CHAPTER 42: I’M SICK, SO TAKE CARE OF ME!

Dan Yuseong’s POV

"Cough... cough..."

Ugh, I shouldn’t have worn wet clothes.

I lay sprawled in the dim confines of my rented room, feverish and utterly isolated. The chill from yesterday’s drenching on the boat had seeped into my bones, blooming into a full-blown illness that pinned me to the bed like an iron weight.

After we’d finally disembarked amid the lingering chaos, Miss had murmured something about urgent matters pulling her away. "I’ll be back soon," she’d promised, her voice steady as ever.

’Liar...’

That "soon" stretched into the night and bled into morning, leaving me to stew in doubt. Could I truly rely on her? With only two days left in Henan before the merchants’ caravan pressed on to Anhui, this bedridden limbo felt like a cruel jest—opportunities slipping through my fingers like sand.

’Dizzy...’

The room spun lazily whenever I shifted, a nauseating whirl that rooted me deeper into the mattress. Ignoring it to venture out? Impossible. My body betrayed me at every turn.

Thirst clawed at my parched throat once more, a relentless burn that dragged me upright. I fumbled toward the bedside table, fingers grazing the water jug—

Drip.

"Cough..."

Empty. Not a drop remained. This helplessness gnawed at me, a bitter reminder of why solitude grated so fiercely.

’Seriously, a guy who can’t do anything by himself.’

No dantian meant no path to strength, no inner energy to bolster this frail shell. Even my gift for fortune-telling—peering into the threads of fate—barred me from glimpsing my own destiny. Utterly adrift, reliant on the whims of others.

"Hack..."

In truth, solitude had been a rarity since tumbling into this world under inexplicable circumstances. The early days before Master found me blurred into survival’s haze, but those ten years in the mountains? We’d been inseparable, a constant presence against the wild’s indifference. Even after her seclusion drove me fleeing to Shaanxi, Tang Ayeon’s orbit had enveloped me, a tangled but unlonely snare.

Yesterday’s abandonment—and this morning’s echo—laid it bare.

’I hate being alone.’

Part of my panicked exodus from the mountains stemmed from that dread: three years of echoing silence in our secluded haven. The scant memories of isolation here were uniformly wretched—nights huddled against hunger’s bite, days blurring into despair.

"Cough..."

’So when’s she coming back...!’

It wasn’t life-threatening, not truly—just a stubborn cold, the sort that wrung misery from every breath. Sickness alone was torment enough; laced with abandonment, it curdled into something sharper, more insidious.

’Just wait till we get to Anhui... Once her business is done, I’m sticking to her like glue...’

She’d vowed companionship, only to vanish after a single shared day. Fine. I’d cling like a leech, unyielding, until the lesson sank in.

Master’s POV

Crackle crackle.

Deep in the mist-shrouded mountains, where the air hung crisp and eternal, a woman with lustrous golden hair— a rarity amid the Central Plains’ raven tides—tended a modest fire. Her beauty was the stuff of fallen empires, a visage that could unravel kingdoms with a glance. Yet here she was, wielding a skewer with deft grace, flames dancing to her unspoken command as she seared the venison to perfection. The surreal domesticity of it all clashed with her ethereal poise, but her technique betrayed no novice hand—the heat modulated with ethereal precision, yielding meat tender and evenly browned.

"Cough... cough..."

From the shadowed interior of their humble abode drifted the reedy hack of a youth, frail as a reed in winter’s grasp.

"It’s about done."

Swish.

With a casual flick of her wrist, the blaze subsided in an instant, collapsing to a solitary ember that glowed like a watchful eye.

"Here, it’s ready—eat up."

She presented the platter to the boy abed, his form swathed in threadbare quilts, eyes wide with bewildered gratitude.

"Master... Meat for a sick person? Really...?"

"There’s nothing better than meat for restoring vitality. Illness stems from depleted essence—replenish it, and recovery follows as dawn to dusk."

"Not that... Don’t you have something like porridge? I can barely swallow this right now..."

"You’re really working your master hard just because you’re sick."

With an exaggerated sigh, she set the rejected fare aside and pivoted toward the hearth.

Whoosh!

Though the fire had guttered to embers, a fresh ignition sparked to life under her touch, unfurling into steady, nurturing flames.

Clack!

"Is this good enough now?"

Moments later, she returned bearing a bowl of fragrant congee, steam curling like incense.

"...I don’t have strength in my hands—"

"If you’re about to ask me to feed you, I’ll shove it mouth-to-mouth, so don’t even think about pushing your master further."

