Chapter 67

Ruan Xuezong was no miracle healer, nor was he some immortal sage. His method of saving lives was brutally straightforward: he let blood. Hadn’t they seen all that black, venomous blood on the ground? That was bloodletting therapy.

Next, he swiftly tapped two acupoints on the other man, protecting his heart meridian and slowing the flow of blood throughout his body. This prevented the snake venom from reaching the heart in the short term, though it might numb his limbs and cloud his mind.

“So cold… it hurts so much. Am I dying? C-Could you… hold me before I go?” The Holy Son’s hand clutched Ruan Xuezong’s slender wrist bone with desperate strength. His scarlet-gold eyes were clearly sightless, reflecting no image of Ruan Xuezong, yet he stubbornly held on. Blood poured from below his calves, soaking his robes.

For a moment, Ruan Xuezong couldn’t tell if the Holy Son saw him as a lifeline or simply wanted someone to hold him through his final moments, like a boy sensing death’s approach.

When the Holy Son had made his plea for an embrace, his gaze had fixed on Ruan Xuezong, but his eyes were unfocused, as if looking through him at someone else.

Ruan Xuezong had truly experienced the brink of death before. Shuiyin, the one he trusted most, had pushed him into the scorching Sword Forging Pool. Molten slurry had devoured his body—but he’d lost consciousness in an instant. The agony hadn’t lasted long. A snakebite, by contrast, with its nerve disruption leading to respiratory failure, was more like death by a thousand cuts.

Suddenly, Ruan Xuezong wondered if he should have been gentler when he’d sliced open the wound with his knife.

“You won’t die. The imperial physician is on his way.”

Ruan Xuezong didn’t embrace him. He merely extended one hand. The Holy Son seized it like a drowning man grasping driftwood, his body going rigid as his fine white teeth chattered.

That hand trembled with an icy chill, as if it already belonged to a corpse. Ruan Xuezong channeled a bit of his inner energy into it. The boy’s ghastly purple face eased somewhat, a faint flush of color returning.

The palace physician finally arrived, panting. When the guards told him the Holy Son might be dead, his heart leaped into his throat. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead, and his hands shook as he clutched his medicine box. It was all fear.

This poor old man had the worst luck, drawing duty on this day of all days. If the Holy Son died, every guard, servant, and the physician himself would likely follow him to the grave.

Could he grab his kit and flee to the Banishment Land in time? The physician inwardly wailed, steeling himself for the worst.

But when he reached the scene and saw the Holy Son sleeping peacefully, he let out an involuntary “Eh?”

“How is this possible…?”

He knelt to check the Holy Son’s breathing, took his pulse, pried open an eye, and pinched his cheeks to inspect his tongue coating. In an instant, he understood: the Holy Son’s breath and pulse were weak, but the venom had been halted—even expelled.

The physician glanced at the pile of snake corpses on the ground.

Bewildered, he muttered, “These are the deadliest sand snakes from the Western Regions. Their venom kills in moments. How is the Holy Son unscathed?” He noted some residual toxin in the Holy Son’s body, but it was no longer lethal. Blood loss was the more pressing issue.

Ruan Xuezong kept his head down and slipped back into the crowd. No one could answer the physician.

Half a day later, Wu Yao groggily awoke to find himself on a familiar palace bed, surrounded by court physicians fussing over him. After dazedly sensing his surroundings, his first words were, “Where’s my slave?”

Ruan Xuezong replied, “Holy Son, I’m here.”

Blind though he was, the Holy Son pinpointed him amid the crowd by voice alone. His face remained pale and delicate, stripped of its usual malice and softened with unfamiliar warmth. “You saved me. What’s your name?”

“I am called…” Ruan Xuezong faltered. Roaming the Western Regions alone, he’d forgotten to give himself a local name.

“You have no name?” The youth blinked in surprise, his white lashes fluttering over golden pupils. “Then let me give you one: Agu Ling. That’s the name I bestow upon you.”

“Thank you for the name, Holy Son,” Ruan Xuezong said.

By local custom, names granted by superiors were blessings—like wishes for peace, joy, health, wealth, or endless fortune.

He pulled aside a servant and asked, “What does this mean?”

While the Holy Son wasn’t watching, Mu Ti Ya whispered, “Agu Ling means ‘treasure pearl’ in the Western Regions. It describes someone not only beautiful but with a heart as radiant and pure as gold.”

“It’s indeed a fine name,” Ruan Xuezong murmured, savoring it. Then he added, “The Holy Son’s eyes are afflicted. He can’t see my face.”

Mu Ti Ya smiled. “The Holy Son is blind, true enough. But the world of a blind man is simple. If he finds your features repulsive, no heavenly beauty will sway him. Conversely, if he deems you handsome, he’ll cherish you even if you’re truly hideous.”

“Thank you for explaining.”

There were indeed such people in the world. If Ruan Xuezong had met one in his previous life, perhaps he wouldn’t have worn that bronze mask from age thirteen until his dying breath.

