Chapter 4: Awkward Kindness

The air felt as if it had been sucked dry, leaving the cave as silent as death.

Mo Yin clutched the blanket tightly, the coarse fabric warped out of shape by her slender fingers.

Watching her like this, Shen Luolin’s brows furrowed into a knot.

Troublesome.

Shen Luolin was no blockhead—he could see that Mo Yin’s emotions were on the verge of collapse.

And these emotions were an obstacle to the mission, an uncontrollable variable, the kind of mess he hated handling the most.

Shen Luolin’s goal was clear: complete the Bloodline Purification Mission.

For that goal, he needed a clear-headed, focused Mo Yin to cooperate, not a burden drowning in self-Mourning.

His mind spun rapidly, running through possible solutions.

Any form of comfort, any words of pity, would be taken as lofty charity at this moment.

That would be like sprinkling salt on her wounds.

The stupidest, most inefficient option—one that would only breed endless trouble.

Ruled out.

Letting her be? Let her process it alone?

Those negative emotions would only fester, making her even harder to communicate with and, in the end, slow down the mission all the same.

Unacceptable.

Since words were useless, he could only use actions to break the deadlock.

For someone overwhelmed by emotion, what works best isn’t empathy, but disruption.

Not empty encouragement, but the most primitive, concrete goal—survival.

Nothing awakens one’s survival instinct more than hunger and death; nothing drags someone out of a mire of emotion like a pressing, practical problem.

This was the most efficient solution.

With that, the last trace of hesitation vanished from Shen Luolin’s eyes.

Expressionless, he moved his arm and tossed the still-bleeding Snow Hare from his shoulder to Mo Yin’s feet.

“Pa!”

The dull thud of flesh hitting stone was piercingly loud in the quiet cave.

The Snow Hare’s body rolled twice and came to rest at Mo Yin’s feet. A few warm drops of blood splattered onto her pale calf, staining her skin with dark red spots.

Mo Yin’s body shuddered violently, as if pricked by a needle.

Shen Luolin ignored her gaze completely, speaking in a tone stripped of any personal feeling, just stating facts.

“Get moving.”

“I…”

“Deal with it.”

Mo Yin tried to speak, but Shen Luolin cut her off.

He pointed with his chin at the Snow Hare on the ground, then at the feeble fire nearby.

“Skin it, then build up the fire and roast it.”

Mo Yin didn’t move at first.

Shen Luolin looked at her, and instead of offering comfort, he stepped forward.

The tall figure cast a shadow, once again enveloping her completely.

“Don’t you want to avenge your family?”

The word “Vengeance” struck Mo Yin in an instant.

Her trembling stilled.

Shen Luolin’s voice was calm, but each word rang clear, “Do you think hiding here and crying will help?”

“Do you think that wallowing in your shame and grief will kill your enemies for you?”

“You have no time to waste on these pointless emotions.”

Shen Luolin’s gaze dropped from her pale face to the rabbit corpse at her feet.

“Strength doesn’t appear out of thin air. You need food, stamina, a body that won’t freeze to death—then you can talk about getting stronger, about Vengeance.”

“Right now, what’s before you is food.”

“And your shame can’t be eaten, nor will it keep you warm.”

“Prepare the food and ensure your survival.”

“If you can’t do it, just stay here hungry until you’re too weak to move.”

“The road is yours to choose.”

With that, Shen Luolin turned away without another glance, walking to the other side of the cave to sort the firewood he’d brought back.

Stirred by his words, Mo Yin forgot her embarrassment and snapped her head up, her silver eyes blazing as she glared at him.

But the hands clutching the rabbit moved honestly, searching her waist for the Short Dagger.

Her stomach… really was hungry.

And she definitely didn’t want to hear another venomous word from that infuriating mouth of his.

She knelt, dragging the now-stiff rabbit corpse in front of her.

The stench of blood mingled with fur assaulted her nose, making her retch.

She had never done anything like this before.

At home, she was the cherished princess, held in everyone’s hands.

Not this—this bloody, dirty, butcher-for-a-meal kind of thing.

Mo Yin gripped the dagger but didn’t know where to begin.

“Slice open the belly from the center, blade pointing up. Not too deep, or you’ll pierce the organs.”

Shen Luolin’s voice sounded behind her without warning, still cold and purely instructional.

Mo Yin stiffened, but didn’t turn around.

She followed his directions, pressing the dagger’s tip against the rabbit’s soft belly.

She closed her eyes and sliced.

“Riiip—”

The sound of flesh tearing echoed clearly.

Warm blood welled out, running over her fingers, its sticky, slippery feel making her whole body shiver.

She opened her eyes and stared at her blood-soaked hand, her stomach churning violently.

But she forced herself to bear it.

She remembered those Knights in Silver Armor, the scholarly focus on their faces.

She remembered her Clan, laid out like materials on a table.

A hatred far stronger than disgust surged up inside her.

Her expression changed.

In those silver eyes, the weakness and confusion of a young girl faded swiftly, replaced by a numb kind of resolve.

She began to skin the rabbit.

Her movements were clumsy, awkward, often tearing the fur and smearing blood and flesh all over her hands.

But she didn’t stop.

Again, and again.

Shen Luolin watched from nearby.

He saw her eyes shift from humiliation to anger, and finally to calm.

Good.

The out-of-control variable was being recalibrated.

While Mo Yin kept her head down, wrestling with the hapless Snow Hare and squinting in the smoke of the rekindled fire, Shen Luolin, as if unintentionally, pulled a small leather pouch from his pack.

Without looking, he tossed it behind him.

“Clatter.”

The pouch hit the stone ground beside Mo Yin with a crisp sound.

She paused, eyeing it warily.

It was a simple pouch sewn from animal hide, its mouth open, revealing an unusually smooth Bone Needle polished from beast bone, several neatly wound rolls of clean Beast Tendon, and a palm-sized piece of White Tanned Fur that looked extraordinarily soft.

Shen Luolin didn’t turn, focusing intently on sharpening his dagger with a whetstone, the soft rasping filling the air.

His tone was full of disdain.

“Snatched it from some unlucky Snow Fox while hunting. Fur’s too poor for a collar—just gets in the way.”

“Deal with it.”

“If you can sew, then sew. If not, toss it into the fire—it’ll burn a bit longer.”

Mo Yin froze completely.

She slowly lowered her head, her gaze falling on the tiny pouch.

The Bone Needle’s tip glinted warmly in the firelight.

The Beast Tendon was rolled perfectly, without a strand out of place.

The piece of Snow Fox hide was soft and snowy white, unmarred by any stain.

Her heart felt as if it were gently gripped by an unseen, warm hand.

A mix of sourness and warmth surged up, blurring her vision in an instant.

He had noticed.

He knew everything.

He knew her clothes were torn, knew the last shred of a girl’s embarrassment and humiliation.

But he didn’t expose her, didn’t mention it, and didn’t show even a trace of pity.

Instead, with this unbearably awkward, infuriating method, he gave her a way to maintain all her dignity.

This wasn’t charity.

It was a clumsy, pure, equal respect.

Her shame ebbed away like a receding tide.

In its place was a more complicated, more powerful emotion.

She glanced at the broad, reliable back still focused on sharpening a blade, its outline drawn sharper by firelight.

Mo Yin quietly clenched her fist. For the first time, she had a goal beyond Vengeance.

She would not be just a fire-tender and cook.

She would prove that she wasn’t some burden needing to be spoon-fed and looked after.

She would become strong.

Not just for Vengeance, but so that one day she could stand shoulder to shoulder with him—not forever hiding in his shadow, passively accepting protection.

And it would all start by roasting this rabbit to perfection.