The sound of war drums was gradually fading behind the walls of the pavilion. Li Wuxin had risen, staggering, his temples pounding. His body screamed from exhaustion, but his hands knew what to do.

"Open the kit," he said to Lu Xiaoquian in a rough voice, his words coming out like a broken breath. He looked as though he had pushed himself beyond his limits, but he would not allow himself to weaken. Not here, not now.

She obeyed without argument. The herb packets opened, and the bitter smell of ginseng, camphor, and angelica filled the air, blending with the gentle heat from the stove. The mixture of scents, initially comforting, became suffocating, as if every breath brought forth a new agony. Jiang Lingxian was still lying down, his chest exposed, the broken arrow lodged halfway between his ribs. His breath wheezed, each one threatening to stop. He was between life and death. The man they called commander, the one who carried the hope of so many, now lay in a sea of suffering.

"You should be in bed," murmured Lu Xiaoquian to Li Wuxin, watching him. She knew her master was exhausted, but she also knew he would never permit himself even a moment's rest as long as someone needed him. And that someone, today, was Jiang Lingxian.

"The Commander doesn't have time for me to rest," Li Wuxin replied harshly. He knew time was an enemy they could not afford to lose. Not with a life hanging in the balance.

He knelt beside the commander. Lan Boxiao stood on the other side, her eyes red, her face frozen in a mask of contained fear. Li Wuxin didn't look at her. He focused. First, he had to assess the damage.

"The tip is still inside," he said, his fingers exploring the flesh with almost inhuman precision. "It grazed the heart. We need to remove it without causing excessive bleeding. Xiaoquian, heat the knife. We'll cauterize the wound the moment I remove it."

She nodded and lit the small bronze stove, sliding the blade into the blue flame. Lan Boxiao grasped her master's hand, murmuring his name like a mantra, each syllable a silent plea. But in her eyes, one could see the inner struggle. She knew the situation was desperate, but she hoped Wuxin would do the impossible to save the commandant.

Li Wuxin closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, seeking to calm the turmoil in his mind. Then he placed his fingers on the shaft of the piece He had lived this scene a thousand times.

"Now." His voice carried such assurance, not the certainty of knowing, forged through years of pain and expertise, but the certainty acquired through suffering, through gestures repeated until mastery was achieved.

With a quick, precise motion, he yanked the arrow out. Blood shot out in a bright red wave, but Lu Xiaoquian was already there, the heated blade pressed against the wound. The smell of burned flesh filled the room, taking over the space like a specter. Jiang groaned weakly, unconscious. Wuxin pressed a black lotus compress to the wound, then added drops of a rare extract, red-thorn sap, known for its coagulant properties. He knew every second counted, that even the slightest delay could be fatal.

"You need to help him breathe," he said to Lu Xiaoquian in a softer, yet equally firm voice. "Prepare the Three Breaths decoction. You remember?"

"Yes. I'll prepare it." She moved quickly, her back to him, her hair falling in a cascade over her shoulders. Lan Boxiao followed her every movement with her eyes, as if clinging to each of her gestures. Her face, marked with ashes and dried tears, was no longer that of the unshakable disciple but that of a young girl broken, an orphan witnessing her world fall apart the moment her master had been struck.

Li Wuxin said nothing. His hands moved over the commander's chest, applying precise pressures and massages, activating the meridians, helping the Qi to flow, forcing the body to fight for survival. Every gesture cost him. Every breath drained more of his energy, but he held on. He would hold on as long as it took.

Lu Xiaoquian returned with a small, steaming cup in her hands. She knelt and brought the medicinal drink to the commander's lips.

"Help me," she said to Lan Boxiao, her voice marked by urgency. "Hold him."

The young warrior slipped an arm beneath her master's massive shoulders, lifting him slowly, as if each movement was an unbearable burden. Lu Xiaoquian poured the decoction drop by drop, silently praying that the remedy would take effect, that it would help him regain consciousness. Once it was done, she placed her hand on Lan Boxiao's shoulder, her gaze turned towards her, a flicker of support in her eyes.

"You're doing what you can. He knows you're here. He's still fighting," her voice, soft but firm, carried the hopes of all. Lan Boxiao's presence, the soul holding onto her master, was what might save him.

Lan Boxiao nodded, tears in her eyes. Then, without a word, she pressed her forehead against Lu Xiaoquian's. The world disappeared for a moment. Only this contact remained, this warmth, this silent bond that seemed to seal the promise to do everything possible to save the one they both loved.

"Thank you," she murmured. "For him. For me." And she placed a light kiss on Lu Xiaoquian's lips.

Li Wuxin left them. He slowly rose, seeking support against the table. The effort had drained him. He had given everything, but he still stood.

"He can't move for two days, and he mustn't even speak, It will take time before he truly recovers."

Lan Boxiao turned to him, her face torn with relief. "Thank you."

Li Wuxin didn't look satisfied. His eyes were clouded, like a man exhausted beyond his limits. Then, suddenly, as if struck by a thunderclap, he stiffened.

"Xu Moyao told me you have a letter, where is it?" he asked suddenly, his voice betraying a tension he couldn't hide.

Lu Xiaoquian handed it to him. Xu Moyao had entrusted it to her before leaving for the battlefield. He unfurled it, his eyes quickly scanning the words.

"It's a summons. Not a threat. They want me to come to them. Voluntarily."

"Master, you can't be serious!" Lu Xiaoquian exclaimed, her eyes wide with terror.

"Of course not," he replied, his lips pressed into a thin line. "But they know who I am. What I do. What I can do. And if they return... they'll ask for more."

Silence fell. It was heavy, oppressive.

"Lan Boxiao! Lan Boxiao is gone!"

