She stopped her father. “Pa, I don’t think this man should stay. Maybe—”
She made a throat-slitting gesture.
Dr. Bennett’s face went pale. “No, no, I can’t allow that. This young man has a sovereign’s bearing—he’s not some ordinary fellow.
Besides, a healer saves lives, we can’t entertain such evil thoughts!
Go copy the Classical Medicinals Compendium a hundred times.”
Nope, nope—talk is cheap.
Claire Bennett had transmigrated into this body, grown up to eighteen, and had forgotten most of the novel’s plot. There was only one thing she’d scribbled into her diary as a child and reviewed now and then.
On the day she turned eighteen, her father would rescue a man with a kingly aura. That man was the novel’s hero—Dominic Storm—god-tier in the story.
Claire only wanted a peaceful life.
So she spent the next ten-plus years chopping down every tree on the cliff, draining the pool beneath it, and paving the bottom with stone.
She wanted one clean, decisive end—right there, no second chances.
But human effort couldn’t defeat plot momentum. Claire clenched her fists, furious and unwilling to accept it. She wanted to shout: My fate is mine, not heaven’s!
Lucas Hale woke three days later—astonishing resilience.
When he opened his eyes, Claire sat on the bedside, watching him with a quiet look.
Lucas felt both strange and familiar looking at her.
From the first glance he knew: he had been reborn.
He’d returned to age twenty-four, the moment he first met Claire.
Because of a sword manual, he’d been chased by enemies, fallen from a cliff, and saved by a hermit healer living below that cliff. The healer’s frail, pitiful daughter Claire later became one of his many consorts.
Familiar was her delicate, pure face—the face of one of his wives.
Strange was her expression—different from the Claire he remembered: bolder, more abrasive.
Lucas didn’t dwell on it. He followed the memory of that first meeting and weakly asked, “Who am I? Where am I?”
Claire flung her medical book aside and replied, “You’re Eddie Walker next door.”
“…What?”
Was that even an answer? How was he supposed to respond?
Lucas croaked, “What’s wrong with me?”
He tried to sit up.
“You were playing in a tree, fell, and suffered comminuted fractures,” Claire said. “Don’t move. My father worked hard to put you back together.”
Lucas remembered dying last life by being blasted into pieces by heavenly lightning; he’d never suffered such extensive injuries otherwise.
He whispered, “Did you save me?”
“Nope. It was my father—with a healer’s compassion,” Claire said. “So get better and leave quickly. We can’t feed freeloaders.”
Lucas: This isn’t lining up with my last life. What the hell?
Panic flared in him—he had genuinely reborn.
In his memories he’d only had a broken leg. In reality, Claire’s “comminuted fractures” meant two shattered leg bones, two broken arm bones, twenty-four cracked ribs.
The former delicate, innocent wife had turned into a…brick-splitting, whip-cracking tough girl who practiced striking boards in the yard every day.
Even the fond scenes he’d enjoyed last life—her supporting him through rehab, helping him relearn to walk—were reversed. Now he was the one clinging to walls while she stood behind him with a whip.
The rosy, romantic moments had warped into something resembling a labor camp.
Lucas discreetly asked Dr. Bennett whether he had twin daughters.
But Lucas felt guilty toward this girl anyway.
According to last life’s timeline, his enemies would discover him tonight, attack the remote village, and Dr. Bennett would die. With his dying breath, the doctor would entrust his daughter to Lucas.
He thought, Claire—no matter what you’re like now, I’ll treat you the same as before.
“Smack!”
Claire’s little whip landed on the floor behind him with enough force to rattle him three times.
“Move it,” she snapped. “You even squashed my pet ants flat. Get better soon and go—don’t waste our rice.”
Lucas snorted—women, all tough words but soft hearts.
He stayed awake all night waiting for the attack from his memory.
Nothing happened.
He was stunned.
At dawn Claire hauled him up and, under the pretense of rehab, dragged him to the village’s main path and shoved a shovel into his hands.
“Fill the hole!” she commanded, pointing to a huge pit at the village outskirts.
Lucas peered in and almost fainted—the pit was full of corpses.
“What—what happened?” he stammered.
Claire grinned. “Ha! I dug traps along this road, rigged fishing line in the air. They were stupid enough to trigger them.”
She’d also placed poisoned gas disguised as miasma. The dozen or so attackers were all dead.
For Claire this was no feat—she’d planned for eighteen years.
“You knew someone would come?” Lucas asked.
She shook her head, not admitting it. “No, just normal security measures.”
“What if someone came seeking medicine?”
“For eighteen years—” Claire suddenly brightened, “—no one has come here for medicine except you, who fell off the cliff!”
Claire had long understood her father was an author’s tool to hand the protagonist a wife.
A month after saving Dominic—excuse her, Lucas—he recovered from his “comminuted fractures.”
True to protagonist form, his healing was incredible.
Dr. Bennett and Claire escorted him to the village gate. Bewildered, Lucas asked Claire one last time, “Aren’t you coming with me?”
“Go. Scram,” she said.
“Aren’t you in love with me?” he asked.
Where do men buy confidence wholesale?
Claire: “I’m not seeing you off. Goodbye forever.”
“Claire,” Dr. Bennett suddenly said, “why don’t you go with him?”
“What the—old man! You can’t say that!”
“This young man has a sovereign’s bearing. He’s destined for greatness. You won’t suffer if you go with him.”
What kind of parent sells his daughter like that? And what is this “sovereign’s bearing” anyway? How many times do you need to say it?
“You’re grown now. It’s time to venture out. Besides, I promised your Aunt at the village entrance that I’ll enjoy my twilight years—don’t disturb our private life.”
Claire had too many complaints to know where to start.
Lucas dropped to his knees, cupped his fist: “Senior Bennett, rest assured. I will take care of Miss Claire and not let her suffer.”
“All right, all right.” The doctor beamed, then immediately made a face of dislike at Claire. “Go on now.”
Is this plot inevitability?
Fine. If I can’t fight it, I’ll enjoy it.
Lucas brightened. “Then when we roam the jianghu—”
Claire cut him off in time. “We’ll be siblings!”
“But I’m a bit older than you—”
“Fine, I’ll be your sister, you call me brother.”
Lucas: ???
Claire: “Good brothers walk together for life.”
“…”
“This first bow—loyalty and bravery—through hardship, never part—”
“…”
Lucas: Okay, sure.
He wasn’t interested in the board-splitting tomboy anyway.
In truth, Claire was a lifelong homebody. In this world she loved the little plot of land in the valley most.
Claire: I’d dreamed of being a farming-novel heroine, but life forced me into being a supporting character in a harem story. Even if I have to be the male lead’s sidekick, I refuse to be part of his harem!
In the original story Claire was one of the many women trailing the male lead—“behind Dominic came his wives x, y, z, and a number of female confidantes.”
She was the “and a number of female confidantes”—the “and”!
The male lead got poisoned; Claire sacrificed herself to detoxify him, had an undisclosed erotic interlude, and then was forgotten.
Nope. She’d keep her distance from the male lead and remain magnificent alone.
At the valley’s edge Claire clasped her fists grandly. “Friend! The road’s wide—let’s part ways. If fate allows, we’ll meet again!”
Lucas grabbed her sleeve. “No! I promised Dr. Bennett I’d take care of you!”
“Let me go! We don’t suit each other!” Claire snapped, shrugging.
Lucas straightened. “If you stay by my side, one day you’ll fall in love with me.”
Men get their confidence where?
“Because I’m the child of destiny, the one who will one day ascend to emperor of the immortals.”
He wasn’t entirely wrong. Claire’s struggling eased. She patted his shoulder. “Ambition in youth is good.”
“This isn’t idle talk. It’s a life I’ve already lived.”
Lucas let go, hands behind his back, looking solemn.
“I’m a reborn man,” he said with conviction.
If that were true, Claire thought, it would mean a bug in the world.
“You’ll become one of my wives. You have a butterfly-shaped birthmark on your lower back.”
“Whoa—”
Claire leapt back a step and shouted, “Pervert! Were you spying on me while I bathed?”
Lucas said, “Sorry, I’m not attracted to you in this life.”
When he said the word reborn, Claire almost believed him—only a reborn person would know that word.
“Um…did I survive last life?” she asked.
