If the Medicine Venerable coveted Nirvana back then, what did Feng Quan represent?
He said he saved a group of children from the former valley master of Medicine King Valley, yet in the end, why did only Feng Quan survive? And he even raised Feng Quan in obscurity until adulthood?
When Feng Quan went missing previously, he seized the opportunity to emerge from seclusion. How much of that was true and how much was false?
Or was the Medicine Venerable's betrayal merely to save Feng Quan's life?
This chess game targeting Lin Yuan, the long preparation, the deep machinations – upon close examination, it was truly chilling. The concubine in the prince’s manor, the empress dowager in the imperial palace, the ministers of various provinces and departments in the court. Piece by piece, when unraveled like a silken cocoon, the dimly revealed contours resembled a colossal net, capable of devouring Lin Yuan.
This was not a web woven in a day or a month, but something that must have taken years, perhaps even decades, to complete.
And Medicine King Valley, an indispensable link in this grand scheme, what role did it play? Was it truly neutral, as they claimed, detached from courtly affairs?
The silence stretched for a considerable time, the air growing heavy. His knees met the ground, the chill seeping through his kneecaps and spreading throughout his body. The cold was not confined to his scalp. The aura that emanated from the person before him, who lowered his eyes in contemplation, was like a howling gale, like surging tides, like a mountain plummeting from the sky and pressing upon his spine. Luan Wencheng momentarily felt like a minuscule speck of dust in the vast expanse of heaven and earth. He lowered his head, gazing at the other person’s toes. They were so close, yet he felt he needed to stand on tiptoe, to crane his neck and exert all his strength just to catch a glimpse of a mere fraction.
Luan Wencheng felt a flutter in his heart, but the composure honed over years prevented him from revealing his inner emotions.
In the silence, the door was pushed open from the outside. Qing Yuan arrived with the surgical instruments.
Nan Shiying finally raised her eyes. The lingering chill in her pupils startled Qing Yuan, causing her to falter. Nan Shiying realized something, her eyes curving slightly, the chill in them vanishing instantly. She waved at Luan Wencheng, gesturing for him to rise, then walked towards Qing Yuan to examine the instruments she had brought.
They were complete.
Sufficient!
Qing Yuan blinked, then tilted her head to look at her junior martial uncle. Her slightly upturned lips were rosy and moist. Her eyes, cast upon the instruments, were dark and bright, devoid of any coldness, as if the thin, chilling gaze she had just seen was merely an illusion.
Sensing a pair of eyes fixed on her face, Nan Shiying did not look up. She merely raised a hand to ruffle the young girl’s hair, and only when it was disheveled did she release her hand with satisfaction, instructing her to take the instruments to the adjacent room.
Nan Shiying strode outward. Her peripheral vision caught Luan Wencheng, still standing in place. Her steps paused momentarily. She turned and said, "You may wait inside or outside. But if you wish to witness it firsthand, then I can only show you a live dissection."
Her voice was gentle, yet her words carried a chilling undertone. The warning was delivered with a sarcastic edge. Luan Wencheng felt she was less like a physician and more like a politician with a hidden dagger.
"Your subordinate understands."
Luan Wencheng clasped his hands and bowed.
Hearing this, Nan Shiying turned and left the room, then stepped into another.
Luan Wencheng stood before the closed door, then turned and looked at his subordinate who was helping with the cleaning – he had survived after all.