Yunxi Peak.
In a finely furnished room within the Inner Sect Disciple living quarters, halfway up the peak, Yuwen Mingjue lay quietly in bed, his face as pale as a sheet of paper.
Bright sunlight streamed through the ornate window lattice, falling upon him, yet it couldn't dispel the slightest hint of deathly stillness that clung to him.
After six days of meticulous care and nourishment from precious Elixirs, he no longer looked as wretched as he had right after the Cyan Qilin Battle.
Back then, he had been covered in blood, with who knows how many broken bones, carried back to the peak like a pile of mud.
Although his injuries were now under control, the right arm Yang Jing had broken still hung limply at his side, wrapped in thick bandages. Every slight movement sent a heart-piercing agony through him.
His five broken ribs made it difficult to even turn over. With every slight breath, he could feel a pulling pain from his internal organs.