Lucas looked awkward. “…You seemed to die pretty early.”
Claire clasped her fist. “Farewell, brother—don’t let me die.”
“But you’ll enjoy wealth and honor with me. Really, you don’t love me?”
Girls with plot-armor, when will they rise?
Claire patted his shoulder calmly. “Okay, bro. Let’s think this through.
You see, I saved your life—shouldn’t you repay me?”
“You should give me a decent roaming-the-world experience.”
“Right.”
“If following me means you’ll die early, shouldn’t you distance yourself so you don’t hit that ending?”
“Well…”
“If you don’t have me, you can still reach immortality. If I don’t have you, I can live a normal, full life. Makes sense?”
“Seems…so.”
“So we split. You go your perilous bridge; I go my sunny path.”
"I’m not the type to keep score. If you hear I’m in danger and happen to be free, come save me and call it even. You help me out, settle the debt—doesn’t that sound perfect?"
Lucas Hale thought it over carefully and found her logic airtight. No flaws at all.
Since he had more important matters to attend to, he might as well indulge her. Quietly keeping an eye on her from afar would do.
He nodded. "If you’re in danger, as long as I can, I’ll keep you safe."
Plan successful!
Claire Bennett swelled with pride. So what if this was a blockbuster male lead—wasn’t he already playing right into my hand?
"Then I’ll head south, you go north. Maybe we’ll meet again."
Claire had only been in Rosehaven for half a month.
It was a town famous for its cosmetics and perfumes—peaceful, fragrant with flowers and powders.
In two weeks, Claire had already put down roots and opened a small clinic.
The townsfolk couldn’t stop praising her.
She’d posted a notice the moment she arrived: visiting the Lord’s manor to treat the town leader.
Claire: fame is best struck early.
The Rosehaven leader’s condition was rare—a man in his twenties whose voice had become high and soft, whose skin had improved, but who suffered hair loss and breast enlargement.
His family entertained wild theories: possession by a female ghost, a curse, even colliding with strange spirits. To the public they blamed "a mysterious illness" and sought a miracle healer everywhere.
When Claire met him, she understood at once. To a modern woman like her, this wasn’t a mystery at all: it was endocrine imbalance from overwork—and his obsession with soy milk, drinking it multiple times a day, didn’t help.
With herbal decoctions and dietary therapy, within days the town leader regained his masculine bearing.
Grateful, he granted her a parcel of land and helped her open the clinic. Soon, people lined up outside just to see the famed healer.
But before she had much time to bask in her success, one dark, stormy night she was ambushed and shoved into a sack.
"You’re the healer who fixed Rosehaven’s leader?"
A glamorous woman in fine silks lounged nearby on a couch. She looked around twenty-seven or twenty-eight, steeped in the aura of a mature beauty.
Claire’s irritation at being bagged vanished the moment she saw the beauty.
She sat up straight and replied, "That’s me. Do you need treatment, ma’am?"
"Hah—calling me ‘ma’am’ makes me feel young."
The beauty covered her mouth, laughing. "You have quite the mouth. I wonder if your skill lives up to the rumors."
She motioned to her attendants. A short while later, they rolled out a wooden wheelchair holding a spry-looking old man. Seeing Claire, he beamed. "My legs have been paralyzed for over forty years. Can this healer make me stand again?"
Claire stepped forward, took his pulse, pondered a moment, and said, "Yes."
No way she was kidding.
Her father had been the renowned Dr. Bennett—the kind of legend who could heal "powdery fractures" in a month and fully rehabilitate them. This world had its fantasies, but she wasn’t unpracticed; she’d grown up practicing bone-setting and acupressure.
After three intense hours of acupuncture and massage, Claire wiped sweat from her brow and told the old man, "Sir, you can try standing."
With that, the attendants helped set his feet on the floor. "Push down on your heels and support your weight," she instructed.
He obeyed. The moment his heels met the floor, a long-forgotten sensation returned. Using heel pressure, he slowly shifted weight to his soles and rose.
His body trembled, on the verge of collapsing, but Claire supported his back as she kicked the wheelchair far away, then let go decisively.
If he didn’t move forward, he’d sit hard on the ground. At his age—over a hundred—he wouldn’t embarrass himself like that!
Thinking that, he planted a defiant step forward.
"Lord! I—I can walk!"
Tears in his eyes, the old man stared at legs that hadn’t touched ground in forty years. "I can walk! Miracle healer—truly a miracle! Young Master Grey’s legs might have hope!"
The so-called town leader couldn’t contain her excitement either. "Miracle healer! Come with me—there’s another patient. Whatever offense has been caused before, if you can fix him, I’ll grant any condition you ask."
Claire feigned calm and said, "Hmm." Inside she was thrilled—this was the perfect comeuppance.
They passed pavilions and fake rockeries, finally stopping at a lush bamboo grove. The leader excused herself and disappeared into a small courtyard. She returned pushing a much more ornate wooden wheelchair. Seated was a young man in his early twenties—raven hair like a waterfall, a face like carved jade.
But he wore the pallor of someone who’d been kept from sunlight for years, demeanor languid. His long, pale fingers idly stroked a fat white lop-eared rabbit.
Claire eyed the plump rabbit, then the frail young man, and couldn’t help but feel a pang of envy—damn it, she almost wanted to be the rabbit.
The leader said softly, "This healer fixed Mr. Fletcher’s legs in a matter of hours. Let her take a look at you."
The pale young man barely lifted an eyelid and shook his head. "Let her leave."
Claire felt stung—well, he could get it later.
The atmosphere hung tense for a beat, until the old man—Mr. Fletcher—walked over with attendants’ help.
"Young Master Grey! This is a real healer. My legs already have feeling. Please, for my sake, let her look at you!"
Watching Mr. Fletcher’s recovery stirred something in the pale young man’s chest.
Forty years ago, Ning—Young Master Grey—had had his legs cut off for the sake of testing a medicine. Fine—let her examine him. Maybe then he could finally end their hopes.
He inclining his head slightly, the leader signaled for Claire to approach.
Claire took his pulse, examined his legs, frowning. "Your condition is somewhat complex. I’m afraid I can’t cure it on the spot."
Disappointment flitted across the faces there, but the leader quickly recovered. "No matter—stay here as long as you need. If you can cure my brother, we’ll meet any demand."
Claire nodded and looked at the sickly young man. His expression remained detached, as if nothing around him mattered.
Claire spent some time learning about the family and pieced their story together.
Evercrest’s leader—the gorgeous woman—had been town leader since Evercrest’s founding more than a century ago. Calling her "sister" did seem to make her younger.
"Young Master Grey" was her younger brother, Nathaniel Grey. Once vibrant and reckless, four decades ago he was disabled and Evercrest lost one of its elegant horsemen.
They’d supposedly trained at the Celestial Vale Sect when young, then founded Evercrest atop ruins; nearby towns looked to them like a small kingdom.
The next morning, Claire packed her medicine box and drifted into the small courtyard deep in the bamboo grove.
After searching, she couldn’t find the young man or even an attendant. She spent the day in the shade and slunk back in the evening.
The third day was the same.
Fourth and fifth days—no sign.
On the seventh day, as she lay by the lotus pond cracking seeds, she heard the roll of a wooden wheelchair approaching. It moved on its own—seemingly powered by spiritual force. Nathaniel Grey sat with an expressionless face and a drooping white rabbit on his lap.
"You’re a doctor?" he asked.
Claire sprang up, eyes bright. "Yes, yes!"
He eyeballed her, then pointed to the rabbit on his knee. "Can you treat rabbits?"
"Of course I can!"
Claire hurried over, squatted by the wheelchair, closely examined the rabbit—and casually brushed the young man’s thigh.
He frowned but said nothing.
"It’s just a little heatiness," she diagnosed. "Drink more water. But not too much at once—let it cool to room temperature."
He nodded. "You know how to care for rabbits."
Before she could reply, he guided his wheelchair with spiritual power, turned, and drifted away.
On the eighth day, Claire set up a rustic stove in the bamboo grove and worked, sweating to get a fire going. For some reason the tinder wouldn’t catch.
Nathaniel glided by, looking for something. He paused as he passed and stared for a few seconds before moving on. A little while later he came by again, stopped, and asked, "What are you doing?"
