The sharp, piercing sound of swords clashing, the all-encompassing roar of battle, the desperate cries and groans, the thick scent of blood—surrounded by consuming darkness, she rushed wildly through the dark, her fear and cold nearly overwhelming her. She didn't know why she was running, only that she kept running, instinctively striving to break free from the darkness and reach a place of light. A flash of white light suddenly appeared—she hadn’t even time to feel fear. A sharp pain surged from her back, and she collapsed to the ground. Instinctively, she reached out, only to find her hands damp and sticky. The white light swept over her head, and she rolled away in terror, desperately avoiding it. Then, in the darkness, she ran, rolled, stumbled, fell unconscious, and woke up again, clutching the clothes of a man dressed in snowy white. He carefully tended to her wounds. In the mountain cave, the wind howled, yet the fire burned steadily and quietly—everything beautiful and serene, until it was shattered by a clash of battle. A great stone tumbled down. She clutched tightly to the slight protrusions on the rock wall, watching as hands slowly reached toward her, her eyes filled with hope—only for that hope to fade as the fingers passed gently over her fingertips. She fell through. Sharp stones and branches tore across her already wounded body, drawing sharp, piercing pain. She fell like a stone dropped from great height, landing heavily on the ground, her legs bent and broken, the pain tearing through her like a storm. She thought she would die there, yet she remained conscious, She struggled to rise, trying to escape the overwhelming pain coursing through her body, only to be firmly pressed down by a warm palm. A gentle voice soothed her ear, like a spring breeze slowly erasing her pain and easing her fear of the unfamiliar place. She relaxed, savoring his attentive care and tender concern, until the porcelain bowl shattered on the ground. Then, clutching her chest where the pain tightened like a vice, she convulsed, curled into a tight ball on the floor, trembling and shaking until she gradually slipped into darkness. A long, deep darkness, thick with the scent of medicine. In the bed, her body curled and shivered, the clothes damp with cold sweat, pressed tightly against her. Alone in the dark, she reached out, yet never found a source of light. Until she met him again—dressed in a flowing white robe, refined and serene, like a celestial immortal from the ninth heaven. Yet that heavenly man reached out to her, grasping her hand tightly. "Yun Rao, Yun Rao," he gently sucked at her lips, gazing into her eyes, his voice warm and soothing, "There will be no next time. If there is, I'll save you first." She stared at him, watching as that hand—like jade—cleanly passed once more from her fingertip, cutting through her garments and piercing her body. Though she had been wounded so many times, the pain remained sharp and deep, a piercing ache spreading from her chest outward. She struggled to lift her stiff hand, only for it to be tightly grasped, warm, yet not quite hers. Tears slowly seeped from the corners of her closed eyes, rolling down in large drops. "Yun Rao, Yun Rao," someone called her in the darkness, urgent and anxious, with a hint of wonder—so familiar, that even the wound on her chest seemed to ache faintly at the sound. "Yun Rao, open your eyes and look," he whispered softly beside her, so familiar, yet she instinctively refused to open them, wishing instead to remain in that darkness. "Yun Rao, I know you've woken up. Sweetheart, open your eyes now." He coaxed softly, holding her hand tightly—so tightly that she even felt a slight ache. The pain in her chest spread gradually with the returning awareness, seeping into her limbs and dulling her sensation, finally prompting her to open her eyes. The sudden brightness startled her, and she instinctively reached for her hand to shield it, but his palm kept it in place. A warm palm gently rested over her eyelids, blocking out the light. "Just slowly move your eyes, and let yourself adjust to the light," his warm, husky voice murmured. She lay still, quiet, unable to move. Finally, he lifted his hand from her eyes. A cup of warm water was brought to her lips, and he gently helped her sit up, feeding her some of the warm liquid. "Does it feel any better?" he asked, his voice still hoarse. Yun Rao gently rolled her eyes, which were nearly stiff, and looked at him. When she saw his weary face, she felt a bit confused. She moved her lips, speaking in a hoarse