"Tell me more about you", Li Wuxin raised his head, puzzled. " You wanna know more about me?" his tone almost mocking, " I said what I said." The general seems to regret his words. "And why's that?" Li Wuxin was intrigued now. This man was so proud, and he had just paused that question, "You're the man who saved me, right? I have a debt of life to you." Despite his weakness, he managed to rise, legs trembling beneath him, before sinking to his knees in silence, his head was bowed in silent respect, his posture flawless despite the weakness weighing down his body. "I owe you my life. Please, allow me to remain by your side and serve you until my debt is repaid, no matter how long it takes; my life is yours."

Li Wuxin froze.

A debt?

He didn’t look at him immediately. His hands paused mid-motion, the bandage in his grasp slackening. A chill went through him—not from the cold, but from something deeper. The weight of what it meant.

"Is that what this is to him? A transaction? A balance to be restored?"

Li Wuxin's jaw tightened slightly.

"You tried to kill my people. You burned villages. And now this... this is just another line on some moral ledger to you?" he said between gritted teeth

But then he looked down at him and realise 

Xu Moyao’s words had cost him. There had been no pride in them, no threat. Just... weight.

Li Wuxin let out a breath. It came slow, controlled, as if he could exhale all the thoughts pressing at the corners of his mind.

Then, the soft rustle of fabric.

The doctor stepped forward without a word. He lowered himself gently, kneeling before the general. No hesitation. Just quiet resolve.

Startled, Xu Moyao slowly lifted his head.

Their eyes met, two worlds, one burdened by blood, the other by compassion.

In that moment, neither of them moved. Just two figures kneeling in the silence. Li Wuxin was the first to break de silence. "I didn't save you to bind you to me. I saved you because I'm a doctor—it's simply what I do. Maybe I just want you to live long enough to understand what mercy costs. Who knows."

"Then perhaps it's time I learn."

Xu Moyao’s voice was steady. No pride. No defiance. Just a quiet statement—acceptance.

Li Wuxin watched him in silence. Something flickered in his expression—almost pity, almost anger—but it passed like a shadow.

He turned away.
“You’d better. Because mercy,” he said, his tone flat, “isn’t cheap. Not for the one who gives it.”

He said nothing more.

And Xu Moyao, kneeling still, didn't rise.

He stayed kneeling—not from duty, not from weakness, it’s was something else 

They remained like that, unmoving.
Two men and a silence that said too much.
The candle flickered between them, its light fragile, like something neither of them dared to breathe too hard on.

Li Wuxin did not speak. He only watched.
And for once, Xu Moyao did not look away.

Eventually, the general closed his eyes.

The night was long. He didn’t really sleep. Neither did Li Wuxin.

The next morning, Xu Moyao woke with a gasp.

The pain was worse. Sharper, deeper, like fire beneath his skin. His breath trembled in his chest, and cold sweat clung to his body.

The doctor was at his side in seconds, brows furrowed, hands already working to check his pulse, his temperature, the state of his wounds.

"You shouldn't be in this much pain," he murmured, almost to himself. "The wounds are healing..."

But the fever told another story. High, relentless, burning through him like a second.

"We have to cool him down. Lu Xiaoquian quickly prepare a cold water bath."

"Yes, Shinzun", she started running

When the time came, with Xu Moyao nearly collapsing against him, he guided him slowly toward the improvised bath. Step by step, he supported Xu Moyao's faltering body, most of his weight in silence.

Xu Moyao's body was heavy, far too heavy for someone so thin. A dead weight of fever and exhaustion, wrapped in muscle. The doctor strained, arms hooked under the general's shoulders, breath caught in his throat.

"You're not helping," he muttered under his breath, knowing full well the man was nearly unconscious.

"You have to survive, even if you hate everything I’m doing for you," the thought crossed his mind as he adjusted his grip.

The thought wasn’t just born from fatigue. Xu Moyao was an enemy. And Li Wuxin wasn’t sure of himself yet. Can a man who’s caused so much destruction really be saved? Wasn’t it madness to offer such unconditional help after everything he’d done to his people? But a doctor doesn’t choose their patients, and he couldn’t turn away, no matter how much his conscience tugged at him.

His breath quickened as he felt the weight of the general’s feverish body against his own. There was nothing delicate about this, nothing graceful in the way he struggled to keep Xu Moyao steady. "I’m doing this because I’m a doctor. That’s all. A doctor."

He tried again. Nothing. His grip slipped. The general slumped sideways, dragging both of them toward the floor in a quiet, undignified collapse.

A moment of silence. Then a sigh.

"...Fine."

With no other choice, he shifted behind Xu Moyao, hooked one arm around his chest, and started dragging him toward the bath.

The floor was slick, the path awkward. Water sloshed. Towels got kicked aside. But he didn't stop. Inch by inch, he pulled the general's body forward, breath sharp with effort, heart pounding not with fear, but urgency.

When they finally reached the edge of the bath, he didn't hesitate.

He went in with him.

Clothes and all.

The water was cold, colder than he had intended. It surged up around them as they sank into it, the general half-cradled against him, heat meeting the cold of the water. The water shifted in slow circles around their tangled silhouettes.The doctor held him steady, one hand braced behind his neck, the other clutching his shoulder to keep him from slipping under.

