Zhuoma Yangjin sobbed uselessly, clawing at me with desperate fury; if I had any strength left, I would have wanted to kill her too. What in the blazes had she done to me! Yet, I couldn't even muster the strength to speak. It felt as if those tiny worms were spreading throughout my mind, burrowing into my scalp, beneath my hair, deep into my very marrow.

I was entirely incapable of speech, gazing mournfully at Zhuoma Yangjin, silently begging her for a swift end to my suffering, caring for nothing else. If she killed me now, it would be the greatest kindness she could offer.

Zhuoma Yangjin continued to wail uncontrollably.

“Princess, Princess!” Someone suddenly knocked on the door. This was a catastrophe; the moment Zhuoma Yangjin went to open it, I would try to haul myself up and smash my head against the wall—perhaps cracking my skull open would bring some measure of relief.

Hearing the knock, Zhuoma Yangjin instantly stifled her cries and asked Wangmu what the matter was.

Wangmu, outside the door, rattled off a string of nonsense, then inquired if something was wrong with me, adding a reminder to draw some blood first so she could take it out to have someone examine what was going on.

The mention of drawing blood was like a sudden amnesty granted to me; I desperately shouted for Zhuoma Yangjin to bring a knife.

Zhuoma Yangjin calmed slightly, pulled out the small Tibetan knife she kept with her, grabbed my arm, and slashed carelessly across it. A shock of icy steel sliced through my skin—ah, that exquisite relief... the agonizing, maddening itch finally subsided. “Another cut,” I urged her.

Zhuoma Yangjin looked at me with eyes full of tears. Wangmu urged from outside, “Hurry up and give me a sample of his blood.” She immediately jumped off the bed, found a stark white towel, wiped all the blood from my arm, then cracked the door open a sliver, passing the cloth through the gap to Wangmu before slamming it shut immediately. Following this was Wangmu’s hurried retreat.

In those few brief seconds, things began to go wrong again; that unbearable, maddening itch was stirring anew, showing signs of relapse. “Yangjin, quick, another cut for me!” I struggled to pinch myself while I still had a scrap of strength left.

Zhuoma Yangjin’s face was ghostly pale. She fumbled frantically through her large satchel, sending jars and vials crashing to the floor. A knife! I needed a knife! Not this junk; even breaking a bottle to give me a shard would suffice!

“Found it, found it.” Zhuoma Yangjin alternated between weeping and laughing as she brought over a small, grayish-green porcelain bottle. She pulled out a thin, long object from within, ignited it, and waved it beneath my nose a few times. An indescribable coolness shot straight from my nostrils to my heart and brain. Instantly, I felt much better; the stirring, restless itch was immediately suppressed. However, I felt no true peace. My intuition screamed that they could flare up again at any moment.

Seeing that I had quieted down, Zhuoma Yangjin’s weeping became less hysterical. She choked out, “Luolian, what do we do? I’m afraid something will happen to you… But now that it’s come to this, I must… I…”

Ignoring her, I needed to check the wound on my arm first. It wasn't deep, but it wasn't shallow either. Yet, in that short time, it had already stopped bleeding, forming a dark red scab.

“Forget it… Let’s see what’s going on with this arm first,” I said weakly. A baseless intuition told me this was connected to the things inside my body, and those things were tied to the Blood Spring water. It was a clear, unbidden instinct. Before this, at most, I had only glimpsed the Blood Spring water, knowing nothing about what it truly was. But now, why such a definite premonition?

Zhuoma Yangjin examined the wound, tentatively touching it with her finger. I only felt numbness at the site—no pain, no itch, no other sensation.

My mind was extraordinarily clear, so sharp that I could sense countless mechanisms whirring methodically within my entire brain. I immediately reached a conclusion: Zhuoma Yangjin didn't seem to be feigning sorrow; she truly had some difficulty. Although I was starting to believe her, this feeling was undeniable—this time, she wasn't using me.

I glanced at the wound, then at Zhuoma Yangjin. “Yangjin, what must you do? It’s to find what’s in my head, isn’t it? Is it related to the Blood Spring water? It seems there aren't any ‘people’ like Doctor Ciren inside them. I think… perhaps my body isn’t as bad as you imagine… Don’t cry, don’t cry.”

Zhuoma Yangjin looked at me, her face etched with worry. Silent tears streamed down onto my hand. She whispered sadly, “Luolian, I’ve wronged you. Now, at this stage, I dare not proceed further. We can only wait for the High Priest to arrive.”

What did it matter? Wait then. My mind was operating at peak efficiency anyway; I should use this chance to sort through everything. So, I smiled and assured her it was fine. But Zhuoma Yangjin continued to weep, constantly muttering that she feared once the things inside me emerged, I wouldn't recognize her. My mind raced, but my body lacked the strength to even speak or comfort her that things weren't as dire as she thought.

A short while later, Wangmu knocked again, asking how things were and if she should come in to help. Zhuoma Yangjin immediately and calmly replied no, telling her instead to focus on monitoring news from the High Priest’s location and ensuring he was invited as soon as possible.

Wangmu acknowledged the instruction and retreated. The thump-thump-thump of her footsteps was unnervingly clear; I could even discern that her footfall grew heavier every three steps... It was a bizarre sensation; my mind was beyond my control, yet this information surfaced without reason.