"...I’ll eat it myself then."

His quivering fingers closed around the spoon, determination etched in his pallid features. Yet the tremor betrayed him; spills loomed inevitable, a mess foretold.

"Sigh... Just hand it over."

"I can eat it myse—"

"I’m doing this because leaving you like this would be more of a hassle. You insolent brat."

She commandeered the utensil, ladling a measure, her breath cooling it with a gentle puff before guiding it to his lips.

"...Thank you."

"Instead of talking, just sleep. You getting better fast is the real help."

"Starting tomorrow, I’ll—"

Snore...

The words dissolved into slumber’s pull, his lashes fluttering shut mid-vow.

"What a weakling. Catching a cold because he couldn’t even handle that."

She lingered, gaze softening over his peaceful repose, before drawing the blanket snug and slipping outdoors.

Tonight’s moon waxed toward fullness, silvering the treetops. Those elusive herbs might yet unfurl their petals under its gaze.

Dan Yuseong’s POV

My body was getting worse.

The affliction dragged on, each hour tightening its vise: throat raw as sandpaper, coughs now flecked with the copper tang of blood. Thirst raged unchecked, a desert inferno, yet rising from bed felt an insurmountable feat.

A mere sore throat might have been endured, but layered with pounding temples, racking spasms, and the hollow echo of solitude, it forged a crucible of despair.

"Hack... Cough..."

’I feel like I’m dying...’

There wasn’t a single redeeming trait to this vessel. A cold imperiling my life? Even sans dantian, how could frailty run so deep?

’It’s actually better than it used to be...’

In those first disoriented days after inhabiting this shell—reason unknown—it had been a torment beyond words. Agonies erupted without prelude, crippling waves that left me curled fetal, mewls escaping through gritted teeth. Such episodes weren’t isolated; desperation had driven me to vagrants’ grim errands, bartering sweat for salves.

"Cough..."

Sickness unearthed specters unbidden—reflections I’d rather bury. All I craved was intervention, however modest: a hand to clasp, a voice to pierce the void. In vulnerability, even that tether could summon resilience from the abyss.

...

...

"Ugh..."

A cool palm against my brow roused me from fever’s murky depths, consciousness flickering like a guttering wick.

"Master...?"

"I’m not your master."

"Oh..."

Right. Master couldn’t materialize from ether.

"Miss...?"

"Sorry. It was urgent, so I got delayed. I didn’t expect you’d be this sick and collapse."

"It’s fine... You’ve got your own stuff to deal with... Cough! Hack!"

The spasm choked my reassurance, and she thrust a brimming jug into my grasp with haste.

I seized it, muffling the cough against my sleeve, but—

Tremble tremble.

My grip faltered, knuckles whitening in futile bid for control—how profoundly enfeebled was I? Summoning will, I angled the spout to my lips, gulping the blessed coolness.

"Phew..."

’Now I can live.’

The drought lingered, fever’s cruel jest, but the edge dulled from razor to blunt ache.

"So... your business is done now?"

"For now, yes. I tried to finish as fast as I could, but I’m sorry I was late."

"It’s okay... You don’t have any duty to nurse me... You’ve got your own life..."

Our rapport had warmed of late, threads of camaraderie weaving tentative, yet we remained ships passing—strangers bound by circumstance, not oath. She owed me nothing; her pursuits trumped my frailties.

"...If I upset you, I’m sorry. Is there anything you want?"

"I said it’s fine..."

"It’s for my own peace of mind."

Such poise in her features, yet her cadence evoked bygone eras—stiff, almost archaic. Mid-twenties at a glance, brimming with assurance; perhaps a formidable patron shadowed her steps.

Come to think of it, attaining peak realm in youth bespoke a lineage of titans—her master, no doubt, a colossus among peaks.

"...I’m good. You’re enough for me, Miss."

Imposing figures like that? They loomed as threats in my mind. She was the outlier; Taoists and I rarely meshed, their ascetic airs clashing with my grounded woes.

"..."

"What’s wrong...?"

"Hoo..."

She pressed a palm to her breast, fanning her cheeks with the other, a faint flush blooming.

"Alright. Once my business in Anhui is done, we’ll travel together."

"Yesss..."

In the ensuing hush, she ventured first.

"Come to think of it, we still don’t know each other’s names."

"Oh..."

"Unless there’s a special reason, could you tell me?"

Most bore no cause for veils over identities. But...

"I’ve got a situation, so I keep my name hidden..."

"I see."