Shen Qiao was badly injured, but the wounds on his face were mostly scratches from when he’d fallen. Once the blood was cleaned off, his original appearance was revealed.
Neither the abrasions on his face, nor the circle of gauze around his head could detract from his handsome beauty. From the curve of his nose to his tightly closed lips, all his features carried an air of aloof restraint. He looked very much like what anyone would expect from one of Xuandu Mountain’s Daoist practitioners—someone far removed from the common people.
It wasn’t hard to imagine how much brighter his splendor might shine once his eyes finally opened.
Of course, Yu Shengyan wasn’t exactly ugly himself—he was one of Yan Wushi’s disciples, after all, and Yan Wushi didn’t take on ugly disciples. He’d seen many peerless beauties during his travels, but he still spent a long moment staring at Shen Qiao’s bruised and battered face in a daze. Only afterwards did he pick up the ointment and begin applying it to him, all while sighing on the inside.
Broken bones could be set and meridians could be rejoined, but badly injured internal organs were not so simple to repair. Even worse, his cultivation had been greatly degraded—from now on, he might be even weaker than a common man. When Yu Shengyan tried to imagine losing all his hard-earned martial arts in a single night, his mind rebelled at the idea. And in Shen Qiao’s situation, the shock would be even greater.
Such a pity. Yu Shengyan muttered to himself, looking at that pale, bloodless face and shaking his head.
Yan Wushi had only stepped in to save Shen Qiao on a whim. Now that the man was saved, all responsibility had been tossed onto Yu Shengyan, and Yan Wushi didn’t bother showing the slightest interest.
Funing County was small and didn’t normally attract many visitors, but because the battle at Banbu Peak had been so famously sensational, these days there were quite a few jianghu travelers stopping there to rest for the night after coming from Banbu Peak. Yu Shengyan was able to gather a fair bit of news from them even with only the occasional trip outside.
For example: the duel between Shen Qiao and Kunye had been extremely thrilling, but unfortunately Shen Qiao was no Qi Fengge. It was said that he was far below his master’s level, while Kunye was well on the way to surpassing the prowess Hulugu had possessed twenty years ago. Thus, Daoist Master Shen wasn’t just defeated but also thrown off the cliff, and not even his bones had survived.
It was rumored that before the duel, many tempers had flamed with righteous indignation at Kunye’s brazen challenge to Shen Qiao. Some were eager to fight him themselves, to smash the Göktürks’ arrogance. But after the battle, when they saw Xuandu Mountain utterly defeated, the people who’d wanted to stand up all scampered away, too afraid to take a swing at Kunye.
With the match, Kunye’s reputation had soared. He’d replaced Shen Qiao and ascended to the top ten. It was said that on this visit to the Central Plains, he would challenge their martial experts one by one, and his next target was likely Buddhist Master Xueting of Zhou.
The land had not been unified since the Jin’s mass migration to the south and the Uprising of the Five Barbarians. Now Zhou and Qi were in the north, the Chen Dynasty was in the south, and the Göktürks and Tuyuhun each occupied vast stretches of land along the borders, while sects and families all served their own masters.
As the leader of the Daoist sects, Xuandu Mountain had been firmly neutral since Qi Fengge’s time and did not involve themselves in worldly power struggles. Now that Shen Qiao had been defeated by Kunye and his fate was unknown, no one knew who’d succeed him as the leader of Xuandu Mountain, nor did they know if that successor would carry on the neutral stance of the previous generations. If they did not, the balance of the world would shift.
But the protagonist at the center of this vortex remained lying in bed while these rumors swirled, with Yu Shengyan and the villa’s servants applying his medicine and changing his clothes for him every day. Devoid of thought or consciousness, of joy or sorrow, he was completely unaware of the happenings in the outside world.
It wasn’t until half a month later that he made his first movement.
Hastily summoned by the servants, Yu Shengyan watched as Shen Qiao slowly opened his eyes.
“You’ve been badly injured,” he said. “And your broken bones haven’t mended yet, so it’s best you stay still.”
The other man frowned a little, his lips opening and closing as if he wanted to say something. Then a blank look came over his face.
Surely the fall hadn’t actually turned him into an idiot?
Yu Shengyan pondered while he asked, “Do you remember what your name is?”
The other man gave a sluggish blink, then slowly shook his head, the movement so slight it was almost imperceptible.
Amnesia? That was to be expected. After all, his head had suffered severe trauma. Yu Shengyan still remembered the day he’d carried Shen Qiao back, and how there’d been a gaping gash on the back of his head so long and deep, he could nearly see the dense white skull inside.
“This friend…” Shen Qiao spoke with extreme effort. Yu Shengyan moved closer to listen. “There is only darkness before my eyes. Perhaps I cannot see…”
Yu Shengyan was shocked. Shen Qiao hadn’t woken up an idiot, instead he’d woken up blind?