"Starting a fire," Claire replied without turning.
He snapped his fingers. The little flame on the stove shot up half a yard and burst into a roaring blaze, startling her.
Only then did he calmly ask, "Have you seen my rabbit?"
Claire wiped her brow, guilty. "Y-yes, I saw it."
He lifted his chin almost imperceptibly, indicating she should continue.
"I saw something white furry dart out from my feet at the bamboo gate this morning," she confessed. "I chased it all the way to the main street, then…lost it."
He coughed—twice—apparently choked on his own saliva.
Claire leapt to his wheelchair, squatted and looked up at him, hands clasped in apology. "I didn’t mean to lose it. I feel awful. So I wanted to buy you another one."
"And?"
"Well…I didn’t have enough money, so I…bought half a rabbit."
Nathaniel felt a strange sweetness in his throat and almost couldn’t stop his hands from moving.
He stepped back two paces, keeping his voice cool. "It’s not my concern. No need to compensate."
"Heh—"
Claire stood up and flashed a sunny grin. "Got you!
The rabbit’s not missing—it’s stewing away in the pot!"
"You—"
Nathaniel felt his blood surge to his head; he couldn’t catch his breath and began to cough violently.
Claire bolted several paces away, still taunting, "You, you, you, you!
Stand up and hit me then!"
No sooner had the words left her mouth than Nathaniel slammed his wheelchair armrest. The earthen stove exploded in a puff of dust.
Claire froze for a beat, a little spooked.
She pulled the lop-eared rabbit out from its hiding place and hurried to Nathaniel, setting the wriggling animal in his lap. "I was only teasing. Don’t make yourself sick."
Nathaniel’s coughing slowly eased. His pale fingers stroked the rabbit’s back. Quietly he said, "You’re young. I won’t hold it against you."
With that he powered the wheelchair and moved on.
Claire watched his retreating figure and called after him, loud and blunt. "I checked your pulse and your legs—there’s nothing wrong. Why won’t you stand and walk?"
Nathaniel paused but made no reply, growing distant.
Claire had thought after that stunt he would kick her out no matter what. Instead, the next morning she stepped into the bamboo garden and found Nathaniel waiting at the gate.
"Come with me."
I Saved the Villain and Broke Fate
He tossed the words coldly, then rolled off. When they hit a set of steps he meant to float the wheelchair with his technique, but his body felt inexplicably light—both he and the chair were lifted by someone behind him.
Claire flashed a ingratiating smile and hauled the wheelchair up the steps, naturally pushing him forward. At each fork she chimed, "Turn here? Turn here?"
Something about it felt off.
Soon they reached a low pet enclosure. Nathaniel swept aside the curtain; Claire peeked in and saw a gray-and-white rabbit.
"My other rabbit hasn't been well since last night," Nathaniel said.
Claire pretended to be annoyed. "You treat me like a veterinarian."
Nathaniel, a touch embarrassed, replied, "All creatures deserve equal care."
"Fine, fine." Claire half-crawled into the hutch and surfaced a moment later. "This rabbit's about to give birth—how did you not notice?"
The tone and expression were identical to saying, "Your wife is in labor and you didn't even realize."
Nathaniel sounded a little anxious. "Is there a chance?"
Claire's face grew serious. "Yes. But are you saving the bigger kits or the smaller ones?"
Nathaniel never expected that, unmarried, he'd face such a grim choice. He closed his eyes, then made up his mind. "Save the big ones."
"Good man!" Claire gave him a thumbs-up, dove back into the nest, scooped up the laboring doe, and settled her right into his lap.
Sensing his gaze, Claire hurriedly waved her hands. "I can't be the midwife. I'm a stranger to her—if I touch the kits, she might panic and kill them. With you, their owner, right there, she'll be calmer and the birth will go smoother."
"Really?" Nathaniel doubted, holding the trembling rabbit in his hands.
Claire's eyes sparkled with mischief. "We can't do much except make a safe, calm environment."
Nathaniel stroked the rabbit as gently as he could. About half an hour later, the doe gave birth to six tiny bunnies, all pink and piled in a heap.
Claire coached him on drying and cleaning them, then fetched hay and cotton to line the nest warmer and softer. She returned the mother and her brood to the nest.
Watching the girl stretch, Nathaniel suddenly said, "Thanks."
Claire blinked, embarrassed, scratching her cheek. "Don't mention it. I didn't do much."
Something moved in Nathaniel. "If you like, I'll give you two of the kits."
Claire lit up. "I love them! I do!"
"What kind do you want?" Nathaniel asked. He could spare more if she wanted grays, or white if she preferred.
"I love all kinds! Steamed! Braised! And spicy rabbit head—absolutely amazing!" Claire gushed.
Nathaniel's face turned ice. "Don't let me see you cook them. Goodbye."
He drove off.
Claire's voice trailed after him, incredulous. "Huh??? Why are you mad again? You blow up so easily—are you a pufferfish?"
Pufferfish? The round fish that puffs up and squeals like a pig?
That annoyed her more.
Since Claire discovered that the seemingly aloof and cold Young Master Grey actually had a hair-trigger temper, she'd made it her pastime to rile him every few days. After enough provocation, Nathaniel finally gave her a lesson.
He grew unusually agitated, rolling the wheelchair back and forth. Watching the girl still squirming, hanging from the tree, he scolded in a flat tone, "I'm lenient because you're young. But you keep crossing lines—like breaking my wheelchair to use it for a barbecue?"
Claire wiggled. "You keep calling me 'young'—you're not that much older than me!"
Nathaniel snorted. "My age is enough to be your grandfather's grandfather!"
Claire protested. "So don't make an issue of this. Your legs are fine—you don't need the chair. It's a hysterical thing, a psychological problem!"
Nathaniel merely gave a cold laugh and snapped his fingers. A gust of wind howled, throwing Claire so wildly she nearly flipped off the limb. She screamed.
"Ah—I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I apologize! Second master! Big brother! Sir Grey!"
Nathaniel snapped again.
"Ahhhhh! Daddy! Daddy! You're my dad! You're my father! I was wrong!"
He'd finally gotten his catharsis and, satisfied, set her down.
Her legs went weak; she sank to the ground, massaging the rope-marked wrists, tears brimming.
Nathaniel felt an unexpected pang. He rolled close and watched her pout and on-the-verge-of-tears face, and a rueful softness crept in. Still he kept his tone firm. "This was a lesson. Don't act so outrageous again."
Claire looked down, mouthing an injured look.
He softened involuntarily. "Those kits from the other litter are starting to get fur. Want to see them?"
The girl's tear-streaked face instantly brightened into a huge smile. "Yes, yes!"
She sprang up and started to push his wheelchair. So silly.
The six kits had a fine fuzz—three white, two gray, and one pure black.
"White and gray parents and a black kit showed up," Claire said, squatting beside the nest and glancing at Nathaniel. "You're kinda green about this!"
Her gaze—was it on the tubby rabbit or on Nathaniel himself?
He shot her a sidelong look. "You can pick two to take home—only to keep. No eating."
Claire puckered and turned back to the bunnies, muttering under her breath, "Pfft. You don't know how delicious rabbit is…"
Nathaniel's hearing was sharp; he caught the whisper. "If I catch you, it won't just be hanging you and beating you."
Claire's neck snapped. She scurried over, put on a pleading smile, and sat right in front of him, giving his leg a massage. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Don't be mad, Daddy."
Nathaniel frowned. "Where did you learn to call me 'Daddy' when you're begging?"
"What's wrong with it?" Claire said, earnest. "After all, even a tiger won't eat its cubs!"
Tired of crouching, she shoved forward and forced herself between his legs, putting her knees on the wheelchair footrest.
As if a switch had been flipped, Nathaniel jolted back two or three meters; Claire nearly took a face-plant.
She gaped at him. His face was flushed; his lips moved, then he muttered, "Indecent. Stop this foolishness." And with that he sped off in the wheelchair.
Claire stood there, baffled, then erupted into maniacal laughter.
Evening found Nathaniel in his study when someone knocked.
He loved quiet; the servants finished and left promptly. Lately, though, one lively presence lingered.
The knock repeated. When silence followed, Nathaniel assumed she had left and went back to his book.
