Just as Leng Mingye, with a pained and desperate expression, was pressing down and crying out in a low voice while trying to save the young girl, Qingfeng and the other arrived. When they saw their master pressing on her chest as if mourning the loss of his parents, soaked in water and shouting for her rescue, they realized he couldn’t save her. Without hesitation, they stepped forward to channel their energy into her, only to remember the poison in his body. The moment he began, he staggered and spat out a mouthful of blood, causing the two to rush forward in panic.
“Master, the poison in your body—does the princess have an antidote? Take it quickly, Master! She’s already stopped breathing…”
Spotting the bottle that had fallen from Wanqing’s hand, they recognized it as the Hundred Poison Pill. Without a second thought, they poured out a pill and forced it between his lips. Once he swallowed it, he immediately resumed trying to save the girl, disregarding his own condition.
Seeing the rare despair and terror in his eyes, Baiyu stepped forward first. When he reached out to check the girl’s breath and found none, his face twisted in shock and despair as he turned to his master, who was still desperately trying to revive her.
“No, she can’t be dead. Mu Wanqing, wake up! Wake up and keep acting arrogant, keep being reckless! Wake up! What’s the point of lying here like this? Wake up and fight me, argue with me, even poison me again—just don’t keep sleeping like this, please? Qing’er…”
At Baiyu’s words, Leng Mingye’s eyes snapped open, filled with agony and despair. Seeing the sorrow in their expressions, he realized that in just a short while, the girl had ended up like this.
Though his repeated attempts to revive her had yielded no response, and he had already sensed her lack of breath, he refused to believe she was truly gone. Stubbornly, he continued pressing on her chest, his voice trembling with fear and despair as he shook her by the collar, shouting for her to wake up.
But after shaking and calling for her repeatedly, there was still no response. The thought that she had died right before his eyes made Leng Mingye collapse to his knees beside her, his expression shattered with grief. His large hand, trembling with tenderness and sorrow, reached out to stroke her icy face as he begged, “Who says men don’t cry? This iron-willed man, who had endured such humiliation and injury without shedding a tear, now wept like a child.
“Master, you must stop tormenting yourself. She’s already gone.”
Qingfeng watched him, covered in wounds yet consumed by grief, crying for the girl to wake up. Exchanging a helpless glance with Baiyu, he stepped forward and pulled at Leng Mingye’s arm.
“Let go! No, she’s not—she can’t be dead! She won’t die! She won’t! Daqi’s Feng Yewang, you’re her uncle, aren’t you? You’re skilled in medicine—save her! Please, save her!”
At Qingfeng and Baiyu’s attempts to stop him, the thought of the girl dying overwhelmed Leng Mingye. His entire world seemed to turn blank, and only then did he realize how deeply she had unknowingly embedded herself in his heart.
She had filled his soul—otherwise, he wouldn’t feel this crushing pain and terror, as if his heart had turned to ashes.
Staggering to his feet and shaking off their restraining hands, Leng Mingye looked at them with eyes full of anguish and despair. Just then, he noticed another figure approaching. Slowly raising his head, he saw Feng Moli supporting him.
Remembering Feng Moli’s medical expertise—after all, the renowned Divine Physician was from the Daqi royal family, where everyone possessed extraordinary healing skills—and recalling his relationship with Wanqing, Leng Mingye ignored his own pain and grabbed his hand urgently.
“Alright, alright. Step aside first. I *will* save her.”
Feng Moli had rushed here after receiving word from Honglian and the others. When they arrived, they found the courtyard littered with lifeless assassins, and he himself had dealt the final blow to Ye Mei.
But when he saw the pale, lifeless girl lying on the grass by the lake, with Leng Mingye desperately trying to revive her, he was stunned. Instinctively, he moved to intervene, but the man refused to let anyone near. Now that Leng Mingye had finally noticed him, Feng Moli nodded reassuringly and bent down to examine the girl.
“Can she be saved?”
Only after Feng Moli agreed did Leng Mingye stagger back to Baiyu and Qingfeng. Watching as Feng Moli gravely released the girl’s wrist, he asked anxiously.
“There *is* a way to save her, but it would require someone to expend ten years’ worth of pure yang internal energy. Otherwise, even the gods couldn’t bring her back.”
Feng Moli looked at him with resignation but spoke the truth.
“Pure yang energy? I’m the only one in Daming who cultivates it. Let me save her.”
Leng Mingye’s face lit up with hope, and he stumbled forward to take the girl from him.
“Wait—if you were uninjured and poison-free, you *could* save her. But you’re wounded and poisoned. Even though you’ve taken the antidote, your condition… If you save her now, you’ll likely lose all your internal energy, becoming weaker than an ordinary person. Are you *sure* you want to do this?”
Feng Moli hesitated. Sacrificing a decade’s worth of cultivation was no small matter—it meant giving away ten years of one’s life force. Though he knew Leng Mingye’s strength, seeing his injuries, he couldn’t help but warn him.
“Is there… no other way?”
Hearing that saving her would cost him his lifelong strength, Leng Mingye hesitated.
“No. There’s no other method.”
Seeing the conflict in his eyes, Feng Moli delivered the harsh truth.
“Then I’ll still save her.”
Feng Moli had expected him to back down, but after only a brief pause, Leng Mingye reached for the girl.
“Wait—Cold Heir, your devotion to Her Majesty is admirable. But is saving a mere girl worth losing ten years of your prime, even your entire cultivation? Will you not regret it?”
Though relieved by his decision, Feng Moli couldn’t help but question him one last time.
“I won’t regret it. If I *can* save her but choose not to, *that* would haunt me forever.”
Leng Mingye knew Feng Moli meant well. His formidable strength and reputation as the “War God Heir” of Daming had earned him unparalleled respect across neighboring nations. Saving her meant losing all that—possibly even destabilizing Daming itself.
But the girl’s importance outweighed everything.
“It seems I can’t stop you. Do you… love her? Otherwise, why would you sacrifice so much?”
Feng Moli sighed, his expression softening at Leng Mingye’s unwavering resolve.
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