At this moment, the expression on Ji Xun’s face was completely contorted by excruciating pain. Beads of sweat as large as peas rolled down his forehead, merging with the streams flowing from his cheeks into tiny, trickling rivers. These rivulets traced paths down his face, soaking his collar and shirt, yet he remained utterly oblivious. Furthermore, Ji Xun’s lips had long since lost all color, drained to a deathly, pallid white.
Yet, despite enduring such agony, he gritted his teeth with every ounce of strength he possessed, refusing to let even the slightest groan of pain escape his lips. Only the brilliant, striking smear of blood at the corner of his mouth—like a red plum blossom blooming in the heart of winter—spoke silently to the world of the cruel torture he was currently undergoing.
Meanwhile, the muscles in Ji Xun’s arms were as rigid as steel, with veins bulging like coiled dragons, each one so prominent it seemed as though it might burst at any moment. Even in such dire straits, he did not abandon Shang Qing, who remained unconscious in his arms. He used all his remaining strength to cradle her slight frame, climbing upward, inch by excruciating inch. His steps were abnormally slow and heavy, as if every movement required every last shred of his energy. Every time he lifted and set down a foot, it was accompanied by a slight tremor. But no matter how unbearable the agony, Ji Xun never stopped moving forward.
Chapter 342