Heaven Dou City, Moon Pavilion, a penthouse suite.
The interior was fragrant, the furnishings elegant, every utensil perfectly placed, revealing the owner's refined taste. Yet at this moment, the refined space was shrouded in layers of sorrow and gloom.
Tang Yuehua, clad in a moon-white dress embroidered with clouds, stood by the sofa, her eyes—accustomed to musical rhythm and calm smiles—now shimmering with tears. On the sofa, pale Tang San lay with his eyes closed, receiving treatment. His bare upper body bore terrible wounds and abnormal depressions, especially his left leg, which was still twisted after emergency care.
A healing soul master in Heaven Dou Empire's official robes did his best, gentle white light enveloping Tang San's body. Time stretched in silence, broken only by the faint hum of soul power and Tang San's occasional pained groans.
At last, the soul ring's light faded, and the doctor exhaled in relief, sweat beading on his brow. As soon as he finished, Tang Yuehua stepped forward. Her steps were quick yet elegant; without hesitation, she bowed slightly, right hand over heart—a standard, noble salute:
"Doctor Wei, thank you for your hard work. How is my nephew's condition?"
The royal physician stroked his beard and replied gravely:
"Madam Yue, your nephew's injuries... Unfortunately, the delay was too long. The fractures are fine, but his internal organs—especially his meridians—are severely damaged. There is a powerful, stubborn thunder-attributed soul power remaining, impossible to expel at once. For a full recovery, he will need careful conditioning and sustained treatment."
Tang Yuehua's worry deepened, but knowing she had the best medical care available, she forced herself to remain composed and bowed again.
"Thank you, Doctor. I'll rely on your skill for his continued care."
As she escorted the physician to the door, he paused, voice low:
"To be frank, if there were the healing power of the Nine-Hearted Begonia, recovery would be much faster and complete. But..."
He shook his head. The Ye clan had moved to Martial City, and their current status made it nearly impossible for the imperial family to request personal intervention.
Tang Yuehua listened quietly, showing neither surprise nor disappointment. She nodded gently, voice soft and sincere:
"The Nine-Hearted Begonia is indeed the best. But in my view, your 'Snow Lotus' Martial Spirit's pure healing power is also unique—gentle, long-lasting, and great for building foundations and curing chronic illness. Just being able to rely on you is already a blessing."
The royal doctor smiled, bowing in return:
"Madam Yue is too kind. I will do my utmost."
After sending him off, Tang Yuehua returned and saw Tang San struggling to rise. She hurried over, gently pressing his shoulder to keep him lying down and comforted him.
"Auntie..."
Tang San, meeting his affectionate relative for the first time, felt a sting at the tip of his nose. His father's tragic death, Xiao Wu's capture, his own serious injuries... all the sorrows and resentments surged within him. Choking up, he recounted the tragedy at Nuoding City—especially how his father, Tang Hao, was killed by a man in green.
Tang Yuehua sat by the bed, lightly stroking Tang San's pale, sweat-soaked cheek, silent tears finally spilling onto the silk quilt. Her voice shook, but she struggled to remain calm:
"I know... Auntie knows everything."
She, Lady of Moon Pavilion, was privy to all the empire's intelligence. The details of Tang Hao's murder by the Wisdom Brain Duluo were already on her desk, each word stabbing her heart.
"Why?" Tang San suddenly grabbed her hand, his bloodshot eyes full of confusion and resentment. "Why doesn't the Sect seek justice for my father? He was a disciple of the Sect!"
Tang Yuehua closed her eyes in pain, shaking her head slowly:
"Xiao San, things aren't so simple. There's too much old resentment... there are difficulties even within the Sect."
She opened her eyes, gently meeting his stubborn, anguished gaze:
"First, focus on healing your body and mind. Don't think about anything else. I've already summoned your uncle—he'll be here soon."
At the mention of "uncle," Tang San's eyes lit up. That was the current sect master of the Clear Sky Sect, his father's elder brother. He bit his lip, nodding as he fought to suppress his hatred.
Watching Tang Yuehua tuck in his quilt and leave, Tang San's eyes blazed with hatred. He recalled Xiao Wu's desperate look, his father's empty gaze as he fell, and that young man—Chen Yi—who looked upon all living beings with indifference, as if they were ants. All of it tangled and seethed in his mind.
"Chen Yi! Body Sect! You captured Xiao Wu and killed my father... you're already dead to me!"
As Tang Yuehua stepped out into the hallway, Yu Xiaogang hurried up, unable to hide his worry as he reached for her wrist, asking anxiously:
"Madam Yue! How is Tang San? Are his injuries serious?"
Tang Yuehua took a half-step to the side, naturally avoiding his touch. She glanced at Yu Xiaogang coldly, her tone distant but polite:
"Thank you for your concern, Grandmaster Yu. Tang San's life is not in danger, and he only needs time to recover."
Tang Yuehua bore no goodwill toward Yu Xiaogang. If he hadn't escaped with the seriously injured Tang San, she wouldn't have so much as glanced at this so-called "Grandmaster." Only she knew how excited and happy she'd been when she first learned Tang San was a twin Martial Spirit user—the future pillar of the Clear Sky Sect. But when she discovered his first Martial Spirit, Blue Silver Grass, had absorbed the soul ring of a Mandala Snake, her joy turned instantly to anger and disbelief. As far as she was concerned, Yu Xiaogang's guidance had been a blasphemy—a waste of a unique talent.
Yu Xiaogang, sensing Tang Yuehua's clear rejection, forced an awkward smile, withdrawing his hand:
"It's fine, it's fine..."
Tang Yuehua gave a perfunctory nod, her tone flat:
"I have matters to attend to. Please excuse me."
With that, she left without another glance, striding deeper into Moon Pavilion. Yu Xiaogang stared after her, dazed, unconsciously touching his own face as a foolish, unwelcome thought crept into his mind:
"Could it be... I'm losing my charm?"