The physician fed the Holy Son his medicine, but the youth’s golden eyes fluttered toward Ruan Xuezong, as if he had something to say.

At that moment, a voice rang out from the doorway: “His Majesty and the Queen arrive—”

Everyone in the palace chamber jolted in alarm and dropped to one knee. Ruan Xuezong mimicked them but was halfway into his retreat when he was stopped.

“You’re the slave who saved the Holy Son? Lift your head. Let me see you.” A woman’s soft, melodious voice sounded close by, gentle and light.

Ruan Xuezong paused, then slowly raised his head to gaze at her. How to describe this woman’s beauty? She dazzled with radiant allure, her features at the peak of perfection. She wore not formal palace robes but a gossamer gown, thin as a cicada’s wings. Its luxurious fabric shimmered with countless golden tassels that swayed with her graceful steps, embodying elegance, sensuality, and beauty in one—like a figure stepped from a painting, glowing with inner light.

She let out a soft laugh.

Ruan Xuezong snapped back to himself, realizing he’d stared too long. The Chasang King shot him a chilling glare.

“Your gaze is insolent,” the Chasang King rasped. “Were it not for saving the Holy Son’s life, those eyes of yours would be twin black holes by now.”

His voice was hoarse and labored, like a battered drum struggling to sound, but the warning it carried was unmistakable.

Ruan Xuezong felt firsthand the rumors of the king’s extreme possessiveness. He glanced at the Chasang King and noticed a detail.

Standing beside the Queen, the Chasang King resembled not a majestic ruler but a frail, sickly middle-aged man. Perhaps from chronic illness, his face was waxy pale, his eyes murky and dull. The Queen seemed oblivious, resting her head lightly against him, whispering intimately as they leaned into each other, the picture of devoted love.

“Your health is poor. You can’t stand the wind for long. Go back and rest first,” the Queen said, her lovely eyes brimming with concern, her tone as warm as spring breeze.

The Chasang King reached out a large hand to stroke her hair, enunciating slowly: “…I can’t bear to leave you.”

Under such tender care, the Queen blushed like an unmarried maiden. Her already rosy cheeks flushed to breathtaking crimson. “It’s fine. Go on back. The guards will protect me.”

“The guards might not keep you entirely safe…”

The Chasang Kingdom’s supreme couple shared this moment of profound affection before parting. The soldiers and servants in the chamber kept their heads bowed, accustomed to the display. Only Ruan Xuezong sensed something off.

As the Chasang King turned to leave, the still-bedridden Holy Son spoke up. “Father King, I was bitten by a venomous snake and nearly died… Have you nothing to say to me?”

The Chasang King halted, slowly turning back. His waxy face showed no emotion—or perhaps it did, but illness had eroded it. “You’re still alive, aren’t you…? Since you’re fine, I’ll go.”

“…Don’t leave so quickly. Could you hold me before you go? Or at least grasp my hand…?” The Holy Son’s snow-white lashes, long and delicate, slowly veiled his eyes.

“You’re not a child anymore. Stop acting like a three-year-old throwing a tantrum.”

The Chasang King’s body didn’t move.

Ruan Xuezong noticed that when the Holy Son made his childlike plea for a father’s embrace, the king’s form seemed to freeze for an instant before resuming its calm. In the end, he didn’t stay but departed for his chambers amid the Queen’s smile.

Once the Chasang King was gone, the Queen’s springlike smile vanished in a flash.

One moment her lips curved in bliss; the next, she turned a cold eye on everyone present. “You saved the Holy Son, yes—but your negligence let him get bitten in the first place. Death may be spared, but punishment is inevitable…”

Those in the chamber dropped to their knees in terror.

Ruan Xuezong suddenly saw a shadow veil the Queen’s stunning, dignified face. Her beautiful eyes blazed with undisguised killing intent—not just at him, but at everyone there, including the Holy Son.

Yet it vanished as quickly as it had appeared, as if he’d imagined it.

Rumors painted the Queen as a madwoman, not least for squandering precious water on worthless plants—and for her sudden rages.

The Chasang folk, long anticipating this, sank into gloom.

Before Ruan Xuezong could react, Holy Son Wu Yao shoved aside the peacock-feather blanket and stretched out an arm, shielding him. His voice was distant yet calm: “Mother Queen, this slave Agu Ling saved my life. I don’t want him punished. You always claim to love me most—grant me this, then.”

If the Queen was a madwoman, this little ancestor was a pint-sized maniac.

“He did save you, and Mother is grateful,” the Queen replied, her gaze shifting back to Ruan Xuezong. Her eyes narrowed—not kindly. It was as if she’d pierced his disguise. Then, after a pause, she smiled again, ethereal and misty as fog.

In that moment of locked gazes, Ruan Xuezong felt an uncanny calm. He was certain he hadn’t revealed himself—but he couldn’t be sure about her.

Then came a chime.

【Ding! You appeared out of nowhere, acted heroically to save the Holy Son’s life, Chasang Kingdom Faction Favor -20000】

So it really is you, Du Qing’e.