A loud bang—someone kicked the study door open, still mid-kick, and froze when they saw him. They lowered the leg, embarrassed. "Oh, you're here. Why didn't you say so?"
Why didn't he say so? As if he didn't know.
Nathaniel sighed and stayed silent.
Claire quickly smoothed things over. "I'm here to apologize."
Only then did he notice the food box in her hands. She lifted the top lid and a warm steam rose.
"This is a freshwater vegetable and fish soup I made. Perfect for dinner—try it."
The soup was milky with tender greens—presented nicely.
Since she came to make amends, he gave her the courtesy. He accepted the small bowl she ladled, tasted it—fresh and delicious, nothing to envy of the manor chef.
"Not bad," he admitted.
Claire beamed and crouched beside him, hands on his knees, looking up. "I'm glad you like it! Worth all the trouble I went to to catch that fish."
He smiled faintly after finishing the last sip, then asked, "Where did you catch the fish?"
"From the lotus pond in your courtyard!"
Nathaniel inhaled sharply and couldn't breathe out for a long moment. "That pond—those are prized koi!"
Claire's eyes widened. "No wonder they've been plump."
She gave him a thumbs-up. "You take great care of them."
"Claire!" He slammed his bowl down on the desk. The girl slumped away from his legs at once.
"Well? What is it?" she asked, startled.
The rabbit’s off-limits? Fine. But the fish too?!
And besides, I didn’t even eat a bite — you were the one who ate it!
This woman drives me crazy every day. I’d love to hang her up and beat her again!
Nathaniel Grey pinched the bridge of his weary nose and forced his temper down.
Forget it. She’s just a little girl — no point arguing with her.
He waved a hand, not wanting to say more. “You can go.”
Claire Bennett sneered and started for the door. Halfway there she turned back. “If you won’t tell me the cause of your illness, I can’t treat your leg. Might as well let me go. I’ve got a new clinic that just opened in Rosehaven. You people in Evercrest treat seeing a doctor like a hostage situation — you don’t care whether someone can handle it or not.”
Nathaniel nodded. “I’ll tell Lady Morgan to let you go. Your consultation fee will be given in full.”
“And…?”
“And…?”
Claire folded her arms, cheeks puffed out. “If I helped your rabbit and delivered its babies, do I still get no fee?”
“Double,” Nathaniel said.
“I don’t want money.”
“Then what do you want?”
Nathaniel answered, earnest: “Anything within my power, I’ll grant.”
“Really?”
Claire’s eyes flashed bright, lit with a grin that wouldn’t be hidden.
Nathaniel couldn’t help the small upturn at the corner of his mouth. “Really.”
He added, after a beat, “But you can’t eat any of the animals I raise.”
Claire ran over, planting one hand on the armrest of his wheelchair and looking him square in the face with a posture that pinned him where he sat.
It made him feel oddly exposed, but somehow he didn’t refuse.
“The fee I want is…”
Her sparkling gaze held him, and something lit in her eyes that she couldn’t hide. “I want to kiss you.”
Nathaniel’s breath hitched. “Nonsense!”
He tried to tilt the wheelchair back, but a wall was directly behind him — nowhere to retreat.
“Just once!”
Her voice softened as she said it, a little thread of longing that twined around his heart.
He looked away to avoid her eyes and muttered, “Nonsense.”
“You always say ‘nonsense.’ Does ‘nonsense’ mean I can kiss you or not?”
Fine. She’s young… If he didn’t let her this time, she’d find some other way to make trouble and drive him mad. Nathaniel steeled himself and nodded slightly.
“Then you may.”
Claire’s face exploded into delight as she closed the distance inch by inch. His Adam’s apple bobbed; he shut his eyes.
Then he felt soft lips on his.
The touch was so light it was almost gone. He opened his eyes and saw her smacking her lips, savoring the kiss.
“Big beauties really do have sweet lips!”
“Claire!”
He bristled. Did she have any sense of restraint? Of shame?
“What’s wrong?”
She looked innocent. “You agreed to the kiss!”
I did no such thing, he shouted silently, unable to speak the words aloud.
Claire’s expression shifted to mock surprise. Eyes wide, she gaped. “No way — you haven’t been kissed before, have you?”
Her gaze slid down suggestively, and she gave him a coy smile. “Unless you have…”
He was too angry to form a retort. She went further, swinging her leg over his and straddling him, cupping his face and tilting it until their eyes met. Half serious, half teasing, she said, “Don’t worry. I’ll take responsibility.”
He sighed inwardly. Lately that had become a common thought: since she had no shame, then neither would he.
He calmed himself, sneered inwardly, and slid his hands around her narrow waist, pulling her closer.
“You aren’t—”
She flushed a deep red, and he felt a small, guilty satisfaction.
“Knock, knock, knock.”
A rap on the door startled them. Claire jumped off quickly; both of them wore suspicious little clouds of color in their cheeks.
“J— I’m coming in,” said a voice.
The door opened to reveal Lady Morgan in a deep crimson robe, as radiant as ever.
She blinked at Claire’s presence a moment, then looked at the pair and smiled knowingly.
“Doctor Bennett, has my brother’s leg shown any improvement?”
Claire was about to explain the truth — his leg had improved, but other reasons kept him seated — when Lady Morgan cut her off.
“If Doctor Bennett can’t treat him, I’ll send her home. I hear she has a clinic in Rosehaven; a clinic shouldn’t be without its owner.”
Claire frowned. She heard the suspicion and hostility in that line.
“But—”
“Mr. Fletcher’s consultation fee,” Lady Morgan interrupted again, “I’ll pay it in full.”
Claire didn’t argue further. She glanced at Nathaniel’s tense face and walked out.
When she’d gone, Lady Morgan smirked. “I’d hoped this time you’d be cured, but she was just all show.”
Nathaniel frowned, then said, “It’s an undeniable fact that Dr. Bennett cured Mr. Fletcher’s leg. She isn’t just for show.”
Lady Morgan pretended not to hear and went on, “I’ll keep searching for a miracle worker who can cure you.”
Nathaniel closed his lips and said nothing.
She cast a disdainful glance at the bowl of lotus-and-fish soup on his desk. “Even your taste in flattery is so base and ridiculous.”
Silently, Nathaniel covered the soup with its lid and put it away, blocking her view.
Her temper snapped. With a sweep of her sleeve she overturned the whole desk.
“You’ve known her only days! Why would you treat her differently now? I’ve done so much for you — why can’t you even spare me a look? For over a hundred years my feelings — don’t you know them?”
Then panic flickered across her face as she scrambled to pick up the scattered books.
“Jiu’an, don’t be angry. Your leg will heal. When your leg is healed, we’ll marry, and you’ll be the lord of the city, and I’ll be your lady—”
“Stop, sister-in-law.”
“Shut up!”
She went hysterical again. “Don’t you dare call me that!”
Nathaniel ignored her frenzy, expression blank. “I will not marry you. I will not be lord. I only regard you as my sister-in-law, as an elder.”
“There you go again—those same two lines! Don’t you ever say anything else?”
She paced, frantic, while Nathaniel closed his eyes, unwilling to continue.
Her tone soured suddenly. “You think that lively, free girl would really fall for you? She’s just infatuated with your looks for now. When she grows tired, she’ll discard you like trash. Then you’ll know — the only one who will love you unreservedly is me.”
She laughed hysterically and left the room.
The next day.
Nathaniel wheeled himself down hallways and through the bamboo grove.
The rabbit hutch — empty.
The hammock among the bamboo — empty.
The lotus pond — empty.
The pavilion under the tree — empty.
He searched every place he could think of. She was gone.
He let out a quiet sigh and stared at the tank of colorful goldfish in the pavilion with a sudden, bitter thought.
These fish are trapped in their bowl, just like I am trapped in this little world, unable to be free.
Some people are like birds — cages can’t hold them.
“What are you thinking about?” Claire’s voice came, teasing.
“The fish,” he said. “Why, when they’re trapped, do they still swim so happily?”
Only then did he realize who’d spoken. Half of Claire was peeking over the garden wall, giggling.
“Master Grey, you’re not a fish; how can you know a fish’s joy?”
“You’re not me,” he murmured, “so how would you know I don’t know a fish’s joy?”
