Yan Li (GL) · Conversa

In your fourth month of blindness, you had long grown accustomed to days where the mountain forest was quiet, and everything was known only through hearing and touch. Daylight filtered through the canopy, breaking into a cool breeze that brushed past the empty darkness of your eyelids. Tapping your wooden stick, you stepped steadily along the familiar mountain path, step by step. Your fingertips had long since learned the contours of the surrounding flora. Gathering herbs daily, drying them, and living your days like tranquil, unruffled water, the turmoil of the mortal realm and the grudges of the jianghu seemed entirely severed from your life. Today, you wished to venture a bit deeper to pick a few rarer herbs and save up some copper coins. Deep in your heart, a faint glimmer of hope remained—perhaps one day, you would save enough money to cure your eyes. The wooden stick tapped lightly on the ground, pushing aside weeds and gravel. The path ahead was meant to be clear, but in the next instant, the tip of your stick suddenly bumped into a warm, heavy body. Your heart skipped a beat, and you instinctively paused. This mountain wilderness was remote and desolate; almost no one ever trod here. You leaned down slightly, reaching out with tentative fingertips. The first thing you touched was a sticky, warm wetness. A heavy metallic stench of blood, mingled with the scent of dirt and vegetation, rushed into your senses, overpowering the herb fragrance you were so used to. It was a person, and she was gravely injured. Your fingertips rested lightly on her collar, feeling the heavy dampness of fabric soaked through with blood. You felt her faint yet remaining breath, her chest rising and falling so weakly it seemed like a flickering candle about to go out at any moment. You could not see her appearance, could not see the crisscrossing wounds covering her body, and even less could you see the calculation and coldness hidden deep within her eyes. You only remembered yourself—jumping off the cliff at death's door, losing your sight in both eyes, and wandering alone in the wilderness. Back then, in the vast world, no one came to save you, save for a kind-hearted elderly woman who gave you a dilapidated courtyard to shelter in and taught you a way to stay alive. Finding another soul at rock bottom, you could not bring yourself to stand idly by. Biting your lip, you put away your wooden stick and leaned over, exerting all your strength to lift the person from the ground, supporting her body steadily with your slender back. She was heavy and completely limp, all her weight pressing down upon your shoulders. As her wounds shifted slightly, a thicker scent of blood wafted out. You walked with great care and stability, breathing lightly. Relying on your memory of the familiar mountain path, you trekked with difficulty, carrying the unconscious stranger step by step back to your secluded mountain courtyard. Racks of drying herbs filled the yard, lingering with a bitter fragrance—your sole sanctuary over the past four months. You carefully laid her down on the simple wooden couch. Relying on your daily experience with medicinal herbs, you boiled warm water, wiped away the bloodstains, painstakingly selected gentle herbs that stanch bleeding, crushed them finely, and gently applied them to her wounds before binding them tightly with clean cloth strips. Unable to see how deep the wounds were, you could only rely on touch to be as gentle as possible, terrified of aggravating her injuries. For half a day, you stayed by the couch, checking her temperature again and again, feeding her cool water at regular intervals, quietly keeping company with this critically wounded, dying stranger. As the sun slanted westward, an evening breeze passed through the window, stirring the stillness in the room. It was not until midnight that a faint rustle came from the wooden couch beside you. You immediately focused your ears. She was awake. The person slowly sat up, her breathing still somewhat weak and disordered. Her voice was light, warm, and clean, carrying a subtle rasp of someone who had just awoken. It sounded open and soft, completely devoid of hostility or malice. "Thank you for saving my life, lady." The tension in your heart relaxed significantly, and you replied softly: "You're awake? How are your injuries?" She let out a soft chuckle—a laughter clear and bright that sounded exceptionally genuine and upright to your ears. She openly introduced herself, her words reaching your ears clearly, one by one: "I am Tou Jiutian." Tou Jiutian. Those three words dropped like a soft thunderbolt into the quiet depths of your heart. You froze for a moment. Though your eyes were blank, your thoughts surged wildly. How could you not know that name? The renowned chivalrous thief of the jianghu, Tou Jiutian—coming and going without a trace, robbing the rich to succor the poor, never failing a mission, praised by all as a noble hero. You never expected that the wounded stranger you picked up in the wild would turn out to be the legendary Tou Jiutian. With a touch of bewilderment and shyness, you spoke softly, your tone filled with genuine surprise: "So... it's really you. I have often heard tales of you—always righteous, never suffering a defeat. Why were you so severely injured, lying unconscious in the deep mountains?" The smile of the person on the couch remained warm and bright. Though her breath was weak, her tone was frank and unreserved, carrying a hint of light, mocking coldness: "I merely touched the profits of some wicked, wealthy merchant, and he spent a fortune hiring assassins from the Tongtian Pavilion to hunt me down. It was sheer luck that I escaped here, nearly perishing in the forest. Had I not met you, I certainly would not have survived today." Tongtian Pavilion. Those three words pierced your ears, instantly stirring up the deep-seated blood feud buried in your heart. Your family destroyed, your father and brother tragically killed, your eyes blinded, forced into a desperate wandering life—all of it originated from them. Darkness enveloped your eyes and wrapped around your suddenly aching heart. You could not see that beneath Tou Jiutian's gentle, smiling features lay an icy chill that had never held a shred of sincerity. You only believed that in this lonely, helpless wilderness, you had stumbled upon the only person who shared your enemy—a soulmate with whom you could lean on and stand shoulder to shoulder.