chapter 1

“I heard that a few months ago, Ji Hanshuang—the senior disciple of Qingyun Sect—defeated the Demon Lord during the war against the demon race, only to fall victim to a sneak attack. She was blinded, and her cultivation plummeted.”

“Then she suddenly vanished. No one has seen her since. It’s truly worrying.”

Rain pattered outside the window. At the end of a long day of consultations, my patient had decided to pass the time by chatting with me.

I made a show of being uninterested and concentrated on tidying the clutter on my desk. Only after the woman opposite me finally finished did I squeeze out a polite smile.

“Fellow Cultivator Ji has always been exceptionally capable. I’m sure she’ll be fine, so let’s not worry too much.”

“And Miss Wei, you should head home and get some rest. Someone is waiting for you there.”

Wei Mu looked up and studied me with interest before slowly rising.

Before leaving, she tossed out an airy remark.

“I heard Physician Liu is taking three months off…”

“Enjoy your vacation.”

I accepted her good wishes with a smile.

Once she was gone, I locked the clinic and hurried home with a spring in my step.

After entering the house, I carefully pushed open the door to the innermost room.

Light spilled in, illuminating the figure on the bed.

It was none other than the long-missing Ji Hanshuang.

She lay on her back, her wrists chained to the four corners of the narrow bed. The slender links wound tightly around pale skin, while layer upon layer of silk ribbon covered her beautiful eyes, hiding her expression.

The moment I approached, her keen senses caught the sound. She began struggling violently.

I hurried to remove her gag, sat beside her with my heart in my throat, and began tracing characters on her palm.

Her brow furrowed. She went still for a moment, feeling the path of my fingertip and trying to work out what I wanted.

After a long silence…

“What in the world are you writing? It looks like a dog scratched it! How am I supposed to understand this?”

“Come on, be honest with me. Are you illiterate? Why is your handwriting so ugly?”

Me: “…”

That hurt.

Why did everyone have to insult my handwriting?

Many patients had complained before that they couldn’t read my prescriptions. At first, they assumed all physicians used some mysterious professional script, so they took my notes to other physicians for verification.

In the end, they discovered that my handwriting was simply ugly.

Uniquely, inimitably ugly.

After that, I rarely wrote prescriptions by hand. I recorded them for my patients on a transmission stone instead.

Unable to communicate because she couldn’t decipher my writing, Ji Hanshuang flew into another rage.

She called me shameless, immoral, and a pervert.

Then she called me illiterate again.

I could admit to the first few.

The last one was unacceptable.

I was an outstanding graduate of the foremost medicine sect under heaven. Did she have any idea how many disciples there failed to graduate at all?

Growing desperate, I traced faster and faster across her palm, determined to explain that I was not illiterate.

The faster I wrote, however, the less she understood. The less she understood, the more fiercely she berated me—and the more convinced she became that I couldn’t read.

I was out of options.

I couldn’t use my real voice for fear she might recognize me, so I pulled a Voice-Shifting Fruit from my robe, ate it, and tried to explain in my altered voice.

“I really am not illiterate. My handwriting is just a little ugly. I’ve read a great many books.”

“I’m also highly educated.”

Ji Hanshuang was silent for a moment.

Then she said, “Your voice is ugly too.”

Aggrieved, I protested, “It isn’t. My real voice is very pleasant. It only sounds like this because of the Voice-Shifting Fruit.”

She immediately seized upon the important part.

“Why change your voice at all? Do I know you? Are you afraid I’ll recognize you?”

Embarrassment washed over me.

“Uh… something like that.”

It was almost funny. In ten years, Ji Hanshuang and I had met face-to-face only a handful of times.

I wasn’t even sure she remembered me.

Part of me desperately wanted her to. Another part would rather she had no memory of me at all.

That contradiction came from the fact that I had fallen for someone who, because of who I was, was destined to loathe me—perhaps even hunt me to the ends of the earth.

I sighed inwardly.

Ji Hanshuang noticed none of my turmoil. She merely sneered.

“I don’t care who you are. Tell me why you tied me up and brought me here.”

I shook my head, forgetting she couldn’t see it, and pointed toward her eyes.

“This. I can heal it.”

She was confused at first, but quickly understood what I meant.

After a stunned pause, she asked flatly, “All this, just for that?”

I nodded.

“Just for that.”

“It matters.”

I leaned closer, gently brushed my fingertips over the ribbon covering her eyes, then reached behind her head and slowly loosened the knot.

Unable to see and deprived of any warning, she instinctively struggled the instant the ribbon slackened. The chains restraining her wrists rattled softly.

I pressed down on the wrist she was trying to wrench free, lifted both her arms above her head, and pinned them into the soft bedding.

Then I stared into her sightless eyes.

They were perfectly still, empty of their usual arrogant brilliance. Without that aggressive spark, she seemed quieter, almost obedient.

Studying them intently, I asked one careful word at a time, “The Demon Lord didn’t injure your eyes, did he?”

“You were already blind before you fought him. Am I right?”