Chapter Seventy: Yuan Yuan Is Injured

“Xiao Yan…” Shen Nanyuan forced herself to speak, her voice strained. “What about Xiao Yan!”

There were three of them, and only one Xiao Yan. He had only been learning martial arts from Shen Sinian for less than a year—how could he handle this?

But in the rain, Meng Chuyue couldn’t hear a word she said. The grip on her hand was so tight that she couldn’t break free.

Inside the hut, the three assassins watched as Meng Chuyue ran out, but before them stood Xiao Yan, exuding a formidable presence. His brows were furrowed with a fierce and stormy air, making them too intimidated to make a move.

A chilling, desolate tension filled the surroundings. Suddenly, the three men sprang into action, swords in hand, leaping forward as their blades flashed with cold, deadly light.

Xiao Yan’s body shifted ever so slightly. Seizing the moment when one of them missed, he twisted his wrist to deflect the attacker’s blade. In a swift motion, he turned his own blade toward the man’s neck—a clean, decisive strike. Yet, at the last second, the man dodged, leaving only a thin line of blood across his throat.

His attacks were swift and ruthless. Evading a thrusting sword, he pressed the edge of his blade toward another assailant, slicing across the man’s face and sending a spray of blood into the air.

His eyes were dark and fierce, enough to chill the heart of any who met his gaze.

Shen Nanyuan’s feet slipped, and she fell hard to the ground. Rain beat down on her clothes, heavy and suffocating, as if she carried a thousand pounds on her back. Even getting up was an ordeal.

Qingrui and Meng Chuyue hurried to help her to her feet. Though the way ahead was still shrouded in mist, they could just make out the outline of Puyue Temple in the distance. Shen Nanyuan glanced back, her worry and anxiety preventing her from finding any peace.

Xiao Yan could fight, but could he really defeat three men?

And what was happening? None of this had ever appeared in the original book—why was it suddenly happening now?

Countless thoughts raced through her mind, cold and heavy, until she felt as if her head might burst.

Then, Qingrui’s face lit up with sudden joy. “Someone’s coming!”

Hearing this, Shen Nanyuan squinted into the rain. The shadowy figure ahead gradually became clearer. The faces of the four women changed dramatically; all drew in a sharp breath and instinctively edged backward, hoping to remain unseen.

The newcomer was dressed exactly like the three assassins—clearly one of their group. Perhaps he was one of the three, or maybe a lookout who had come after spotting their escape.

Either way, none of the possibilities boded well.

Shen Nanyuan’s unease deepened, and she could only hope that Xiao Yan would be all right.

Fortunately, the heavy rain and mist seemed to conceal them. The figure faded from sight, and Shen Nanyuan seized Meng Chuyue’s hand, pulling her toward Puyue Temple.

But in an instant, Qingrui gave a low, startled cry. “Miss!”

Instinctively, Shen Nanyuan pulled Meng Chuyue to the side. Suddenly, a searing pain shot through her arm—a sharp sword slashed through from the right. Blood mingled with rain, the blade glinting coldly, only inches from her.

The attacker, seeing he had failed, raised his sword to strike again. Before anyone—Shen Nanyuan, Meng Chuyue, or Qingrui—could react, another blade intercepted his with speed and ferocity, the force numbing his grip. He was met with a relentless assault he could not withstand.

He fought back with all his might but was quickly overwhelmed. Each strike from his opponent’s blade was meant for the kill.

Shen Nanyuan clutched her arm in agony, warm blood streaming through her fingers and splashing to the ground, blooming red beneath her.

She looked up and saw Shen Sinian, his face cold as winter stars, his gaze sharp and forbidding, a trace of blood coloring his eyes.

With ease, he knocked the assassin’s sword aside, then leaped forward and kicked the man brutally to the ground. Yet he did not kill him. Instead, he drove his sword mercilessly into the attacker’s arm, twisting it as the man howled in pain.

Qingrui, already in tears and at a loss, stared helplessly at the blood on Shen Nanyuan’s arm. “Young Master! The miss is hurt!”

Shen Sinian yanked his sword free, blood spraying as the assassin wailed. The guards who had hurried after Shen Sinian seized the man at once. Shen Sinian strode quickly over, bringing with him the chill of rain and the scent of blood.

“Yuan Yuan.”

His eyes seemed to be stained red by his sister’s blood. Usually so composed, the captain was now flustered and at a loss for what to do.

Meng Chuyue stared at him in shock, her gaze drifting to the assassin who still whimpered on the ground. A wave of guilt swept over her, so intense it stung her nose and brought tears to her eyes.

She had seen it clearly—these men had come for her.

Yet she remained unscathed while Shen Nanyuan was injured instead.

Guilt overwhelmed her, reddening her eyes.

Shen Nanyuan gritted her teeth, the burning pain radiating from her wound like a thousand blades cutting through her, setting every nerve alight. Tears fell unnoticed down her cheeks as she whimpered, “Big Brother…”

Shen Sinian’s voice was hoarse. “I’m here.”

“Help Xiao Yan,” she sobbed through her pain, barely able to catch her breath. “He can’t hold off those three.”

Shen Sinian could think of nothing else.

“I’ll get you to safety first.”

“I’m fine,” Shen Nanyuan said anxiously. “Go check on him—really, I’m fine.”

Shen Sinian hesitated, but seeing her insistence, he handed his umbrella to Qingrui and Meng Chuyue’s maid. He glanced at Meng Chuyue’s reddened eyes and paused to reassure her: “Miss Meng, don’t worry. Everything will be all right. Please help take Yuan Yuan to the clinic.”

Meng Chuyue nodded vigorously. “I’ll get her there safely.”

Shen Sinian nodded slightly, his gaze sweeping coldly over the assassin. His tone turned icy. “Take him away!”

The rain-soaked ground was stained crimson with blood—Shen Nanyuan’s, and the assassin’s.

Shen Sinian cast a worried look at his sister, then hurried toward Xiao Yan’s location.

The ground was awash with fresh blood.

Three bodies lay sprawled, their blood spattering Xiao Yan’s face, deepening the deadly chill in his eyes.

Footsteps echoed outside—he recognized Shen Sinian’s tread.

Xiao Yan slowly lowered his sword. Knowing Shen Sinian was here, he felt at ease at last.

Yet when he caught sight of the lingering redness in Shen Sinian’s eyes, his grip tightened suddenly.

“What happened?”

“Yuan Yuan was hurt,” Shen Sinian said, gaze sweeping over the three corpses. “She kept urging me to come to you, afraid something might happen. With your skills now, you could more than handle these three.”

He turned, only to find Xiao Yan already gone. In the curtain of rain not far away, he caught a glimpse of Xiao Yan’s retreating figure, running swiftly into the storm.