Earlier, because Zhao Shuning had sensed that Zhao Huai had no spirit power, she slipped a little tracking herb onto him. The herb, once it comes into contact with blood, gives off a telltale reaction.
She followed the tug of that signal without hesitating. When she arrived, the sight that met her was worse than she’d imagined: Zhao Huai sprawled in a pool of blood, and before him, coiled and snarling, was a Teng Serpent gone mad.
Zhao Huai was strikingly handsome — a pale, clean face now streaked with crimson. “Ge—” the sound escaped him and then he looked toward the cave entrance. For the first time since she’d known him, there was panic in his usually composed eyes.
“Xiao Ning, run. Go, now!” He spoke and the wound on his chest tore open again, dark rivulets pouring out. He was bleeding badly.
Zhao Shuning didn’t run.
The Teng Serpent had been fed and raised by Zhao Huai; it should have been tame. So why was it raging like this now?
It lunged, fangs bared. The beast’s hiss was a blade in the cramped cave. Zhao Huai grabbed the hoe he used for gathering herbs and swung with everything he had. The serpent recoiled with a roar; the whole cavern trembled.
Claws swept back at Zhao Huai. He understood then that death was likely inevitable. Still he yelled toward the mouth of the cave: “Xiao Ning, get out of here!”
But there was no shadow at the entrance. The figure he had hoped would be safe was still there, between him and the serpent.
Relief flickered across Zhao Huai’s face — at least he hadn’t dragged his sister into his end. He shut his eyes as if bracing for the pain that should have followed. It never came. Instead, he heard ragged breathing at his ear.
He opened his eyes. There she was: little Xiao Ning, her small body pressed between him and the serpent, chest heaving, curls damp with sweat. For a moment she was just a child — barely four years old, barely trained to First Level — and utterly outmatched by such a beast.
“Go, Ge! Hurry!” she begged. In any other time, Zhao Shuning wouldn’t have given a serpent like this a second thought. But this was different. She was little, barely trained; facing a raging Teng Serpent was a death wish.
She admitted to herself that she loved life. She had her own unfinished vengeance, and the thought of dying here, in such a hole, rankled. But Zhao Huai had raised her. He had been the brother who protected and guided her. Some fragment of conscience told her she couldn’t leave him.
“All right, then die with me,” she said, the words like a dare to fate, and hurled herself over him, taking the brunt of the danger.
Zhao Huai stared, stunned, and then something like gratitude flooded him. He rolled forward, putting his thin body over hers to shield her.
Slowly, almost casually, he extended his white, delicate right hand. A small, blood-red sigil flickered into being in his palm, and a beam of that scarlet light struck straight into the serpent’s skull.
The Teng Serpent crashed down with a thunderous thud and lay still.
Zhao Shuning stood frozen. For an instant, Zhao Huai’s eyes had turned red. “Is it…dead?” she whispered.
“It’s not dead. It’s asleep,” he answered. Only then did she exhale.
Even in her previous life at her peak, she would have had to work to subdue a Teng Serpent. If Zhao Huai had actually killed it with a single palm strike, his ability would be nothing short of miraculous. Yet everyone knew he had no spirit power — and now he had produced a spirit sigil. Nothing fit.
Zhao Huai eased the girl from his arms and checked her over. “Xiao Ning, are you all right?”
She shook her head, then looked up at him with childish curiosity. “Ge, why are you here?”
He smiled, a tired half-smile. “Xiao Ning, you knew I have no spirit power, right?”
She nodded. His constitution had always been odd: no spirit power, no mental force, and yet somehow able to command an ancient beast.
He picked up the hoe and plucked a scale from the serpent’s flank. He drew some of its blood into a small vial. The dark green liquid caught the dim cave light and shimmered with an uncanny glow.
“Teng Serpent blood can temporarily raise an ordinary person’s spirit power,” Zhao Huai said. “I found this beast living in this cave by chance.”
Xiao Ning listened closely, hands propping her chin like a little scholar absorbing a lesson. “Father will be going to Qinghui Town for the spirit-power tests soon,” he continued. “He’ll be looked down on by those people there.”
She frowned. “So?”
“If one of us becomes a spirit apothecary, someone with spirit skill, the people of Qinghui Town will stop treating father with contempt.”
“Ge, will you fake it?” she asked plainly. The bluntness of a child stripped any pretense away.
Zhao Huai hesitated only for a moment before answering, “Maybe. Perhaps.” He knew how hollow and dangerous such a ruse could be. The boost from Teng Serpent blood lasted only four or five days and then vanished; the lie wouldn’t hold for long. And the beast itself—an ancient creature—was not something most would dare provoke.
Xiao Ning lay quietly in his arms, finding warmth and safety in the small, steady rise of his chest. “Faking is wrong,” she murmured after a moment. “One day it’ll be found out.”
A bitter feeling rose in Zhao Huai’s chest. If he didn’t resort to this, he could see no other path forward. If she came to despise him for it, he would have no defense.
“But,” she added softly, lifting her face, eyes bright and untroubled, “if it’s your choice, I’ll support you.”
Zhao Huai lowered his gaze. Her eyes were clear as a mountain spring, without a trace of calculation or doubt. In them flowed a simple, absolute faith.
He felt something warm and fierce climb his ribs.
She trusted him completely.