She arched a brow. “You’re not me — how would you know I don’t know you knowing a fish’s joy?”
“You’re not me — how would you know I don’t know you not knowing I know a fish’s joy?”
Claire wanted to spar and twisted her words into knots, counting on her fingers, then gave up and hopped down from the wall with a flourish.
Nathaniel watched her and had a dozen things he wanted to say, but ended up asking one: “Weren’t you gone? Why did you come back?”
She lit up. “I was! Mr. Fletcher escorted me to the gate — gave me a whole trunk of gold! I’d walked seven or eight blocks when I met a little girl crying — her kite was stuck in a tree in someone’s yard. I said, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll get it,’ and I climbed the wall and popped in — and I didn’t even know it was your wall. Then I saw this tree and realized it was the one you used to hang me from. And then I saw you staring at the fish tank…”
Her chatter breathed life back into the tiny courtyard, like a light brush stroke turning suddenly vivid on ink-wash paper.
Nathaniel thought of the “consultation fee” kiss from the night before and felt awkward. He looked away and said, “What about the kite? I’ll get it down for you.”
“No need!” Claire ran to the tree, rolled up her sleeves, and grinned. “I’m great at climbing trees!”
She bounded up nimble as a squirrel, quickly scaling a dozen meters, finding the branch with the kite and plucking it free, then waved triumphantly.
He smiled at her pride and felt lighter.
Without warning, a thick branch — as thick as an adult’s arm — snapped. Claire’s smile froze; she was falling fast. From that height, there wasn’t time to react. A fall like that would mean death or a lifetime of disability.
He didn’t think. He moved.
Nathaniel lunged and caught her in a steady, practiced sweep.
Claire’s round eyes went wide, the smile impossible to hide. “You stood up! You did it!”
Nathaniel grinned and, in a flash, vaulted the wall and set her down safely on the street outside.
“You should go. Don’t come back to Evercrest.”
Claire’s smile faded. Quietly she asked, “Why can’t I come? Because of your sister-in-law?”
She hurried to explain, flustered. “I overheard you yesterday, but it wasn’t on purpose.”
Nathaniel inclined his head. “She will be bad for you.”
“Your leg—”
“Go. Forget about this. Pretend you never met me.”
Nathaniel Grey finished speaking and vanished from Claire Bennett’s sight the moment he turned away.
Claire thought and thought and couldn’t make sense of it.
She hadn’t left Evercrest. She rented a room at an inn and wrote a letter to her father, laying out everything she’d seen and every question she had.
After tossing the letter onto the table, she decided to sneak into Lady Morgan’s manor that night.
In the dead of night, the usually quiet bamboo garden was brightly lit. The servants moved about with worried faces. Claire slipped into Nathaniel’s chamber almost without anyone noticing.
The room was crowded. At the head stood Lady Morgan, Mr. Fletcher, and an old man in a gray robe.
Nathaniel lay on the bed, his face as white as paper, brow pinched in agony.
Seeing him like that gave Claire a sharp ache in her chest. What happened? He’d been fine earlier.
Mr. Fletcher carefully pulled a pill from a box and handed it to Lady Morgan. She fed the pill to Nathaniel.
To everyone’s surprise, Nathaniel’s pain intensified. He let out muffled groans he couldn’t control.
Claire couldn’t hold back any longer. She strode into the room. “What’s wrong with him? Let me see!”
Lady Morgan shot her a glare. Two servants grabbed Claire and held her on either side, keeping her back.
“You dare come back? This is all your fault!”
“Let me see him! I’m a physician! What did you give him?”
“Throw her out!”
To Claire’s surprise, Mr. Fletcher dropped to his knees and pleaded, “Lady Morgan, allow Dr. Bennett to examine Young Master Grey!”
Lady Morgan didn’t budge. Claire sniffed and caught the scent of medicinal herbs in the air.
“You didn’t tell me, but I know. You gave him a Bone-Birth Pill.”
Lady Morgan’s face changed. Claire pressed on, “Taking a Bone-Birth Pill causes the bones to regenerate throughout the body in a short time. The process is excruciatingly painful. I can use golden needles to relieve the pain.”
Lady Morgan signaled the servants to release Claire. She stepped to the bedside and felt Nathaniel’s forehead—burning hot.
She didn’t hesitate. Claire pulled out the small case of golden needles she always carried and began placing them. After several needles, Nathaniel’s expression eased and his breathing slowed.
“He’s got some skill, this girl does,” the gray-robed man said for the first time. “Where did you study?”
Claire gave him a cold look. “If you’ve been using Bone-Birth Pills, you should know the name Dr. Bennett. He’s my father.”
A murmur went through the room. At length Lady Morgan asked in a trembling voice, “Dr. Bennett? Where is he now? I searched for him for over ten years—there’s been no trace…”
Mr. Fletcher added, “If he’s Dr. Bennett’s daughter, then a tiger must have sired a pup.”
The gray-robed man said, “Eighteen years ago Dr. Bennett left three Bone-Birth Pills for Young Master Grey, then vanished into the world.”
Claire said, “My father’s been in seclusion for years. He doesn’t intervene in worldly affairs.”
What an odd coincidence—her father had once treated Nathaniel. But if even her father couldn’t cure it, could it still be called an illness?
A thought flashed in Claire’s mind. She surveyed everyone in the room and said coldly, “I understand now. If you’d told me the true cause earlier, he wouldn’t have endured this. This isn’t an illness. It’s sorcery. A curse.”
She continued, “Every time he stands, his bones shatter. No matter how many times they regrow, until the spell is broken his legs will never heal.”
“Healing a spell with medicine is like climbing a tree to find fish—impossible.”
“Not so,” the gray-robed man said. “Your father once gave me a prescription that describes how medical arts can be used to break a spell. Over the past decade I’ve searched rivers and mountains and gathered nearly all the ingredients. Only one guiding herb remains.”
Claire remembered the phrase—“the fingertip blood of the one who cradles the lotus.”
“The fingertip blood of the one who cradles the lotus,” the gray-robed man repeated.
Nathaniel felt like he was dreaming.
In his dream he sat by a lotus pond and watched a girl hike her skirt high, revealing a plump, pale thigh. She removed her outer top, leaving only a little bandeau, and walked into the pond with a playful smile.
…touching lotus roots?
Even her undergarment was embroidered with lotus flowers.
She turned, bent down, and reached for a lotus root. Nathaniel saw that smooth spine, the loose strap of her top falling, tracing down to a round, generous hip. He clenched his will and told himself not to look.
But his gaze was glued there.
She, oblivious, triumphantly held up the lotus root like a prize.
Her arm rose and the hem of her top slipped with it.
Nathaniel felt his blood rush to one place. Be modest. Be proper. Don’t look.
He shut his eyes, strained, and wrested himself away from that endless springtime.
When he opened them, her face was an enlarged vision of charm, smiling at him.
His mouth twitched into a grin. “Am I dreaming?”
She didn’t answer, just smiled.
He turned, pulled her close, and kissed her—the sensation just as real as before.
All that restraint—gone. He pinned the back of her head, claiming her with an overbearing force. His tongue forced her mouth open; she responded with inexperienced enthusiasm. Heat rolled through him until reason nearly drowned.
After the kiss, he looked at her moist, misted eyes, her slightly swollen lips, and her flushed cheeks from lack of breath. He couldn’t help myself and smacked his lips. “Even your lips taste sweet.”
She playfully swatted him in annoyance.
“Cough, cough.”
Why was there a man’s cough?
His eyes drifted off Claire’s face to the gray-robed man not far off—his senior when he studied on the immortal mountain.
The dream even had him. How disappointing.
“Now that my junior has woken, let us discuss the diagnosis,” the gray-robed man said.
Wait—woken?
Nathaniel looked at Claire. She’d recovered composure quickly and now looked at him with bright, teasing eyes.
So it hadn’t been a dream—no wonder it felt so real. Now was probably not the time to dwell on that!
His gaze darkened as he looked at Claire, a flicker of reproach in his voice. “You knew I wasn’t fully myself. Why didn’t you stop me?”
Claire smiled. “When a beauty offers a kiss, who would refuse?”
He dropped his eyes and muttered, “Rash.”
Claire touched his face and said seriously, “Enough of that. Let me see your legs.”
She reached to pull back the blanket.