voice, "Where is Su Gongzi?" "He's fine, just with some minor injuries," An Ziyuan said softly. She nodded gently. "Thank you!" His hand resting on her shoulder grew slightly stiff. He lowered his gaze, his voice rough and slightly bitter. "You're welcome!" She lowered her eyelids. "I'd like to sleep a little longer." "Alright," he replied in a hoarse tone, slowly helping her lie down and covering her with the quilt. He watched her calm expression, then reached out to grasp her hand. His voice came out low and strangely thick. "Yun Rao, I'm sorry!" She managed a slight curve of her lips, forcing a composed smile—calm and steady. "Su Ran is your cousin. It's only natural that you would save her. If I were in your position, I would have done the same for my own family." She wasn't his family—no more than that. A wistfulness, and perhaps regret, or something else, flashed in his eyes—something she had never been able to understand, never truly deciphered in his gaze. He gently pressed his lips together, only tightening his grip on her hand. She did not struggle; she simply allowed him to hold her. He gazed at her calm face, silent. Perhaps words were now too late—after all, he had once again wounded her, this time the deepest. Su Yan was the daughter of Yun Zhihan, the daughter he had fought and died to save, the daughter who had wept and pleaded with him at the very end of her life, begging him to preserve her life. She was no warrior, and in front of Yun Rao, whose lightness of foot was unmatched, he could not spare a hand to save both of them. He had believed that, with Yun Rao’s skill, avoiding the sword strike was entirely within reach—yet Su Yan had only one path to death. So he had chosen to save her first. But he had not anticipated that Yun Rao had already lost all her internal energy, having broken her promise to her, thus failing her utterly. Her wounds were not merely physical. “You need not feel guilty Yun Rao glanced around, tugged at her lips, and spoke calmly. At that moment, everyone would weigh the pros and cons, deciding who to save first and who to let go—there was nothing wrong with him. The only thing he had done wrong was to hold out such hopes for her. In the end, those hopes proved empty, and he realized, all along, he had been alone. He held her hand tightly, silent. An Zi yuan quietly interrupted him, his gaze never wavering from Yun Rao's calm face. "Yes." He sighed silently in his heart, and the Unchanging figure withdrew with a subdued demeanor. An Zi yuan stared at her pale face, almost translucent, feeling momentarily disoriented. He held her hand tightly, motionless—though she was clearly before him, alive, yet his heart felt hollow and ungrounded. For the first time, he felt this sense of drifting, as though trapped in a mist he couldn't escape. Facing the near-loss of someone he had himself caused, he realized he should have saved her—should have saved her first, no matter the reason. Yet once again, he had abandoned her. Her physical wounds would heal, but what about the ones in her spirit? When Yun Rao awoke again, An Zi Yuan was staring at her with a dazed expression. She greeted him calmly, and he brought her porridge to drink, feeding it to her quietly. She remained still and silent, neither crying nor fussing—so quiet that it was heart-wrenching and unsettling. Though clearly different from before, the change had already taken root. For several days, this pattern repeated itself: each time, she simply cooperated with him, calmly accepting medicine and porridge, silent, unbothered, never complaining of pain. He could see her quiet endurance in the furrows of her brows—she had always been strong in bearing pain, only rarely interrupting others when the pain reached its peak. She would simply endure it silently, holding her breath. Su Yan was lying on the bed, and when he saw Yun Rao, light sparkled in his eyes—something Su Yan knew well: the kind of radiant surprise a man reserved for a woman he deeply admired. Though a faint sense of melancholy passed over him, he could not stop it. "Master An," she said, turning her head to look at him, "would it be possible for me to speak with Su公子 for a while?" Her tone was formal and slightly stiff, making his heart ache. She called him "Master An," polite yet distant. He tightened his grip on her arm, but ultimately managed only a quiet, "Yes." "Your health hasn't fully recovered," he murmured as he prepared to leave, "so don't stay out in the wind too long." "Of course," she replied softly, bowing her head, watching as he stepped out of the room.