"Next time," he murmured, more to himself than to Xu Moyao, "try being at least slightly cooperative."

There was no response, only the faint sound of the general breathing, ragged but alive.

Xu Moyao barely registered anything, his breath shallow, his body limp.

Li Wuxin couldn’t afford to hesitate now, even though a part of him was still unsure. "Trust him?" He caught himself wondering. "Can I really trust him? The enemy?"

And in the silence that followed, the water slowly began to cool his body temperature. The general was half-conscious by then, his head lolling slightly, lips parted, breathing shallow.

For a fleeting moment, seeing him like that, Li Wuxin wondered if the man before him was not just an enemy, but someone far more complicated than that. "He's still a man, after all." But could he afford to let his guard down? Could he trust this man whose hands had spilled so much blood?

The general’s body tensed as he trembled, barely aware of his surroundings. There was no more fighting in him, only the soft rasp of breath and the faintest hint of resistance. Li Wuxin wasn’t sure if he was even aware that he was being bathed, or if it was just the fever that made his body so unresponsive.

"Does he even care that I’m trying to save him?" The question nagged at Li Wuxin. But the answer didn’t come. The doctor kept going. Slowly, carefully, methodically. He washed away the sweat, the fever, the signs of illness.

There was no embarrassment, no hesitation.

He bathed him gently, methodically, sponging away the heat, the sweat, the scent of illness. His touch was precise, clinical.

He didn't speak. He only watched, measuring each breath, each twitch of pain on Xu Moyao's face, searching for signs of improvement or of failure.

The general didn't speak either. He was too far gone into the haze.

They stayed in the bath longer than planned, the water, intentionally cold, biting against their skin. It had done its job: Xu Moyao's fever was beginning to break.

The general lay half-conscious, his body limp against the doctor's chest, breath no longer burning. But the doctor was trembling now, soaked through, his clothes heavy with freezing water.

His teeth clenched to keep them from chattering.

They stayed in the bath for a long time. Li Wuxin sometimes cupped some water in his hands and poured eat on the general's forehead. Every muscle in his body ached, but he didn't stop.

With slow, deliberate movements, he lifted Xu Moyao from the bath, his arms straining under the weight of the unconscious man.

The cold air hit him as he pulled the general out, snowflakes falling down on them, but there was no time to stop. In the tent, Li Wuxin wrapped Xu Moyao in a thick towel, his hands gentle as he dried the general's skin, even as his own hands shook from exhaustion.

He was drenched, his own body dripping, but it didn't matter. Xu Moyao needed care, even in his own exhaustion, the doctor's focus was absolute.

The disciple stepped into the room just then, eyes widening at the sight of her master, drenched, clothes clinging to his body.

"Shinzun !" she exclaimed, rushing toward him. "What happened?", she picked a dry towel and put it on her master's shoulder.

The doctor's voice was hoarse
"Just help me get him to the bed."

She nodded quickly, moving to assist, but her eyes flickered back to her master, worry still written across her face. "Are you alright?"

The doctor glanced up, his expression tight, his gaze meeting hers, and he smiled.
"I'm cold." A drop of water fell down his face. he left the tent and returned to it after a few moments

The tent was warmer now. The brazier in the corner hissed gently, fighting the cold with a soft orange glow. Snow still whispered against the canvas, muffled and distant.

Xu Moyao lay motionless on the bedding, wrapped in dry layers of cloth. His skin was still pale, damp in places, but the fever had begun to ebb. His breath came slow, steady, no longer ragged.

Li Wuxin knelt beside him, now barely dry and in new clothes, sleeves rolled up, hair still dripping from the bath. He moved with methodical precision, checking the bandages one by one. No signs of infection. He pressed the back of his hand to the general's forehead, then to his own, comparing the temperatures.

Still warm. But not burning.

He exhaled, just barely.

From a small wooden box, he took fresh salves and gauze. His fingers, though stiff with cold, worked quickly, unwinding, cleaning, rewrapping. His touch was steady, never harsh. Not gentle, either, just exact. The way one treated something they didn't dare damage, even if it had already been broken.

The general stirred once, his brow twitching, a low sound catching in his throat. Li Wuxin paused. He didn't speak. Just watched.

Then Xu Moyao's eyes cracked open. Not fully. Just enough to find the silhouette above him.

Their gazes met.

The general's lips moved, dry, faint, inaudible.

Li Wuxin leaned in, catching only a whisper of breath, no words. His hand shifted to the general's chest, steadying him. The heartbeat beneath was faint, but there.

He stayed like that for a moment, hovering, listening to a silence that had nothing to say. Then he returned to his task.

A new bandage. A touch of ointment. A careful press here, a clean fold there. It was slow work, but deliberate. Ritual-like.

He didn't look at Xu Moyao again, not directly. But he noticed when the man blinked. When his breath stuttered. When a single tear slipped from the corner of his eye and disappeared into the pillow.

Maybe he dreamed again. Maybe he remembered.

Li Wuxin didn't ask.

When it was done, he sat back, his hands finally still. He looked at them, red from the cold, trembling slightly. He rubbed them together once, then reached to pull the blanket higher around the general's shoulders.

"You could have died you know ."

Then he sat down beside the bed, on the floor, back straight despite his fatigue.

He would stay there, just a little longer.

Just in case.