What a bloody and gruesome scene it had been.
Just that one sight was enough to leave her with lingering fear.
Just the strength of Ye Lan’s grip on her wrist as she teetered on the brink of death, that icy coldness—her fingertips still retained the temperature of Ye Lan’s skin.
No, it couldn’t be called temperature; it was the chill of approaching death.
And now, the hand she gently held in her own palm, though still cool, seemed to have a trace of living warmth.
A pulse, weak but steady, beat beneath her fingertips—one beat, then another.
This tiny pulse strangely calmed Mu Xi’s turbulent emotions.
A wave of indescribable exhaustion swept over her.
Her eyelids were so heavy she could barely keep them open.
From the moment Ye Lan had been carried back severely wounded, to the way she had fed her the essence, to Ye Lan struggling awake from death’s door and clinging to her, her spirit had been strained taut. Now it suddenly slackened.
But she dared not sleep.
Ye Lan’s hand was still held in hers.
Even though Ye Lan had fallen asleep and her grip had loosened considerably, Mu Xi could feel it—a subconscious dependence.
She was afraid that if she let go, or if she fell asleep, Ye Lan would sink back into that desperate situation again.
She looked down at their intertwined hands.
Ye Lan’s fingers were long, with distinct knuckles.
Even in her slumber, they exuded a subtle sense of controlling strength.
Her own hand, by comparison, looked so small, nearly entirely enveloped by Ye Lan’s.
These very hands had once ruthlessly choked her throat, suffocating her.
That was possessiveness mixed with resistance.
These same hands had caressed every inch of her skin with an undeniable dominance.
When she saw that vulnerable, almost pleading look in those deep, narrow phoenix eyes, when Ye Lan had used her last bit of strength to cry out “Don’t go,” the hard bulwark in her heart seemed to silently crack open a fissure.
She no longer wanted to hate.
The deaths of Li Xin and Little An had once been an insurmountable chasm in her heart, the fundamental reason she hated Ye Lan.
Hating someone turned out to be such an exhausting thing.
It gave her no peace day or night, tormented her endlessly.
But now, they were both gone.
The pillar that had supported her hatred had collapsed along with them.
She looked at Ye Lan—this woman who had imprisoned her, tormented her, yet loved her with such mad intensity.
Was she really supposed to try to love her?
Mu Xi felt a surge of confusion.
She didn’t know what to do. She only knew that she had promised Ye Lan she “wouldn’t leave,” and truly, she no longer wanted to leave.
At least now, when Ye Lan was so weak, she couldn’t abandon her.
In the shadow by the door, the Captain of the Escort Team remained silent.
Mu Xi could feel her gaze on her—appraising, wary.
Perhaps because Ye Lan’s condition had improved, the cold sharpness in that gaze seemed to have softened a little.
The captain neither approached nor left.
She simply stood guard dutifully, an invisible barrier separating the temporary calm inside the room from the turbulent storm beyond.
The sky gradually brightened.
Weak morning light seeped through the gaps in the window, casting long, narrow bands on the floor.
A faint smell of disinfectant lingered in the air, along with traces of blood.
From outside the Silent Language Building, vague sounds drifted in from a distance—like metal clashing, or scattered shouts, intermittent and distorted by the thick walls.
The intangible tension had not dissipated.
Mu Xi’s heart tightened again.
They were still trapped here.
Just then, the door cracked open with the barest sound.
A member of the Escort Team in a purple combat uniform slipped in, moving swiftly and silently.
She quickly approached the captain and reported in a low, rapid voice.
Although Mu Xi couldn’t make out the details, she saw the captain’s brow furrow slightly.
A moment later, the member slipped out as silently as she had entered and gently closed the door.
The captain paused for a few seconds, then slowly walked to a spot a few steps from the bed and stopped.
Her voice was very low, but exceptionally clear: “Highness.”
Mu Xi looked up at her.
“The attackers outside have been temporarily repelled.”
The captain’s tone was flat, as if stating an established fact.
“However, they suffered minimal losses. They’ve withdrawn to the perimeter, regrouped, and surrounded the Silent Language Building.”
Mu Xi’s heart sank.
Temporarily repelled—they hadn’t gone far, and were still massing.
The Silent Language Building had become an isolated island.
“Our forces…” Mu Xi’s voice was a little hoarse.
The captain’s answer was concise and forceful, carrying unshakable confidence, “Enough to hold here.”
But her eyes flicked to the sleeping Ye Lan, and she added, “As long as Her Highness can recover quickly.” The implication was clear: Ye Lan’s safety was the key to determining the final outcome of this siege.
Instinctively, Mu Xi tightened her grip on Ye Lan’s hand.
That faint pulse now seemed to be her only anchor.
She looked at Ye Lan’s peaceful sleeping face, then at the tall, steadfast figure by the door, and then felt the silent, heavy encirclement outside.
She and Ye Lan truly seemed to be bound together—whether inside this small room or within this besieged, dangerous building.
Exhaustion washed over her again, but this time it was mixed with a deeper sense of powerlessness.
The captain’s cold voice cut through the silence of the room, carrying an impersonal detachment: “Do you need to rest?”
Mu Xi lifted her eyes to meet those still-appraising, wary eyes a few steps away.
The hostility did seem to have faded a little, but the soldier’s sharp, emotionless edge remained.
She shook her head gently, her gaze returning to Ye Lan’s pale face.
Rest?
How could she possibly rest?
With Ye Lan still like this, with enemies still besieging them outside, how could she rest easy?
“Until she… stabilizes a little more.”
Mu Xi’s voice was very soft, almost a breath, but her attitude was clear.
Her gaze involuntarily drifted to the wound on Ye Lan’s shoulder and back.
Though it had been initially treated and was no longer gushing fresh blood, the injury from a high-energy beam piercing through was still horrifying.
The edges of the flesh showed an abnormal charred black, and the deeper tissue was faintly visible, with a deathly gray pallor.
This kind of wound was not just about blood loss—it was constantly draining Ye Lan’s life energy, like an invisible black hole devouring her vitality.
Energy inside the body was seeping away.
It needed to be replenished.
This thought crystallized clearly in Mu Xi’s mind.
She knew very well what she could do—or, rather, the only thing she could do for Ye Lan at this moment.
Her cheeks flushed uncontrollably again, a mix of shame, embarrassment, and a strange sense of mission washing over her.
She lowered her eyelids, her long lashes casting a tiny shadow beneath her eyes, concealing the struggle within.
Did she really have to… do it again?
But Ye Lan’s breathing was so weak.
Every rise and fall tugged at her heart.
If she didn’t do this, how much longer could Ye Lan hold on?
How much longer could the Escort Team outside hold out?
She took a deep breath, the air mixed with disinfectant and blood helping her calm slightly.
She couldn’t just watch Ye Lan weaken like this.
No matter how many unbearable memories lay between them, no matter how confused and resistant she was about this “love,” at this moment, she had promised not to leave.
She couldn’t do nothing.
She lifted her head and looked at the captain standing not far away.
This time, she didn’t ask for permission.
She simply conveyed a message with her eyes.