Chapter 102

The top student rushed to the examination hall, only to find his exam paper missing...

Song Qingshi was utterly devastated. Unwilling to give up, he circled the area repeatedly, confirming no one was there, his mind a chaotic mess. Based on the original description of Fu Donglai’s character, Qu Yurong had likely already been violated. Did this mean his mission had failed?

He tried asking Mo Yuan Sword Sovereign in his mind what to do...

Mo Yuan Sword Sovereign’s array was far more reliable than the unreliable system teacher. The answer popped up automatically: "Choose to fail and exit the mission directly."

This was just an array, not the real world. Being a poor, ugly mute was no fun.

Song Qingshi was tempted to quit and claim the consolation prize, but the thought of the boy in the house, inextricably linked to Feng Jun, made him feel uneasy. He couldn't bring himself to give up. He bought some rice, flour, and food from the store and walked home heavily, wanting to see Wu Huan again, give him something to eat, and then carefully consider his next steps...

Wu Huan sat on the bed, wrapped in a robe, meticulously dipping his finger in water and tracing characters on a carved wooden board. Hearing familiar footsteps outside the door, he quickly picked up the board and joyfully offered it: "You're back! Come see, did I write it correctly?"

The fourteen-year-old boy had shed the darkness of calculation and scheming, revealing his true self.

He had successfully escaped hell and was ready to start a new life, with new plans forming in his mind.

Song Qingshi hesitated as he looked at the board. Every character was scrawled unevenly; the strokes were correct, but the positions were unclear, the words overlapping into a messy, indistinguishable jumble. Unable to offer praise, he took Wu Huan's hand and placed it on his own head, nodding vigorously like an eager puppy to show his wholehearted agreement.

"You're so funny," Wu Huan laughed, running his fingers through his dry hair before withdrawing his hand and asking shyly, "If... I learn these characters, will I be able to understand you?"

Song Qingshi froze for a moment.

"You're so kind," Wu Huan said, tenderly touching the characters on the board before lowering his head and letting his long hair cover his ears, which were beginning to burn. His voice was soft: "No one has ever treated me this kindly before..."

He was a worthless blind boy and couldn't think of any way to repay such kindness.

"I have nowhere else to go. Can you let me stay?" Wu Huan asked cautiously. "Though I can't see, I'm very clever. I won't trouble you—I can cook, clean, and I'll work hard to learn characters so I can understand you. I can be your voice, speak for you..."

These things were hardly repayment; they were just a burden on the other person.

Wu Huan's cheeks burned with shame, somewhat grateful he couldn't see the other's expression.

He felt like a drowning man clutching desperately to a passing piece of driftwood, struggling to climb out. He knew full well how fragile that driftwood was, how it might not bear his weight, yet he couldn't let go. He was utterly ashamed of his own desperation...

Wu Huan hung his head lower and lower, almost burying it in the blanket.

Song Qingshi's eyes misted over. He could no longer think clearly. In his mind, Feng Jun and Wu Huan overlapped. He felt that in his lost memories, he had seen Wu Huan in an even more pitiful and helpless state than now. Just the thought of it made his heart ache. Whatever Mo Yuan Sword Sovereign's mission truly was, whether this was an illusion or a memory, he stopped caring. As long as the person before him was Wu Huan, as long as he was Feng Jun's past, that was enough.

Once he'd made up his mind, a sense of relief immediately washed over him.

Song Qingshi felt utterly at peace.

He wiped away his tears, sat by Wu Huan's bedside, and gently touched those beautiful eyes. Moving his lips carefully, he made a silent promise: "Don't be afraid. I won't leave. I'll heal your eyes, your body, and your heart. No matter how difficult it is, I'll never give up..."

"I think I heard your answer... in my heart," Wu Huan said, tightly grasping those gentle hands and pressing them to his ear, carefully listening to the sound of their heartbeats. This was a happiness beyond description. After a long while, his eyes grew red. "Thank you. I'm so happy."

Song Qingshi took the wooden board and small knife again and began teaching characters.

Wu Huan, drawn by his clean, herbal fragrance, leaned closer.

Song Qingshi held his hand and guided it over the board, writing stroke after stroke. For each new character, he would grab an object or gesticulate animatedly, making all sorts of strange movements to let Wu Huan guess the meaning. Wu Huan would always guess wrong countless times, going down many absurd tangents before arriving at the correct answer.

For example, he found a green stone and tried to make Wu Huan understand his name: "Qing Shi, Qing Shi, Qing Shi..."

Wu Huan felt it for a long time before understanding: "Your name is Stone."

Song Qingshi: "..."

They leaned their heads together, their laughter never ceasing. Even the humblest hut felt like the most comfortable home.

...

The test paper in the examination hall was lost, but he would persevere. Maybe one day it would fly back?

