On the day heavy snow sealed the mountain, Sū Míngtáng discovered the blood-soaked man at the edge of the cliff. His dark robes were soaked with blood and snow, and the silver hairpin in his hair was broken, yet he still tightly clutched a blood-stained tally in the shape of a tiger. Using medicinal vines, she bound him to her back and dragged him step by laborious step down the mountain. The white vapor from her breath condensed into ice crystals on her eyelashes, and in a daze, she recalled the journey of her exile seven years ago, when her mother had carried her through a high fever just like this, only to collapse in the all-enveloping wind and snow.
The scent of herbs from the old apothecary mixed with the stench of blood filling the air. Sū Míngtáng cut open the man's blood-stained garments, revealing a ferocious arrow wound on his chest that had pierced his right lung. The <i>panax notoginseng</i> powder in her medicinal chest for stopping bleeding was nearly exhausted. Gritting her teeth, she sliced a precious century-old wild ginseng and applied the pieces directly to the wound. In the flickering candlelight, the man's paper-white face made her heartbeat race out of control—his brows and eyes looked as though they had been carved from jade by a knife, and even in unconsciousness, his brow still held an innate nobility.
Three days later, the man regained consciousness, a hoarse groan escaping his throat: "Water..." Sū Míngtáng hurriedly brought over a bowl of warmed…
Chapter 245