Lu Xiaoquian jumped up abruptly. "What, she was here..." The sentence died in her throat, and as she turned her head, she noticed the absence of the one who had held her hand just five minutes ago.

A breathless messenger entered, anxiety crushing his face. "I saw her leave through the back. Alone. She didn't respond when I called. She mounted a horse and rode south."

Lu Xiaoquian felt panic seize her, fear coursing through her body like a cold gel. She ran outside, her heart beating more violently than the turmoil in the distance. The camp was still buzzing in the early dawn, but there was no sign of Lan Boxiao. Only dancing shadows and the echo of drums.

"Why..."

The days passed slowly, heavy as centuries. Every morning, Lu Xiaoquian woke with a weight in her chest, a persistent sense of emptiness that never seemed to fade. The camp, despite its bustle, felt silent. As if, in some way, Lan Boxiao's disappearance had stifled the liveliness of the world around her. She couldn't stop asking herself questions, dozens, hundreds, that spun endlessly in her mind.

Why had she left so suddenly? What had she felt at the moment of departure, that urgency, that silent pain she hadn't shared? Lu Xiaoquian felt betrayed, but not in the way one feels betrayed by an enemy. It was a void one feels when someone deeply cherished, someone who is part of you, drifts away without explanation, without even a final glance.

She still remembered the warmth of her touch, that silent moment when their foreheads had touched. Why? What had made her leave, alone, into the darkness of the night? Lu Xiaoquian wondered if she had done something wrong. If, in some way, her own behavior had made Lan Boxiao feel like she no longer had a place among them.

The days were filled with these thoughts that had no beginning or end, but that were of an all-consuming intensity. She saw Lan Boxiao in every corner of the camp, in the faces of the soldiers, in their gestures. But she never found her. Each day without news was another blow to her heart, and yet, she refused to let herself collapse. She knew she couldn't afford to break down.

Li Wuxin noticed her, of course. His eyes always pierced the soul of those around him. It wasn't in his nature to ask questions, but he knew. And that was enough for him.

One morning, while she was busy preparing the final details for the day, he approached her. His silhouette stood out against the foggy backdrop, like a familiar shadow, but when his voice rose, it was calm, soothing.

"Xiaoquian," he said gently. "You don't have to carry this burden alone."

She slowly turned her head towards him, her eyes opening to the fatigue that had taken hold of her in recent days. The corners of her lips lifted slightly, but it only underscored the worry that lingered in her gaze.

"I'm not carrying anything," she replied, but her voice trembled slightly, betraying her feigned indifference. "I'm just... busy."

Li Wuxin didn't respond right away. When he reached her, he stopped and looked at her for a long moment, his gaze intense, saying more than a thousand words.

"Lan Boxiao didn't leave because she was avoiding you," he said finally, his voice aiming to be as convincing as possible. "She left because she needed to find herself. And it has nothing to do with you."

Lu Xiaoquian lowered her eyes, the pain awakening within her. She hadn't been naive, she knew this departure wasn't directed at her, but why did it hurt so much? Why did this absence strike her so poignantly?

"She... left alone," she said in a broken voice, almost inaudible. "And I couldn't do anything."

Li Wuxin remained silent for a moment, then, in a rare gesture, placed a hand on her shoulder. A brief but strong touch, reassuring, as though sending her everything he could to fill the void within her.

"You didn't have to do it all," he said softly. "You did everything you could. Sometimes, people need to lose themselves before they can find themselves. And you, Xiaoquian... you've always been there for others, even when they didn't ask you to. That's your strength."

She lifted her eyes to him. It was rare for him to show so much emotion, but there was something sincere in his words, something that gradually eased the pain in her heart. The sadness hadn't disappeared, but it wasn't as heavy. She could breathe a little easier.

"Thank you, master," she murmured, her throat tight. "I know you're right."

He looked at her for a moment, then added: "Lan Boxiao will return, when she's ready. She hasn't disappeared. She's just taken a different path, for now."

Li Wuxin's words echoed in her like a simple but profound truth. She had never really been alone, even when she felt abandoned. She had her place in this world, and she would find it again, just as Lan Boxiao would find hers, sooner or later.

The weight in her chest lightened a little, and she straightened up, taking a deep breath, a faint smile drawing across her lips.

Li Wuxin nodded, a look of approval in his eyes.

She looked at him, touched by his words, and for the first time since Lan Boxiao's departure, she felt strength returning within her.

That night,  Lu Xiaoquian sat near the dying fire. Her fingers idly played with a dried blade of grass, and her eyes stared into the void. That’s when the memory came back—bright and vivid, like a lantern flickering to life in the dark.

It had been a summer night. Just the two of them, by the stream behind the tents, far from any watchful eyes. Lan Boxiao had tossed off her cloak and perched barefoot on a rock, her feet dangling in the cool water, laughing like a carefree child.

"You always think I'm some icy warrior," she had said, splashing water in Xiaoquian’s direction, "but I'm actually very good at doing absolutely nothing."

"You're terrible at doing nothing," Lu Xiaoquian had retorted with a grin. "You still check for ambushes between every passing fish."

Lan Boxiao had pulled a face, then silently crept closer until—suddenly—she shoved Xiaoquian straight into the stream, clothes and all. The surprised yelp Xiaoquian let out echoed through the valley.

They had laughed, breathless, soaked to the skin, hair clinging to their cheeks, hands gripping one another to keep from falling again.

Later, lying side by side on the damp grass, the stars stretching endlessly above them, Lan Boxiao had whispered, almost shyly:

"I only laugh like this when I’m with you."

Xiaoquian had turned to face her, eyes glowing with a quiet tenderness. She didn’t say anything. She simply reached out and laced her fingers with Boxiao’s. A simple gesture—but it said everything.

 Lan Boxiao would return, She truly believed it.