My Path To The Supreme Peak

Chapter 6: The Healer's Hidden Blade

Shen Yuan woke up to find five people staring at him.

For several seconds, he stared back.

Nobody spoke.

One of the disciples leaned closer, examining his face with the curiosity of someone inspecting a rare beast.

Shen Yuan's lips twitched.

“If you're waiting for me to grow another head, I'm afraid you'll be disappointed.”

The disciple immediately straightened.

“He's awake!”

“Obviously,” Shen Yuan muttered. “Unless dead people have started complaining about their audiences.”

A few of the disciples exchanged glances. One snorted, while another rolled his eyes.

Shen Yuan attempted to sit up, but a sudden headache forced him to stop. He pressed a hand against his forehead, waiting for the sharp ache to subside.

His surroundings gradually came into focus.

The wooden ceiling above him. The familiar curtains beside his bed. The small table near the window, where he had left several old books.

His room. Why was he in his room?

His last clear memory placed him somewhere else entirely. He remembered neither returning to the clan nor climbing into bed. The details refused to come together, leaving him with an irritating blank in his recollection.

He tried to think harder. Pain throbbed behind his eyes.

He groaned quietly, then abandoned the attempt of finding memories that have chosen to become useless and looked at the people surrounding his bed.

He frowned. “Now, would someone care to explain why you've gathered here? Has the clan finally decided to celebrate my extraordinary contribution to its history?”

“Don't flatter yourself,” one of the disciples replied. “We thought you had passed out for good.”

“And you came to mourn me?”

“We came to make sure you were still breathing.”

He snorted. “How touching.”

The disciple folded his arms. “Don't misunderstand. Nobody wants to be held responsible for your debts if you die. Your creditors might come looking for the people who left you unattended.”

Shen Yuan stared at him. “My debts?”

“Yes, your debts!”

“I see.” Shen Yuan nodded solemnly. “So you've all been taking care of me out of concern for your own financial security.”

“Exactly.”

“I'm moved. I never realized my existence was such a valuable asset to the clan.”

“You're impossible.”

“And yet, here I am. Alive, breathing, and apparently worth more alive than dead.”

One of the younger disciples covered his mouth to hide a laugh.

The older one shot him an irritated glance before turning back to Shen Yuan.

“You should be grateful we brought you back. If we had left you where you were, who knows what might have happened?”

Shen Yuan tilted his head.

“Indeed. I might have awakened somewhere surrounded by people who actually cared about me. Imagine the horror.”

“Enough of this!”

The older disciple turned toward the door.

“Now that he's awake, we should leave. There's no point wasting the entire morning here.”

The others readily agreed.

They filed out one after another, their earlier curiosity replaced by the familiar irritation Shen Yuan seemed capable of inspiring in almost anyone.

He watched them go.

“Come again whenever your finances require reassurance!” he called after them.

“Unbelievable.” A voice from the corridor cursed him.

Shen Yuan smiled.

At least his sense of humor had survived whatever had happened.

He lowered himself against the headboard and allowed his smile to fade.

The headache had not disappeared. It lingered behind his eyes, dull but persistent, and his body felt strangely unfamiliar.

He examined his hands. They looked the same.

He flexed his fingers, rolled his shoulders, and moved his legs beneath the blanket. Nothing appeared broken, and he felt no obvious weakness.

Yet something was different.

He couldn't put it into words.

Perhaps it was exhaustion. He had spent the past several days pushing himself harder than ever, and even his newly improved cultivation couldn't make him immune to fatigue.

That was a reasonable explanation.

For now, he would accept it.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat quietly until the dizziness passed. His gaze drifted toward the table, where a cup of water stood beside his books.

He reached for it and drank.

The water was cool, and the familiar taste helped settle his thoughts.

He had more important matters to consider than an inconvenient headache.

The Scripture Pavilion's hidden opportunity still awaited him. The incomplete cultivation manual he had discovered could prove useful, provided he understood how to cultivate it safely. He also needed to determine how much attention his defeat of Shen Hao had attracted.

The answer to the last question, he suspected, was far too much.

Shen Yuan had spent three years being dismissed as useless. One victory had not erased that reputation; it had merely given people a reason to investigate him.

And people who investigated him might eventually become problems.

He had barely finished the thought when someone knocked on the door.

Before he could respond, the door opened.

A woman entered carrying a wooden medicine box.

Shen Yuan recognized her immediately.

Shen Lian, one of the Shen Clan's healers.

She wore the familiar pale robes associated with the clan's medical hall. A light veil covered the lower half of her face, and her black hair was neatly arranged behind her head. The medicine box in her hand was the sort she routinely carried when visiting injured disciples.

He had seen her treating members of the clan before. Although they had never been close, her face and quiet manner were familiar enough that he had no reason to question her presence.

A disciple lingering near the doorway immediately stepped aside.

“Elder Sister Shen Lian, you're here. He's just awakened.”

Shen Lian acknowledged him with a slight nod.

“Please examine him properly,” another disciple added. “He was unconscious for quite some time.”

She raised one hand, gently indicating that they should leave.

The last disciple pulled the door shut behind him.

Silence settled over the room.

Shen Yuan glanced at the closed door, then at the healer approaching his bed.

At last, some peace.

Shen Lian placed her medicine box on the table and drew a stool beside his bed.

She opened the box and removed a clean cloth, a small porcelain bottle, and several slender instruments used for examining patients.

Shen Yuan extended his wrist when she reached for it.

Her fingers settled against his pulse.

She began her examination without speaking.

He leaned back against the headboard, watching her work from the corner of his eye. Her movements were steady and practiced, each instrument handled with the familiarity of someone who had performed the same task countless times.

Nothing about her behavior seemed unusual.

Still, Shen Yuan found himself paying closer attention to her than he intended.

Perhaps it was because he had grown accustomed to being suspicious of everyone. His years of humiliation had taught him that people rarely showed their true intentions when they believed they had nothing to gain by doing so.

Or perhaps it was simply the headache making him irritable.

He closed his eyes briefly.

The ache behind them pulsed again.

His fingers tightened against the bedsheet.

For a moment, the discomfort grew intense enough to steal his concentration. He breathed slowly, waiting for it to pass.

When he opened his eyes, Shen Lian was still holding his wrist.

Her gaze was lowered.

Her expression was hidden behind the veil.

Everything appeared normal.

Yet Shen Yuan noticed that she had been examining him for longer than he expected. Her fingers remained against his pulse, but her attention seemed to have shifted from the ordinary work of a healer to something more deliberate.

He couldn't explain what had changed.

He only knew that the quiet room had begun to feel strangely oppressive.

He felt a sudden shift in her movements. Before he could meet her eyes, her hand slipped into the sleeve of her robe.

A faint metallic glint flashed between her fingers. A knife.

The woman drew it in one swift motion and drove it toward his throat.

Shen Yuan eyes widened and he reacted almost instantly.

His hand shot forward and caught her wrist.

The blade stopped just short of its target.

For a heartbeat, neither moved.

His fingers tightened around her wrist, preventing her from advancing the knife. Her free hand hovered beside the bed, and the sudden tension in her arm revealed that she had not expected him to react so quickly.

Then Shen Lian raised her eyes fully to his.

Shen Yuan stared back.

The knife remained suspended between them.

Neither spoke. Their gazes locked, and the quiet room seemed to hold its breath.