“No!” Nathaniel grabbed the blanket, even invoking a trace of his spiritual power. His desperate hold startled Claire, then made her understand. She smiled at him with a teasing warmth.
His face flushed. He gripped the blanket like a vow—no one was to see that humiliating sight.
The atmosphere grew tense.
The gray-robed man cleared his throat and said, “I’ll take a walk outside.”
Claire obligingly said, “We’ll check your legs later,” and squeezed his hand. Then she shifted tone: “Why didn’t you tell me someone cursed your legs? And if you knew you’d end up like this, why risk saving me?”
“I didn’t think much of it,” he said, eyes down, lashes shadowing a fragile light.
A motherly warmth rose in Claire. She took his hand and placed a soft kiss on the back. “It’s fine. We’ve found a way to heal your legs. Do you remember Dr. Bennett?”
“I remember—he treated my leg once, eighteen years ago.”
Claire grinned mischievously. “Eighteen years ago he left you a prescription. My father’s senior has nearly gathered all the ingredients. Only one guiding component is missing—the fingertip blood of the one who cradles the lotus.”
Nathaniel couldn’t help smiling at her confident assuredness.
“And not long after,” Claire continued, “my father had a daughter. He was surprised to find that his daughter—me—was the one who cradles the lotus.”
She brought her hands together, palms facing, breathed warm air on them, rubbed them, and then opened them. The sides of her palms touched, held out gently to Nathaniel.
As her hand warmed, faint blood-red patterns appeared—two halves of a lotus. Put together, they formed a single blood-red lotus.
“That daughter is me.”
The ones who cradle the lotus are rare—fewer than a hundred, and recorded in texts. Rumors say their emergence brings fortune to those around them; others whisper they’re omen-bearers who herald catastrophe.
Because of the gravity of this, everyone else had been cleared from the room—only Claire, Nathaniel, and the gray-robed man remained.
Nathaniel’s eyes widened. He reached out and touched the lotus mark on Claire’s palm.
“What a coincidence,” he murmured.
Claire clasped his hand. “Yes. Our fate is set by heaven.”
“If your fingertip blood is used, will it harm you?” Nathaniel asked.
Claire laughed. “Harm? A girl bleeds every month. What harm could there be?”
His face reddened and he turned away. Why did she say everything out loud?
Without further argument, Claire had them prepare a large bath. The rare medicinal ingredients were brewed into a therapeutic soak. Ignoring Nathaniel’s protests, she stripped him down to a small pair of undergarments and eased him into the tub.
Claire sliced her fingertip. The lotus-patterned blood flowed, pooling at the tip, then a few golden-flecked drops fell into the medicinal bath and caused ripples.
She pulled over a small stool, propped her chin on her hand, and watched Nathaniel intently.
He soaked in the bath, only his upper body visible—skin the pale coolness of someone who hadn’t seen sunlight in a long time, black hair and bright red lips: the perfect image of a sickly beauty.
“Oh, mother, I love you,” Claire thought, but only to herself.
“I…” Nathaniel felt uneasy under her burning gaze and awkwardly blurted, “I don’t know how to thank you.”
Claire grinned. “How to thank me? That’s easy!”
She leaned close to Nathaniel Grey and whispered a few words.
"Just pay me back with your body!"
Nathaniel didn't react the way she expected — no blush, no angry scolding about joking — but instead he paused, considering the idea like it was a serious proposition. He nodded solemnly, as if treasuring the plan.
"Okay."
Claire's eyes went wide. "You're actually going to—pay me back with your body??"
Nathaniel stared into her eyes and nodded again gravely. "Yes. My skills might not be great, but I'll try."
Claire felt like she was on fire. With a single "whoosh," the heat swept through her.
Nathaniel spoke very seriously. "When my legs are healed, take me to see your father."
"To see—see him for what?"
Those four words came out of Claire's mouth with a terrible stammer. Nathaniel could hardly hide the tug at the corner of his mouth.
"First, to thank him in person. Then, to ask him to marry his daughter to me."
Moments later, Claire, pink as a flushed pig and claiming she had to feed the rabbits, hurried out of the room and took a deep breath.
What was happening?
How did a momentary loss of consciousness make her suddenly this flirtatious?
She'd never been a seasoned seductress (definitely not), she'd never seen hordes of admirers (also not), and now she was getting a little overwhelmed. No—she needed to come back stronger, flirt back better!
She racked her brain for tactics and was walking down an L-shaped corridor when a black hand suddenly shot out, clapped over her mouth and nose, and yanked her into a hidden alcove.
Claire's heart slammed. She fought with hands and feet, but the owner of the black hand spoke in a voice that sounded faintly familiar. "Shh. Claire, it's me."
She peered toward the voice and saw Lucas Hale — the man she'd split from earlier.
Lucas released her. She blinked. "Lucas? What are you doing here?"
He replied, "I was about to ask you the same thing. What are you doing here?"
"I'm treating Lady Morgan's brother," Claire said.
Lucas looked at her with surprise, then his tone cooled a touch. "You're the one treating her brother?"
Claire noticed the strange change in his voice and said nothing.
"How's the treatment going?" he asked.
"No clues yet," she admitted.
Lucas said, "Evercrest hasn't been peaceful lately. If you don't have pressing matters, you should leave soon."
Claire nodded. "Alright." She turned to go.
But Lucas's voice sounded behind her again. "I've been thinking… I still don't feel comfortable."
Every hair on Claire's arms rose. Every nerve shouted: Run!
She'd only taken a few steps when—crack!—a heavy blow struck the back of her neck. Darkness rushed in and she collapsed.
Before she lost consciousness entirely, she heard Lucas's voice: "Even so, I still can't bring myself to kill you."
When she woke again it was impossible to tell how much time had passed. Her head throbbed as she sat up and looked around. She was in the clinic she'd opened not long ago in Rosehaven.
She stepped outside. It was noon, but the main street was empty. Stalls, carts, and merchandise lay scattered and wrecked. A ruined wagon sat in the road; no horses, no people.
She walked, searching for any sign of life.
After a long stretch she finally found someone — or rather, a corpse.
A young woman in bright clothing, the same girl who had once shyly rushed into the clinic to press two little tins of rouge into Claire's hands with a sweet, "For you, sister." Now she lay in the filthy cold street with a clean horizontal cut across her throat, dried shut.
Claire walked on. Mr. Fletcher, who'd helped with renovations; Aunt Lydia, who sneaked an extra egg under Claire's noodle bowl so she wouldn't go hungry—everyone she recognized lay dead, throat slit by a single sword.
Silence pressed in, broken only by her footsteps.
A sharp whoosh of a blade sounded in the air. Claire ran toward it and rounded a corner to find a person she hadn't expected.
Tall and straight as a bamboo stalk, black hair tied in a high ponytail, clothed in white that made him seem otherworldly — and legs that were strong and straight, giving no hint that he'd ever spent forty years in a wheelchair.
He held a sword as white as jade. The blade had just sliced across a Rosehaven resident's neck; expressionless, he flicked the blood off the sword and sheathed it.
Claire's lips trembled. A thin voice escaped. "Nathaniel?"
Nathaniel turned sharply. The calm mask he'd worn cracked.
He leapt to Claire's side, hastily hiding his right hand and the sword behind him, forcing a smile and pulling her into an embrace.
Claire stepped back and avoided the hug. The smile froze at his mouth.
She looked at him, unbelieving. Her voice shook. "You killed them?"
Nathaniel didn't answer. He only looked at her in silence. Tears fell from her like broken pearls. He reached out to wipe them away; she stepped back again.
"Why? They're just ordinary people!" she cried, pointing at the corpse. "That man sold floral pins. His wife just had a baby—what did he do wrong? I was healing your legs not so you'd slaughter innocents!"
"Tell me!" she demanded.
Pushed back two steps, Nathaniel still kept his head down. After a long moment he spoke, bitterness leaking into his voice. "They died because of me."
Claire stepped away again. "Don't follow me."
Ignoring the sorrow in Nathaniel's eyes, she walked off.
She kept going until she saw someone alive around a corner — a figure with his back to her, chewing something. Relief fluttered through her. She touched his shoulder.
He spun around and revealed a face smeared with blood, a hideous mask.
