Chapter 99 — The Return of a Warrior
At four in the morning, the sky was still pitch-black.
Xu Wei shoved the little boy—crying so hard he’d started hiccupping—into the last bus.
“Go. Now!” His voice was hoarse, scraped raw like it had been ground against gravel.
Scattered Fiends still drifted in the air, drifting aimlessly like torn black plastic bags caught in a current.
Shadowfang’s draconic body dissolved into a streak of light and withdrew into the Pact Mark, still finding time to sneer as he vanished:
“Go scrub that layer of filth off your body. This sovereign has lived ten thousand years and never been this disgusted.”
YiChen’s knees slammed into the broken stone.
His entire body began to shake—violent, uncontrollable tremors.
Five full fusions.
Each one shorter than the last.
The final one hadn’t even lasted two minutes.
His Spirit Meridians felt as though they had been scorched from the inside, pain drilling straight through his core. Fine beads of blood seeped from the edges of his fingernails. At the rim of his vision, dangerous black ripples bloomed and contracted, closing in again and again.
He tried to brace himself with his arms—
—but even his fingertips were spasming.
In the haze, Shixi’s tearful voice echoed through the Consciousness Sea, calling his name.
He didn’t even have the strength to answer.
A fire engine stood amid the rubble, high-pressure pumps already connected to thick water hoses.
Someone muttered quietly, almost apologetically,
“Rinse him off… he’s too filthy.”
YiChen nodded slowly, like a puppet with its strings cut halfway through. He forced himself upright. The black combat uniform clung to his body, stiff with dried blood and gore; tearing it free sent thin lines of pain ripping through him.
The valve opened.
Water surged out—
—and the entire street seemed to fall silent.
“Hss—”
The first blast struck his back. His shoulders jerked violently, as if struck by a blade. The sudden temperature shock sent his muscles into instant convulsions.
Boom!
Within the Consciousness Sea, the Star-Dome Temple shook violently.
Shixi screamed,
“YiChen! What are you doing?! Your Spirit Meridians—!”
The warning didn’t even finish before his knees buckled.
His body pitched backward.
“YiChen—!”
Logan lunged forward, catching his collapsing upper body. YiChen’s pupils contracted sharply, his breath tearing in and out of his chest—ragged, panicked, like someone dragged up from deep water.
“Don’t you dare sleep—fuck! Open your eyes!” Logan roared.
The water jet kept hammering down on both of them, exploding into thick white mist.
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—————
Muffled voices drifted through layers of frosted glass.
Elena struggled to open her swollen eyelids. Tears had glued her lashes together, clumping them into tiny, trembling fans.
The front door swung open without warning.
Bernard hurried in, followed by Dr. Savin and four nurses. Their voices were low and clipped, efficient, stripped of all unnecessary words.
“…Yes. Sir is on his way back…”
Elena jolted upright on the sofa.
Dr. Savin gave only a brief nod as she passed, not slowing for even a second.
Her heart seized as if caught by an invisible hand. Cold flooded her limbs all at once.
—She knew exactly what it meant when Dr. Savin was summoned in the middle of the night.
Time stretched under the weight of waiting, pulled taut into a single, merciless line.
When the black sedan finally crunched over the gravel driveway, Elena nearly stumbled as she rushed forward.
The car door opened—
Rot and blood hit her all at once.
Logan and Han Yue supported YiChen between them, one on each side.
The man who always stood straight as a pine now looked like a steel puppet stripped of its strings—ashen-faced, smeared with filth, utterly lifeless.
Shadowfang had already withdrawn. YiChen’s chilled body was wrapped in a thin white blanket, only half his face exposed.
The smell could no longer be called mere stench.
It was thick. Suffocating.
A death-soaked miasma—blood, sludge, toxins, and sewer filth fused together—
as though the darkness of an entire ruined city had been carried back with him.
The nurses barely stepped closer before instinctively recoiling.
One pulled on a second mask.
Another rubbed menthol beneath her nose before forcing herself forward.
Dr. Savin said nothing.
The nurses moved.
Snip.
Scissors cut through the tactical uniform stuck to YiChen’s skin. The black fabric was peeled away inch by inch, revealing a body ravaged beyond recognition—bruises, abrasions, scorch marks layered atop one another, some still bleeding faintly.
Warm water was poured into a silver basin. It splashed against the marble floor, releasing a thin veil of steam.
“Neck and chest first,” a female nurse said softly, gauze already soaked in disinfectant.
Dr. Savin glanced at Elena and gave a slight nod.
Permission to stay.
Elena bit her lip and took the cloth.
Slowly—carefully—she wiped him clean.
From his hairline,
to his lashes,
the curve of his ears,
down to the blood caught beneath his fingernails.
Cleaning just those small places took nearly an hour.
The more private cleansing was taken over by two male nurses. The female nurse stepped out quietly.
Elena waited outside the door, fingers clenched tightly in the hem of her clothes. Her palms were slick with sweat.
Inside, the nurses worked in silence.
YiChen was rolled onto his side with practiced care.
Cloth passed again and again over his back and legs, lifting away grime and dried blood.
No one spoke.
Only the sound of water.
And fabric brushing over skin.
Bernard stood nearby, overseeing every step, ensuring nothing fell into disorder.
More than two hours later, they wiped his skin with an extract of Soul-Repose Herb, easing the tension locked deep in his nerves. Loose medical trousers replaced the ruined uniform. A soft blanket was drawn over him.
—At last, he no longer looked like something dragged back from hell.
He looked like a man completely emptied, sunk into a deep, unnatural sleep.
The examination results came in low, restrained voices:
“No immediate threat to life.
Spirit Meridians severely fatigued.
Body temperature below normal.
Signs of systemic collapse.”
———
By the time everything was finally over, it was already ten in the morning.
The medical team withdrew one by one. A foul, turbid residue still seemed to cling to YiChen, impossible to fully dispel. Even in deep sleep, his brow remained tightly drawn, as though his body had not yet realized it was safe.
Elena quietly climbed onto the bed and knelt beside him.
Her slender palm settled over his chest.
Rose-gold Spiritflame seeped from her skin like a faint, shimmering stream, flowing slowly through his Spirit Meridians. It moved gently, patiently—burning the final traces of black thorns to ash, grain by grain.
She purified him with deliberate care. Slowly. Softly. Using every last ounce of strength she had left.
Hours of tension. An empty stomach.
By the time she finished, the world wavered at the edges of her vision. Her fingertips trembled faintly. Her breathing came shallow and uneven, her lips barely holding steady.
As the Spiritflame faded, she forced herself upright.
“Please prepare a Moonshadow Wheat egg sandwich,” she told Bernard quietly, “and hot milk.”
“Will Miss be dining in the dining room?” Bernard asked, his voice low.
“No.”
She shook her head. Her answer was so light it nearly dissolved in the air.
“Here.”
As Bernard turned away, he discreetly wiped the corner of his eye.
Elena sat back down at the bedside and gently lifted YiChen’s hand.
Dark stains still lingered between his fingers—marks left behind by that descent into hell. Her brows knit slightly as she dipped a cotton swab into warm water and cleaned them one by one.
Every speck of grime carried words she could not say.
Every careful motion became comfort she could only give this way.
He’s still not clean.
But I don’t care anymore.
He came back alive.
So I’ll stay right here with him—
and I won’t leave.
