Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 108768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108768 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
Any hurt I had felt before entering the tent, withered away.
Now with the cups off and the healers out of the tent, we waited for the final assessment from the head healer.
Without his final approval, neither one of us could leave.
Come on. Hurry up. I have a power-hungry sister to deal with and I’m ready to get back to Monique.
My body hummed from the thought of being near her again.
Sighing, I raised my hand and traced the surface of my chest with my fingertips feeling the strange, puckered indentations left in the wake of the fire therapy cups.
Duck lay parallel to me and bore similar marks on his rugged frame.
Hopefully, the conversation of Monique is now a simple misunderstanding that we can put in the past.
I assumed all was now clear.
Still, we both remained silent as if separated by a considerable distance. And that space between us ran thick with the uneasiness caused by our fight.
Will he truly stand to the side when it comes to her?
My eyes traveled up, coming to rest on the mythical creatures that adorned the tent’s ceiling.
Each one was famous and breathtakingly detailed.
Many weaved among clouds and flames. Their piercing stares shimmered with a mystical glow. It was like they were engaged in a perpetual ballet, their motions graceful and synchronized, narrating tales of heroic deeds and myths from centuries past.
Qinglong, the Azure Dragon of the East, famed for heralding new beginnings, soared majestically with his azure scales catching the light. Zhuque, the Vermilion Bird of the South, renowned for her elegant dance of rebirth and purification, flapped her fiery wings, leaving a trail of embers. Xuanwu, the Black Tortoise of the North, a symbol of endurance and strength, stood resilient amidst the churning mists, his shell and snake tail intertwining in a protective stance. And there was even Baihu, the White Tiger of the West, celebrated for his power and bravery. He prowled the edges with a commanding presence.
But beyond the tales of individual heroics, there was a deeper narrative—one of unity and collective strength.
The creatures—while each powerful on its own—became truly formidable when intertwined, their scales gleaming brighter and their roars more resonant.
And as I studied them, it was as if they were teaching a silent lesson—unity magnifies power, while division diminishes it.
I traced their winding paths with my eyes and found myself getting lost in their mythical world. It was a welcomed distraction from the inner chaos within me.
Why did Yan have to show up? It’s hard enough that I have to deal with our father, now here she is. What new problems will she bring?
To my surprise, Duck broke the silence. “So. . .”
Just with that one word, I noticed the hesitance in it.
I turned to him. “So?”
He stared at the creatures covering the ceiling. “We are good?”
“As long as everything is respected.”
“Alright.”
I eyed him. “Why?”
“I’m wondering something.”
“What?”
Duck looked at me. “I have a question.”
“Then, say it.”
“Did you and Moni. . .you know?”
I raised my eyebrows. “No. I don’t know what you’re asking.”
“Come on.” Duck rolled his eyes. “You know what I am asking.”
“I don’t.”
“There were a lot of moans coming from your tent, from you and her—”
“And?” I glared.
Duck shot me a look, one that carried a mix of annoyance and genuine curiosity. “Are you going to make me say it?”
“Clearly.”
Duck’s gaze lingered on me, searching, probing. “Did you. . .let Moni take your virginity?”
I stiffened. “None of your business.”
Duck frowned.
The soft sound of footsteps caught my attention.
I checked my left.
Master Wu—our head healer—entered and then approached us with measured steps.
His face was an open book. The high cheekbones served as pages of laughter and sorrow. The strong jawline provided the plot twist. A prominent scar trailed from his right brow to his cheek, pointing to his missing eye where the area was smoothly closed and skin stretched over the void.
Rumor had it that many years ago, Master Wu had been deeply engrossed in his study of alchemy—a delicate balance of science and mysticism.
One fateful day, while attempting to distill the essence of a rare and volatile flower, there was a violent reaction. The explosion rocked his lab and a shard from a broken apparatus pierced his eye.
Though he bore the scar of that accident, Master Wu never considered it a setback. Instead, he often remarked that losing an eye had given him a unique perspective. He believed it deepened his intuition and enhanced his healing abilities, allowing him to see with more than just his physical eyes.
I often wondered if that was true.
Today, he had his silvery white hair tied neatly in a traditional topknot. His sky-blue robe hung gracefully on his wiry frame.
He held a tray carrying two large glasses filled with black bubbling liquid.
A rank smell radiated from them.
What is this stuff? It better not be something disgusting.