What he was eating was plainly a human arm.
Claire stumbled back. He dropped the bit of flesh and, rigid, shuffled toward her in an unnatural, jerking gait.
She retreated while trying to calm him. "Are you okay? What's wrong? I'm a doctor— I can help—"
The thing growled, not like a human, and lunged.
With no room to flee, Claire grabbed a chunk of wood nearby and smashed it into the creature's head. It paused for an instant, seemingly unfazed by pain, and kept coming.
"Ce—" A blade sliced through the air. The snow-white sword cut the creature's throat; its motion stilled as if someone had hit pause, and it collapsed.
Claire stood there, took a breath, and left without a word.
Nathaniel seized her arm. "This place is dangerous."
"Why did they become like this?" she asked.
He was silent for a few seconds. "Their souls were drawn out. They're living corpses."
"Who did it?" Claire demanded.
Nathaniel's silence lengthened, then he answered quietly. "Lady Morgan. My sister-in-law. She extracts living souls to refine pills. She did it to heal my legs."
A thousand souls condensed into one falling pill could revive the dead and soften bones.
"Aren't I already treating you?!" Nathaniel squeezed his eyes shut in pain. "She wanted to heal me before you did. She thought that if she did, she could control me."
Given the town leader's sick obsession and need to control him, it was possible she would've done something like that. But logically…
Claire gripped Nathaniel's arm and tried to keep her voice even. "Nathaniel, think about it. Lady Morgan has governed Evercrest for years. If all she wanted was control, she could simply keep me away—banish me, even kill me. She wouldn't need to slaughter an entire town."
Nathaniel shook his head. He wasn't convinced.
"Besides," Claire went on, "she's been city leader for years. If she wanted to refine pills like this, she had plenty of chances. So why now? There are only two possibilities: either she just learned the method recently, or she knew all along and only acted because of me—because my appearance made her panic and try to beat me to the cure. I think the former is more likely."
Nathaniel's posture wavered. "Why do you think that?"
Because she'd seen Lucas at the Lord's residence, and his words and behavior had raised the hairs on her neck.
"Do you have any impression of the name Lucas Hale?" Claire asked.
Nathaniel shook his head. "No memory."
From not far off, someone began to applaud.
"Didn't expect you to be clever besides being a skilled physician," a voice said.
A figure stood at the end of the long street. Claire's heart jolted. She whispered, "Lucas!"
Lucas fanned himself with a folded fan, putting on airs. "Claire, come here. Stay away from that monster."
Claire didn't move. Nathaniel quietly took her hand.
"Was all this your doing?" Claire demanded.
Lucas laughed. "Me? Of course not. The leader of Evercrest has been practicing dark arts, refining pills with living souls and slaughtering over a thousand innocent people nearby. I was simply passing by and acted to right the wrongs."
Claire spat. "Don't flatter yourself. If I'm right, you were the one who tempted Lady Morgan into using living souls. That falling pill has to be in your possession!"
Lucas sneered. "Why would I do that? What would I gain?"
"To make everything follow the path of your previous life," Claire said.
A slight crack appeared in Lucas's previously indifferent expression. His hand holding the fan faltered.
Claire continued, "If I'm right, in your past life the Evercrest leader used living souls to make pills, bringing death to the neighboring towns. In that life you did, in fact, act to 'right the wrongs' — you killed the leader, took Evercrest, and renamed it Halehaven."
"There are two spirit veins beneath the city—those are the very assets that would secure your final ascension to Immortal Emperor."
Claire Bennett pieced together her guesses with the hazy memories of the original book’s plot. It had been so long; she could only stumble through deductions.
Lucas Hale’s smile faded. Danger narrowed his eyes. "I originally thought to keep you as a concubine at my side. Now? No—you're impossible to keep."
Nathaniel Grey's gaze snapped sharp; he drew his sword. Claire tugged his sleeve and kept speaking.
"This life, you didn’t expect a surprise like me. I didn’t fall for you, and I went to treat the lord’s brother. Without a reason to refine pills, the lord would have no motive. You were scared you’d lose Evercrest, so you schemed with Lady Morgan—lured, coerced her into pill-refining. Over a thousand lives in Rosehaven all count on you!"
Lucas’s anger cracked into a laugh. "So what if what you say is true?"
"All the cultivation sects and great families know about this. Evercrest is already mine!"
"I'm the chosen one of fortune—fate itself sides with me. You really think you can fight the Heavens?"
Claire said, "You commit such monstrous crimes and still expect fate to side with you?"
A roar of laughter burst from Lucas Hale.
He raised a trembling finger toward Nathaniel. "What a joke. In my last life, I was so righteous, so devoted to the world… and all because of him I met death—destroyed utterly, body and Dao gone!"
Claire looked at Nathaniel and saw, like a lightning flash, a villain from the original story in her mind.
He limped, yet a legion of shambling corpses cleared his path.
Claire’s chest ached. Those hordes of corpses had to be the sacrifices of the Fallen Pills.
Last-life Nathaniel carried those karmic burdens, lonely and stubborn, avenging kin.
"Oh, I forgot to tell you," Lucas put on a cruel grin. "In your last life, he killed you—threw you into a pile of the living dead. Your screams lasted three days and nights. Utterly miserable."
Claire squeezed Nathaniel’s hand and gave him a reassuring smile.
Then, with a cold edge, she sneered at Lucas Hale. "I get it—you were reborn for revenge. After living centuries, you still harbor such a petty heart."
Lucas couldn’t retort. He snorted, reached into the air, and summoned a red figure to his side.
"Sister!"
The once-composed, noble Lady Morgan now stood with hair askew, garments torn, cuts and bruises all over. Even so, she stood upright, chin high. Seeing Nathaniel, she smiled weakly. "Your leg is better. I'm glad."
"And then: 'I did wrong. Kill me.'"
Nathaniel’s eyes flooded red. He lunged for Lucas, but Lucas’s dagger was faster, against Lady Morgan’s throat.
"If you don't want her dead, you kill yourself now."
Nathaniel froze his attack, but didn’t stop moving forward. Slow, determined steps, voice low but fierce: "Lucas Hale, we had no feud. From this day on, Nathaniel Grey and I will never stop until one of us dies."
He closed in. Lucas’s face twisted savage. He slammed the dagger into Lady Morgan’s neck, slicing a bloody line. "I told you to kill yourself!"
"No need to be so messy," the Lady said, smiling sadly as if offering sisterly counsel. "Evercrest is your brother's lifetime's work. Promise me you'll protect it—don't let it fall to thieves."
Resolute, she threw herself toward the blade. Blood sprayed. Her body went limp.
Nathaniel’s eyes burned. He leapt and caught her before she hit the ground.
Blood gushed; she couldn’t speak, only worked her lips faintly.
"Over a hundred years… I can finally go see your brother."
Nathaniel laid Lady Morgan down and drew his sword again.
In only a few moves, Lucas lost his advantage. Wounded, his arm hurt, he stumbled. Gritting his teeth, he tossed his folding fan into the sky. A dazzling radiance flashed, stinging eyes.
That light became ornate, solemn runes circling him—forming a shield. Sword qi and blades struck it and vanished like drops in an ocean.
"Hahahaha! Fate still favors me! Look behind you, Nathaniel—if you kill yourself now, I might spare her!"
Nathaniel spun. Panic and dread filled his eyes. But both he and Lucas saw the composed, unflappable Claire.
"Impossible! I gave you poison!"
Claire laughed. "Poison? Who do you think I am? I'm Dr. Bennett's daughter! Your pathetic tricks won't touch me. You think you're so powerful? You're just hiding in a turtle shell, clinging to life."
Lucas’s eyes flared blood-red. His features contorted with rage. He tried to force the venomous worms inside Claire, but she didn’t react. His plan had failed.
Fortune truly was not with him.
He hurled the poison bomb in anger. While his fan’s protective barrier still blinked, he fled.
When the smoke cleared, Nathaniel wanted to pursue but heard a heavy thud behind him.
Claire collapsed, pain ripping through her. She could no longer hold it in and spat a mouthful of black blood.
It was all she could do to stay upright.
"Don't worry about me—go after him! Kill him!" she croaked.
As if he could leave her. Nathaniel dropped his sword and ran back to her, scooped her into his arms. He had already lost everything; he couldn't lose her.