Seeing I had settled down, Zhuoma Yangjin returned to rummaging through her jars and vials, searching for a long time before finally pulling out a small, thumb-sized porcelain bottle, decorated with gilded red lacquer. She brought it over, sat down near me, and stared blankly at the tiny bottle. After a long silence, she sighed, put it back, and said, “Luolian, I truly dare not act rashly; I’m afraid something irreversible might happen to you… Let’s wait for the High Priest to come first. Ah… I wonder what the old man will think, that I summoned him to run all the way to Linzhi for an outsider like you.” She sighed repeatedly, her worries grating on my nerves.

Wangmu occasionally came up to report on the movements of Old Li, Eighty-Seven, and the High Priest, using coded language. However, Zhuoma Yangjin was wary of outsiders, not me. Wangmu relayed everything she said directly to me.

Old Li and Eighty-Seven, among others, remained inside the room, having gone nowhere. The foreign spies watching us had been cleanly dealt with by Forty-Three’s men. Logically, we should be relaxed now. But Eighty-Seven, instead, was restless, constantly sending Wangmu up to inquire about my condition. Each time Wangmu came up, Zhuoma Yangjin impatiently told them to wait. Wangmu would then retreat with profound deference.

I too grew impatient. If the High Priest was coming, when would he arrive! And there was an answer lurking just beyond my grasp, yet when I tried to grasp it, the details dissolved. For instance, why those monsters appeared beneath the Guge ruins? Why so many white-robed figures under Fuxian Lake? What was their origin… I felt like I already knew the answers to these questions, but I couldn't articulate them.

Though Zhuoma Yangjin was tearful and worried, she remained relatively composed. But around ten in the evening, she finally started to fidget. She asked me, “Luolian, if the High Priest is coming via the secret passage I used to get to Linzhi, he should be close now. Why hasn't Wangmu reported back yet!” She sat on the far end of the bed, keeping a cautious distance from me. She was afraid of giving rise to any unnecessary (primarily physical) misunderstanding, yet she couldn't leave me unattended.

The bedside lamp cast a soft, ambiguous glow on Zhuoma Yangjin’s face, smoothing the contours of her features; even her hair seemed to carry a faint suggestion of yielding resistance. I couldn't help feeling a stirring of inappropriate desire.

“Yangjin… I…” I played a small trick, keeping my neck rigidly still, and said, “My neck… hurts.”

As expected, she instantly rushed over, lifted my head, and gently massaged my neck. “Does it hurt a lot?” I tilted my face slightly, brushing against the soft swell of her chest. “Mmm… it hurts…” Though I said that, my heart was soaring with delight.

Zhuoma Yangjin didn't notice my petty scheme and continued gently kneading my neck, worrying, “You’ve been lying here motionless for a whole day. Oh dear… what if it’s forever then…”

I was about to say, who cares, let’s enjoy this moment of closeness, when that cursed Wangmu ran to knock again, announcing that something major had happened—the High Priest had been intercepted midway and forced back.

Hearing this, Zhuoma Yangjin’s hand slipped from my head, and my skull immediately knocked against the [censored text], leaving me dazed and breathless.

“Who dares have the audacity to stop the High Priest?” Zhuoma Yangjin managed after a long moment. “Are you dead? Has such a huge thing happened, and you couldn't deploy men to stop them? You know perfectly well I can’t leave him for a second, and you can’t even handle this little task?”

Wangmu dared not speak from outside the door. Zhuoma Yangjin vented her frustration before anxiously looking at me. “What do we do? I can’t leave, and I can’t even open this door. Luolian, the High Priest can’t come.”

Wangmu urged her again, saying she dared not return without permission for fear of alerting the High Priest; this required Zhuoma Yangjin to go personally.

I was forced to say, “Then you go back. I still have Li Zeng and the others; we’ll be fine.”

Zhuoma Yangjin looked at me. “Do you think you’re a normal person right now? You are as fragile as an infant. A sudden bright light, even a slight cold breeze outside, could end your life. Why else do you think I’ve kept the door shut and the curtains drawn all this time?”

A chill shot straight up my spine. How… how could this be?

“I…” My brain was still operating at high speed, trying to assess the truth of her words—it felt true, yet I was still filled with worry. “I…” I weakly clutched Zhuoma Yangjin’s hand, unsure of what to say.

Zhuoma Yangjin quickly calmed down, telling Wangmu to ignore everything else and first persuade the High Priest to come.

Wangmu reminded her, “The High Priest is supremely wise, and he has so many protectors. Whoever managed to turn him back, no matter the method, must be a formidable character.”

Zhuoma Yangjin lowered her head and pondered for a long time. With an air of burning her bridges, she declared, “Then go find Eighty-Seven. Tell him I beg him to fetch the High Priest.”

Wangmu gasped, “Princess, are you mad! How can he possibly meet the High Priest! That is our imperial ground; what standing does Eighty-Seven have!”

As soon as her voice faded, Eighty-Seven’s own voice followed, still coated in the ingratiating smile of an honest little merchant: “I may not be anything, but… the person you are looking for, he has arrived.”