would have been enough for me. I would have been happy."
Her lips quivered.
"But I was wrong," she said bitterly.
"He only used me. Nothing more. And now that I am no longer useful to him… he discarded me without hesitation."
She lowered her head, shame and regret crushing her chest.
"You were always kind, Fang Lin. Ever since childhood… it was me who treated you wrongly. That incident back then—it happened because of me."
Her steps slowed, almost stopping.
"Maybe… just maybe this time… you will forgive me."
Her voice became barely audible.
"I will serve you for the rest of my life if I must.
I won't ask for anything else."
Under the silent moon, her fragile figure disappeared into the shadows—
leaving behind only regret, tears, and a prayer that might never be answered.