Claire woke again in a strange place, a handsome man lying beside her. She twitched a finger; he startled awake, eyes wide as if he'd found a lost treasure, and clutched her in a mix of joy and panic.
"I thought—you were dead…"
Claire patted his back and soothed, "Not dead. Stop hugging so hard or you’ll really strangle me."
She’d been poisoned by Lucas, but she didn’t know how to neutralize it.
After comforting Nathaniel, she asked, "What’s the situation now?"
"Sister was buried. I’ve taken over Evercrest. The cultivation sects have come; they’ve taken Rosehaven and are dealing with the living dead inside. The Fallen Pill was taken by Lucas—he’s now the most wanted by the sects and great families."
"Hmm."
Claire nodded and asked, "Why were you in Rosehaven that day?"
"After my medicinal bath, I wanted to tell you my leg was better, but I couldn't find you anywhere. I searched Evercrest and found what your sister had done. Rosehaven was a hellscape. I remembered you had a clinic there, so I went."
"When I arrived, Rosehaven was already a city of the dead…"
"Those corpses…" Nathaniel’s expression tightened. "They bit anyone who came near. I had no way—I could only render them immobile. I’m not… some kind of wanton killer."
Claire lifted her hand and gently stroked his cheek. "My fault—I started berating you without knowing the facts. I'm sorry."
Nathaniel pressed her hand and shook his head. "I was scared you'd turned into that thing. If you had… what would I have done?"
"And your sister—"
"She was my twin brother Nathaniel Grey's wife. My brother died years ago. She missed him terribly and transferred that love onto me. I buried them together and will guard Evercrest for them."
Claire felt exhaustion wash over her. Her eyelids fluttered.
"Don’t sleep—tell me more. I'll listen…"
Nathaniel forced a smile. "You don’t know—our grey rabbit’s pregnant again. If you want spicy rabbit head, we'll pick the fattest one. You want fish, I'll catch it…"
Claire couldn't hold back. Tears spilled.
"I'm only eighteen—why must I die? I don't want to. I just left home to gain experience, only been through a town or two. I haven't seen the world, haven't tasted all the food—why must I die…"
Nathaniel had no words. He just hugged her tighter until she could hardly breathe.
"We just admitted our feelings—how can I be dying now? I like you so much. From the first time I saw you."
"I like you too. Very much."
"I like your rabbit?"
"Yes."
"Like your koi?"
"Yes."
"Like taking off your wheelchair?"
"Yes."
"If you like me so much, I have only one regret."
"Hmm?"
Claire cupped his face, teary but smiling. "You're so handsome, and I never slept with you."
Nathaniel leaned over. "Then I'll make sure you have no regrets."
His kiss was gentle, restrained—almost tentative.
Claire bit his lip in mock protest. He looked up at her, startled.
"Come on—don't spare me just because I'm delicate!"
He laughed softly, untied her outer robe, slid it off her shoulders, revealing a blush-pink, plum blossom-embroidered camisole.
He muttered, "Why not the teal one with a lotus…"
Claire blinked. "How did you know I had a teal lotus one?"
Nathaniel remembered the passionate dream; his hands were busy. Soon Claire was bare. Then he froze, unsure what to do next.
Claire guided his hand to her chest.
A single droplet fell on her breast.
She smiled. "Is this your first time seeing a bride go to the bridal sedan? Why are you crying?"
Nathaniel pressed her close, nuzzling her neck.
"Don't die. Don't leave me."
His pleas were tender yet his movements strong. He was a mix of restraint and ferocity—gentle yet rough—both cherishing Claire and desperate to give her the most intense pleasure.
…Claire didn’t act like someone on the brink of death at all. As she put it, since she was about to die she wanted to try every position—couldn’t leave with regrets.
Even though she was being worked until she could barely breathe and had made Nathaniel sob tears like raindrops, she wouldn’t rest long before pestering him to go again.
Three days later Claire was sitting in Nathaniel’s lap, curled into him, watching koi in the lotus pond.
Nathaniel casually mentioned the erotic dream he’d had, and Claire’s eyes lit up. “So you were already drooling over me back then?”
Nathaniel shook his head. “Not drooling. Admiring.”
Claire got mischievous. Sliding close to his ear, she whispered, “Want to do it here…?”
“Nonsense,” Nathaniel said, blushing as always. Lately he kept calling her that—nonsense—and each time she’d get her way.
This time, though, she didn’t. Mr. Fletcher came barreling over like a man with wings, shouting as he ran, “There’s help! There’s help! The lady will be saved!”
Nathaniel motioned for him to calm down and tell them slowly. Mr. Fletcher panted, barely able to hide his excitement. “An old physician calling himself Dr. Bennett came to visit—he’s in the main hall!”
No sooner had he finished than Nathaniel scooped Claire up like a gust of wind and dashed past Mr. Fletcher, leaving only a blur.
“Lady Morgan, slow down! Don’t jostle the mistress!”
In the main hall, Dr. Bennett was holding a cup of tea, savoring it slowly, when someone suddenly appeared and nearly made him spill.
His daughter was in the arms of a handsome young man and, seeing him, pouted and burst into tears. “Father, why did you come so late? I’m dying!”
Dr. Bennett waved it off. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m here now—so long as you have a breath left, you won’t die.”
The handsome young man fell to his knees with a thud so loud it startled the two of them.
“Father-in-law! Please, save Claire!”
Dr. Bennett’s eyebrows shot up. He didn’t help him to his feet. With Claire still in the young man’s embrace, he took her pulse and frowned. “There’s a poisonous insect.”
He produced a golden needle and applied it to a few of Claire’s acupoints. Soon she heaved and spat a mouthful of black blood—and embedded in it was the corpse of a poisonous bug.
“Ugh!”
It nearly made him sick.
Nathaniel felt a huge weight lift off his chest and realized he’d been sweating cold.
Dr. Bennett sat back down and resumed sipping his tea. “Young man, what did you just call me?”
“Nathaniel answered, “Father-in-law.”
Dr. Bennett slapped the table, making Claire’s heart drop.
“Excellent!” he laughed. “I see in your features a kingly, domineering air—you’re clearly not an ordinary man. Daughter, if you go with him, you’ll never suffer.”
…He didn’t have to compliment him so much.
Claire felt a little troubled now. She’d gotten Nathaniel angry.
He’d asked when she’d notified Dr. Bennett. She’d said she’d informed him long ago and figured he’d arrive within a few days.
Nathaniel had gotten upset and asked why she hadn’t told him. Did she know how terrified he’d been these past days?
Claire felt guilty—she’d been trying to act weak. She couldn’t very well confess she’d told Dr. Bennett because she wanted to sleep with Nathaniel again, or because she loved watching him utterly compliant.
Nathaniel swept his sleeve and left, still holding his rabbit, brooding by the lotus pond.
Claire sneaked over and in a flash popped up in front of him.
“Wah!”
Nathaniel didn’t move a muscle, not even an eye.
Claire rubbed against him, chin on his knee, and said in a soft, pleading voice, “I was wrong. I just wanted to be more spoiled by you, so you’d coddle me more.”
Hmph—if she’d told him the truth, wouldn’t he have coddled her anyway? Nathaniel thought, but he still ignored her.
“If I weren’t so sure I was dying, would your proper, gentlemanly self ever have indulged in those ridiculous things with me? Just forgive me. If you forgive me, I’ll do anything.”
Nathaniel blinked at her pitiful expression and couldn’t help softening. He glanced at the lotus pond and murmured, “Tonight… I want sweet sticky rice and lotus root.”
Claire was quick. She understood immediately, and in two seconds she’d stripped down to shorts and a thin top, squealing “Yay!” as she dove into the pond.
Nathaniel looked over. Hmm—green background embroidered with lotuses.
He forgave her.
Afterword
A little tavern.
“Heard the news? That big monster Lucas Hale’s been killed!”
“Really killed? Who did it?”
“Who else but King Nathaniel Grey of Evercrest!”
“Ugh, he never deserved the title ‘big monster’—just a malignant tumor!”
“Well, people said he was decent once, but he’d gone mad, babbling about ‘my luck, my fate.’ Good riddance!”
“Enough about him—bad luck talk. Drinks on me!”