Song Qingshi decided not to give up. He would stay by Wu Huan's side until Mo Yuan Sword Sovereign declared the mission a failure and ejected him from the array. Though the world of cultivation was vast, perhaps he'd get lucky and run into Qu Yurong? Then he could bring him back, reform his thinking, treat his psyche, free him from Stockholm syndrome. If he couldn't score a hundred, sixty would do. Failing that, he could beg the teacher for a retake.

One happy day at a time, one happy year at a time...

Song Qingshi cast aside his worries and stopped holding back. He devoted himself entirely to Wu Huan—gathering herbs, brewing medicine, therapeutic massages, cleaning and washing. The first time he helped Wu Huan relieve himself in bed, another misunderstanding occurred. Wu Huan's face turned crimson as he clutched his pants, refusing to take them off. It took ages to explain, but afterward, he obediently allowed himself to be wiped clean.

He didn't dare resist, enduring the treatments in hopes of escaping the shameful state of being bedridden sooner.

Fortunately, Wu Huan had a Wood Spiritual Root, so his injuries healed remarkably well. With the aid of various spiritual medicines, he only needed about a month in bed—during which he learned over two hundred characters—before he could use a crutch to walk again. He quickly familiarized himself with the house's layout and, after a few tries, mastered tidying up.

Song Qingshi's burden lightened considerably.

He was a terrible cook. He could only make plain congee and clear noodle soup. His attempt at chicken stew resulted in a bizarre, blackened concoction with an overwhelming mix of flavors that nearly made Wu Huan vomit. Wu Huan forced it down, only to suffer digestive issues and need several doses of medicine.

Song Qingshi was consumed by guilt and vowed to learn proper cooking.

Wu Huan finally understood why he was so thin and dissuaded him from culinary experiments with desperate pleas. Instead, Wu Huan took over the kitchen, using his hands to gauge steam temperature, memorizing seasoning placements, and experimenting until he mastered several types of porridge and stews. He even figured out how to steam rice and buns, force-feeding Song Qingshi daily and checking his bones and weight before bed to see if he'd gained weight.

Once assured Wu Huan could handle chores, Song Qingshi focused on herb gathering, pill refining, and cultivation. He'd never cared about money or quality of life before, but now that he had a beauty like Wu Huan to support, he couldn't just scrape by.

Using available materials, he refined common pills for sale. Unfortunately, even when he could speak, he was no match for unscrupulous merchants. Now mute, he was utterly at their mercy. Thankfully, he took it in stride and worked efficiently, and his pills were of excellent quality. He even lucked into a couple of orders, managing to save a few spirit stones.

The ingredients for the Xuantian Taiming Pill weren't available in such a small place. While Tianxiang Lou's search focused on Qu Yurong, they'd also hunted for Wu Huan for over half a month. Unable to find him, they assumed he was dead or kidnapped and gave up. It was best to flee far away now to avoid any accidents that might reveal Wu Huan's whereabouts.

Song Qingshi used gestures and writing to explain the plan to Wu Huan.

Wu Huan's face had fully recovered. Though his body hadn't fully matured, his beauty was already stunning—like a tempting treasure. After much deliberation, Song Qingshi created a special ointment to darken Wu Huan's face, hands, and feet, reducing his allure from ten to four. The ointment could only be removed with a special solution. Though prolonged use slightly damaged the skin, making it rough, Wu Huan didn't mind, and the effects reversed after stopping.

Still unsatisfied, Song Qingshi added fake burn scars to cover the teardrop mole on Wu Huan's cheek, dressed him in bulky rags to hide his figure, and gave him an old curtain hat, making him look like a country bumpkin. As for himself, his body hadn't recovered, and his face was ugly enough—no disguise needed.

He sold everything of value to buy a small Mustard Seed Bag for his pill furnace, then commissioned a tiger brace from a blacksmith to earn a living as a traveling doctor. The blacksmith studied the design before producing a previously ordered but unclaimed tiger brace, selling it cheap.

When Song Qingshi received it, he froze.

Its shape and size were strikingly similar to Mo Yuan Sword Sovereign's tiger brace, but it was brand new, lacking intricate arrays or inscriptions.

Perhaps... all tiger braces looked alike?

Shaking the bell to confirm its clear sound, he dismissed the thought.

After packing lightly, he set off, one hand shaking the tiger brace, the other holding Wu Huan's. They traveled through villages and ancient towns, bustling streets and narrow alleys. Most of their patients were poor. Song Qingshi treated them while Wu Huan communicated. When they encountered literate scholars, they waived fees in exchange for teaching Wu Huan characters. For carpenters, they traded treatment for carved books.

They met many interesting people and experienced many adventures, along with plenty of trouble and danger.

Spring turned to winter, seasons passed.

Wu Huan finally achieved Foundation Establishment.

Looking back, a decade had flown by...

The boy had grown taller, but his gentleness remained, as did the medicinal scent.

They rang their bell, crossing mountains and fording rivers, braving dangers, witnessing the world's splendor.

Yet no matter where they went, what they faced...

The hand holding his never let go.