One person: Starting with the Snow Drinking Blade

Nie Lingfeng stood up, his knees lifting off the edge of the bed, causing the mattress to bounce. He spoke to Chen Duo and Feng Baobao, tapping his fingers twice in the air.

"Duo'er, Bao Bao, you two stay here to take care of her. Come and call us when she wakes up and you're all ready."

Chen Duo nodded. Her nod was steady, exactly one nod.

"Don't worry, Brother Lingfeng."

Feng Baobao nodded, "Okay." Her answers were always so short, but always timely.

Nie Lingfeng glanced at the pale golden cocoon of light again.

The cocoon of light had stabilized, no longer growing or shrinking. The speed at which the runes and patterns on its surface flowed had also slowed, as if it were performing final finishing touches. Through the translucent cocoon of light, Lu Linglong's face could be seen—her brows had completely relaxed, her lips were no longer pursed but slightly parted, and her breathing was even. It was as if she had fallen asleep in a very comfortable place and did not want to wake up.

Confirming that the atmosphere inside was steadily improving—from chaos to order, from rage to gentleness, from out of control to controllable—he turned and left the room.

The others followed them out, leaving only Chen Duo and Feng Baobao in the room.

Chen Duo moved a chair to the edge of the bed, placed Xiao Yun on her lap, supported Xiao Yun's waist with one hand, and rested the other on the edge of the bed, her fingers lightly tapping the bed frame. Feng Baobao leaned against the wall next to the window, crossed her arms, and looked out the window.

Downstairs in the lobby, everyone found a place to sit.

The hotel lobby wasn't large, with five or six square tables made of solid wood, coated with a layer of clear varnish that revealed the wood grain. Each table had four long benches, each covered with a thin cotton cushion. Several landscape paintings, their frames crooked, hung on the walls, their works seemingly unfinished and uncorrected.

Zhang Chulan plopped down on the bench, which creaked as if in protest. He braced his hands on the table, head bowed, long hair hanging down, obscuring half his face. Then he let out a long, drawn-out breath, as if squeezing all the air out of his lungs.

"What an exciting day... I was ganged up on by the people on the list first thing in the morning, then Linglong got into this mess, and Grandpa Li even ran away... My heart can hardly take it."

He raised his head and patted his chest with his hand, making a loud "thump thump" sound.

"Li Muxuan ran away?" Wang Zhenqiu was taken aback, straightening up from the bench, his hand rising from the table and hovering in mid-air. "When did this happen?"

"Just now, while we were busy taking care of Linglong, he disappeared the moment we turned around." Zhang Chulan helplessly spread his hands, his fingers outstretched in the air as if trying to grab something invisible. "That old man, he's faster than a rabbit. When I turned around, he was still there, and when I turned back again, he was gone, without even leaving a footprint."

"He will come back," Nie Lingfeng said calmly.

He sat opposite Zhang Chulan, a cup of tea in front of him, freshly brewed by the shop owner and still steaming. He didn't drink it, but just stared at the surface of the teacup, which was as calm as a mirror.

"Brother Nie, how did you know?" Zhang Chulan asked curiously. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and his chin on the back of his hand.

"Because he hasn't gotten the answer to what he wants from us yet." Nie Lingfeng picked up his teacup; the rim was scalding hot, and he held it between his fingertips. He took a sip. "Besides, since he took the initiative to approach you, he won't give up so easily. He needs time to observe us, to confirm whether we are trustworthy people. He was observing us in the shadows last night, and he's observing us again today—he's waiting, waiting for the right opportunity."

"So we're just going to wait here like this?" Zhang Chulan was somewhat unwilling. He tapped his fingers twice on the table, making a crisp sound.

"No need to wait." Nie Lingfeng put down his teacup, the bottom of which made a soft "click" as it hit the table. "We'll wait for him to come find us."

He paused, then looked at Zhang Chulan.

"What did you learn from your interaction with him today?"

Zhang Chulan thought about it and went over those words in his mind several times.

"He knew my grandfather and also Wugensheng. He said that Wugensheng had never betrayed the Thirty-Six Thieves; on the contrary, he chose to bear everything alone in order to protect others. He also said that Wugensheng had discovered a secret about the essence of the world, a secret that relates to the origin of the Extraordinary People, the origin of the Eight Extraordinary Techniques, and even the future of this world."

