Chapter Forty-Two: The Wounded

Mo Lan and An Feng were the first to climb up, while the others lagged behind; after all, their hands and feet were injured. Qian Yin had been nervously leaning over the edge of the cliff, watching anxiously. When she finally saw Mo Lan ascending, her worry eased. Coldblooded quietly stood by her side, keeping a close eye on Little Seven, afraid she might try to push someone over.

A woman’s thoughts are hard for men to fathom, but Coldblooded could see clearly enough that Little Seven was not a good person. Qian Yin reached out and helped Mo Lan up, noticing at once how battered and pale she looked. With a glance at Little Seven, Qian Yin’s eyes brimmed with murderous intent.

“Are you alright? Why can’t you be a little more careful?” Qian Yin’s tone was full of anger as she wrapped the battered Mo Lan tightly in her arms.

“I’m fine. I just scraped myself on a rock while moving it, and the rest of the blood isn’t mine. Let’s go back quickly—those wolf-bears might appear again at any moment.” Mo Lan sounded helpless; she knew how unpleasant it was to make others worry.

Even with her head lowered, Little Seven could feel the hostility. She managed a faint smile at Mo Lan’s safe return, then dropped her gaze again. Perhaps none of this would have happened if she hadn’t harbored ill intentions.

Once everyone had climbed up, they rested for a moment before heading to the old sage’s courtyard. The sage led the way with a resigned expression; he hadn’t brought any medicinal herbs with him and couldn’t treat their wounds immediately.

When they returned to the sage’s home, they realized the place was far too small to hold so many people. Everyone took care to avoid disturbing the precious medicinal plants. They found empty spots, sat down, and caught their breath—walking that far with injuries was exhausting.

The sage eyed the wounded group with displeasure. Each one was battered and bruised, yet none seemed in a hurry to tend to their wounds. Did they want their injuries to fester?

“Hurry up and tend to your wounds,” the sage’s stern voice echoed around them.

Those who weren’t hurt quickly fetched the medicinal powder the sage provided, cleaning wounds with fresh water before applying the medicine. Mo Lan leaned quietly to the side, with Qian Yin personally tending her wounds.

Qian Yin worked with meticulous care, and Mo Lan, watching her, couldn’t help but smile—she didn’t feel any pain at all. Having someone dote on her was a wonderful feeling.

Little Seven had wanted to help as well, but a cold glare from Qian Yin sent her scurrying back. She could only turn to help Liu Fei instead.

“Let me apply the medicine for you,” she offered.

Liu Fei merely nodded in silence. He didn’t think much of Little Seven—after all, she wasn’t fond of their captain—but seeing her tend to his wounds so attentively, he could only accept. Little Seven dared not go near An Feng; An Feng would probably rather take her life than let her near his wounds.

There were only a few who hadn’t gone down, so Coldblooded personally tended to An Feng. His touch was neither gentle nor too harsh, but certainly painful. Two grown men treating each other’s wounds made for a peculiar sight, but Coldblooded’s intimidating presence kept anyone from commenting.

Once the wounds were treated, Liu Fei gathered everyone, saluted Mo Lan and An Feng, and said, “We’ve completed our mission and must leave quickly. I hope you two elite captains will take good care of yourselves.”

Mo Lan and An Feng returned the salute, nodding. “Go back safely.”

Little Seven stepped forward, saluted the two captains, and kept her head lowered. “I’ll be leaving as well. Thank you both for looking after me these past two days.”

With that, Little Seven got into Liu Fei’s car and departed.

Mo Lan was quietly moved by Little Seven’s behavior. Sometimes, love can change many things—perhaps even people themselves.

Once those who should leave had left, only those meant to stay remained. The sage, relieved that everyone was safe, felt gratified. These people had come to see him; if anything had happened to them, he would have felt deeply guilty.

So he prepared a hearty meal to aid their recovery. Coldblooded and Qian Yin, uninjured, wrinkled their brows at the bitterness of the medicinal cuisine. An Feng hadn’t suffered much, but he managed to swallow the bitterness without complaint. Mo Lan, though a bit weary, felt her body grow lighter after the meal—the sage’s medical skills were truly remarkable.

“Thank you very much, Sage. Without you, we wounded would not have made it through today,” Mo Lan said with a grateful smile.

The sage nodded, saying nothing more. To exchange pleasantries with the younger generation felt awkward to him.

Night fell again, and none of them intended to sleep. They kept quiet vigil, hoping the wolf-bears would not return.

Their conversation was lively. They shared stories of the day’s events, marveling at the news that a wolf-bear had protected Mo Lan—each found it both astonishing and fortunate. An Feng, however, kept his own encounter to himself, judging it unnecessary to burden others with worry. Qian Yin and the others also forgot to mention the matter of the boss to An Feng.

In the end, what pleased the sage most was that Mo Lan had given the wolf-bear a proper burial. Such a kind-hearted woman truly deserved Heaven’s blessing. He resolved to do all he could for the Mo family.

Mo Lan walked a few circles by the fence, but saw no sign of the wolf-bears. To her own surprise, she felt a trace of disappointment.

Qian Yin patted Mo Lan’s shoulder and shook her head, resigned. She understood Mo Lan’s kindness, her lingering concern for the wolf-bears. These creatures belonged to nature; bringing them home would serve them poorly.

“Help me grind some herbs and pack a few things. Tomorrow we’ll head to the Mo family,” the sage called out, busy with his medicine pot. Seeing the others idle, he enlisted their help.

They nodded and began the task at once. Coldblooded and Qian Yin, most interested, took charge of grinding the herbs. An Feng and Mo Lan wrapped the finished powders in paper, marking them as they went.

An Feng did the writing while Mo Lan placed each package in order for him to label. The four worked swiftly, learning quickly, which pleased the sage immensely.

After just one demonstration, Qian Yin and Coldblooded had mastered most of the process—the dosages, the ingredients, the grinding technique. Mo Lan, who had little interest in the medicinal arts, found the packaging work easy enough to bear. An Feng also found his task light, writing quickly and elegantly.

“If only you four could become my apprentices. What a pity,” the sage sighed more than once that night.

The four merely smiled, agreeing with his sentiment. After several hours of work, everything was prepared, and they could finally rest.