After that day, An Zi yuan visited Yun Rao infrequently. He sent messengers every day to deliver medicine and check her pulse, then departed. Since Yun Rao was pregnant and highly sensitive to blood, An Zi yuan specially added two herbs to neutralize the blood's sharp taste, then simmered the blood into pills, which she took with warm water. Though the effect was not as potent as drinking the blood directly, it was the most suitable option for her condition. When the messengers first brought the pills, Yun Rao was reluctant to take them. How large a pill could be, and how much blood would it take to prepare it? That day, while they were talking, she privately felt it unnecessary for him to expend so much effort to help her recover. For someone who had lingered on the brink of death for over a decade, when finally giving up and accepting her fate, the boundaries between life and death had already grown very fluid. Yun Rao didn’t know how suddenly she had come to view life and death with such openness. At the beginning, she had always intended to live as fully as possible—yet the sword from Xiang Jinfei not only severed her trust in An Ziyuan, but also completely destroyed her last lingering affection for life. For over a decade, she had never felt so profoundly alone as that day. When one has nothing left to cherish and endures relentless pain, death seems like the greatest relief. If it weren’t for her promise to repay Xi Yue’s kindness, Yun Rao wasn’t sure she would have made it this far. Even now, knowing she was pregnant, her emotions had shifted from joy to deep concern. Her body had been ravaged by various poisons for more than ten years, and she didn’t know whether the child within her would be affected—indeed, she feared that even after birth, the child might be incomplete or unhealthy. That day, when Yun Rao refused to take the pills, An Ziyuan came by and simply said, "Yun Rao, I will prepare the pills as scheduled. Whether you take them or not is up to you. As long as the poison in your body remains, I will keep preparing them. If you no longer wish to live, I will only accompany you." With those words, he left, leaving the pills behind. For several days thereafter, he came only to take her pulse at scheduled times, saying nothing else. Yun Rao's complexion improved noticeably, and her body no longer felt as weak as before. Yet An Ziyuan's face grew steadily paler and more wan. Even though she watched him every day, she could clearly perceive the changes in his complexion. He was steadily sacrificing his own life to help her expel the poison. The poison had already penetrated her heart and meridians. Yun Rao did not know whether she would have to drain his blood completely to rid herself of it. If that were truly the case, she would rather end her own life right now. When An Zi yuan brought the medicine back, Yun Rao hadn't taken it. He came to check her pulse, looked at the pills resting on the table, and with a quiet expression, said nothing—only sat down, took her hand, and began to take her pulse. Yun Rao pulled her hand away and looked at him. "An Zi yuan, aren't you really planning to drain every drop of blood from your body to save me?" An Zi yuan finally looked at her, his dark eyes calm and still as water. "You've overthought it. If I can even risk your life, how could I possibly sacrifice my own to save yours?" He reached out, "Give me your hand." Yun Rao didn't move, only stared at him. "An Zi yuan, even if you don't drain your life to fully rid me of this poison, I still might marry someone else with your child. Is that really what you've come to—so tragically resigned?" An Zi yuan gazed into her eyes, a deep sense of stillness in his gaze. He looked at her steadily and spoke slowly. "Yun Rao, since I first met you ten years ago, I've already known that my life has You said, if we were to meet again in a future life, you wouldn’t want to see me again. And if that were truly the case, I wouldn’t want to see you either. What I owe you, I will repay you all at once in this lifetime.” Yun Rao couldn’t help but smile, though her eyes grew a little wet. “An Ziyuan, you’ve never owed me anything. You have no need to ruin yourself like this. It’s me who owes you—me who time and again has blocked your path, disrupted your life.” “Then simply live well,” An Ziyuan suddenly roared, his voice now cold and steady, his fingers pressing firmly on her chin. “Yun Rao, if you truly feel you owe me, then repay me everything you owe.” “But you’re gone now. How can I repay you? By giving it to your son?” Yun Rao stared at him, asking each word with clear intent. “An Ziyuan, I truly hate you. Why did you have to personally destroy all the trust I had in you—only for me to carry that pain with me forever? I don’t want this. I don’t want to live like this anymore. Do you know that?” It came out almost in a roar, and as the roar grew, tears streamed down her face, pouring out with the force of her entire being. An Zi yuan remained silent. She had never been so uncontrolled in front of him, nor had she ever poured out her inner pain to him in such a way. He knew he had deeply wounded her, yet he didn’t know how to return to the past and erase everything—once a mistake had been made, it had been made, and no matter how much he tried to make amends, the wounds would remain. He had never seen her cry so profoundly before. She always managed to hold all her sorrows and difficulties within, never crying, never complaining, never expressing sorrow or joy—always calm and composed. "Forgive me," he said, his voice hoarse. He reached out toward her, yet his hand froze in the air. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t bring himself to touch her, to cradle her in his arms. His throat felt as though something had lodged there, as if no matter what he did, everything seemed so pale and helpless. Yun Rao only unconsciously shook her head, weeping continuously—since she was ten, she had never cried so freely or so often. Even when she cried, it was rare, because she had long ago learned that crying did no good; no matter how much she cried, her suffering remained unchanged, and no one ever told her that he was there. She was simply alone, always alone. She learned to endure, to adapt, one step at a time. She had grown accustomed to this life of being alone, and to this constant journey of seeking survival. Even when alone, at that time, she still felt life was beautiful and still believed she wanted to live. Yet she had only paused for a moment, merely longing to savor the comfort of having someone by her side, someone to rely on. But suddenly, she found herself addicted—unable to quit—and lost the calm she once knew, no longer able to rediscover that initial, vibrant yearning for simply living. She had never felt so pessimistic or resigned, never in recent days had she felt so utterly hopeless. She never realized that his instinctive reaction had not only shattered her trust in him, but also severed her connection to the world itself. She didn’t want this—yet she felt utterly lost, as though she could no longer find that original, deep longing for life.