"The essence of the world?" Wang Zhenqiu raised an eyebrow, his brow curving into an arc, and rubbed his chin with his fingers. "Sounds rather mystical. The essence of the world—not the kind philosophers discuss, but the kind that can be written into books, can drive people mad, and can overturn all cognition."

"I was just about to ask him what the secret was when the people on the list suddenly appeared." Zhang Chulan sighed helplessly, his sigh so heavy that the whole table trembled slightly. "It was so close! He had his mouth open, the words were on the tip of his tongue, but then those guys started shooting arrows, scaring the old man back down."

"No rush," Nie Lingfeng said, tapping his finger lightly on the table. "Since he's already shown up, he'll reappear sooner or later. We can ask him about it then."

After chatting for a while, everyone went back to their rooms to rest.

The stairs creaked and groaned underfoot, each step making a different sound—some sharp, some muffled, as if speaking different words in different tones. The handrail was cool; when you pressed your palm against it, you could feel the fine grain of the wood.

About an hour later—

Footsteps came from the stairwell.

The footsteps were light and steady, with almost equal intervals between each step. They weren't hurried or hesitant, but rather a calm, confident stride, indicating a clear understanding of where one was going.

Everyone looked up.

Lu Linglong was seen walking down from upstairs.

She changed into a clean, light-colored outfit, the collar and cuffs slightly faded from washing. Her hair was also retied, tied tightly, with not a single stray hair sticking out. Her face was clean, the bloodstains at the corner of her mouth were wiped away, and her lips had returned to their normal pink color.

Her complexion had returned to its normal rosy glow—not pale, not flushed, but a healthy rosy glow, like that of someone who had had a good night's sleep. Her steps were steady, each step landing precisely in the center of the staircase as she descended.

Her eyes were clear. No longer the rolled-back, confused, and pained eyes of her unconscious state, but bright, clear, and radiant. She looked at each person, her gaze lingering on their faces for a moment before moving away.

Most notably, the wound on her left arm, inflicted by the disease, has now completely healed.

How well did it heal? Not even a scar was left.

There used to be a gaping, bloody, blackened wound there, the surrounding skin a bluish-gray with black lines spreading outwards. But now, that patch of skin is indistinguishable from the surrounding skin—the same color, the same texture, the same feel. As if it had never been injured.

And her overall demeanor has also undergone some subtle changes.

In the past, although she was lively and cheerful, she always carried a touch of girlish naiveté and immaturity. She liked to gesture with her hands when she spoke, her eyes would crinkle into crescents when she smiled, and her ponytail would swing as she walked. Her good qualities were obvious; you could see them at a glance—she was cute, she was sunny, and she was very likable.

Now, her eyes hold a new composure and sharpness.

That composure wasn't feigned; it was something that had settled after experiencing certain things. That sharpness wasn't deliberate; it was a natural outpouring of power that had been internalized. When she stood there, you could still see the lively and cheerful Lu Linglong, but you could sense something beneath that liveliness. Like a finely crafted sword, tempered and refined, finally unsheathed.

The sword is still the same sword, but now it has a blade. It doesn't necessarily have to be drawn, but you can tell it's ready to be drawn just by seeing it.

"exquisite!"

Lu Lin was the first to go forward, rushing to her in two strides.

His eyes scanned her face, body, and arms as if he were inspecting a precious artifact, checking its condition. His hands stretched out and then withdrew, then stretched out again, unsure of where to put them.

He looked her over anxiously: "How are you feeling? Is anything bothering you?"

"Brother, I'm fine."

Lu Linglong smiled. The smile was as bright as ever, her eyes curving into crescents, revealing two small tiger teeth. But upon closer inspection, there was something new beneath that smile—not maturity, not world-weariness, but something deeper, more stable, like tree roots firmly planted in the ground.

She spun around, showing off her perfectly intact body. As she spun, the hem of her clothes fluttered slightly, and her ponytail swung in the air, creating a beautiful arc.

"Not only am I fine, I feel... better than ever before."

She walked up to Nie Lingfeng.