Chapter 76: First Fortress 28

Perhaps because An He’s earlier actions had been too shocking, Min He didn’t carefully check the scent at all. She led most of the soldiers off in the direction An He had pointed.

Once the group was gone, An He could no longer hold on. A pained expression surfaced on her face.

Her body hurt terribly. She had still underestimated the injuries from the fall. She hadn’t noticed anything while tangling with Gu Xianqing earlier, but now that she had relaxed, she felt like her limbs no longer belonged to her.

All Gu Xianqing’s fault for jumping off the building out of nowhere.

The moment she thought of Gu Xianqing, scenes of their earlier intimacy flooded uncontrollably into An He’s mind. Realizing their lips and tongues still carried each other’s taste, a strange look crept into her expression.

“You’re hurt bad? You look like you’re in a lot of pain.”

The voice came from her right. An He immediately tensed and looked up. Sekhmet had already stepped into the ruins and was personally supporting her elbow.

The steady lift helped An He regain her balance, sparing her a secondary fall.

An He quickly gathered her thoughts and whispered, “I broke some bones.”

Sekhmet withdrew her hand, her palm covered in An He’s blood. She frowned and immediately ordered the researchers who had hurried over: “Someone come take Vivian back for treatment. Use the best methods available.”

“Yes!”

An He had never received treatment like this before. Seven or eight people lifted her onto a stretcher and rushed her nonstop to medical care.

The High Tower had doctors specialized in treating Heroic Spirits Society fighters. The lead physician feared An He might suffer any permanent disability, so seven or eight people bustled about without rest, deploying the finest medical equipment.

It was a good thing they acted so promptly—if they’d waited until morning, An He worried her self-healing ability might have been exposed.

The diagnosis wasn’t optimistic. Her left leg bone had suffered a comminuted fracture causing skin tears and tissue necrosis. Two ribs on her back were broken, with countless abrasions and bruises. A sharp stone shard had embedded in her back, leading to massive blood loss. By contrast, the shoulder wound from Gu Xianqing’s stab seemed the least of her concerns.

The severity was second only to her desperate battle last time.

Such grave injuries earned An He extra respect in the doctors’ eyes.

“I’ll definitely heal you completely,” the lead physician promised repeatedly before the anesthesia took effect.

Fortunately, under the Saint Lord’s explicit orders, Wen Yewang was barred from the operating room. Free of that threat, An He slipped into deep unconsciousness.

This time, she slept through the night without dreams.

An He opened her eyes again at two in the afternoon the next day. She made no sound, first scanning her surroundings. This was a private room, exceptionally comfortable, with a view of the scenery outside the High Tower from the window-side spot.

The heart monitor beside her beeped steadily. An He tested by lifting her left leg slightly—it still wouldn’t move on command, but she could now sense its presence.

The First Fortress’s medical prowess was indeed well-deserved. A fracture like this would have meant amputation in the Ninth Fortress, but here the doctors had preserved her original limb. The rib and back wounds had also been expertly treated. Now, there was no pain left—just time for recovery.

An He lay back on the bed. It seemed last night’s plunge had brought her tremendous gains.

She hadn’t lied to Gu Xianqing—she truly hadn’t been swayed by Sekhmet. Though initially stunned by Sekhmet’s motives and resolve, as someone who had witnessed pure justice in the Ninth Fortress, An He couldn’t endorse those methods. The shock and obedience she’d shown Sekhmet had all been partly performative.

Such reactions, combined with her string of outstanding performances, had fully dispelled the Saint Lord’s suspicions. Otherwise, she’d be in a cell now, not a sickbed.

An He stared silently at the ceiling, thinking of Gu Xianqing. Her doubts about Gu Xianqing were real, too.

She could hardly define their relationship anymore.

Dependence? Certainly. Gu Xianqing had created countless opportunities for her—even the Saint Lord’s trust now stemmed from that exaggerated leap last night.

She should thank her.

But suspicion? Of course.

Gu Xianqing had never revealed her true aims, and An He was certain those aims required her for some role—perhaps her abilities, perhaps even her life. Why else would Gu Xianqing go to such lengths to get close?

It couldn’t really be because she’d fallen for her, could it?

Ridiculous.

This calculated approach left An He restless, with a faint, aching sourness in her chest. She should fear Gu Xianqing, keep her distance, rage at being used. Yet An He remained drawn to her.

Irresistibly drawn.

To the point where she wanted to peel back that woman’s skin and see what lay beneath.

Was it because the First Fortress’s endless crises made her heart race, mistaking that thrill for attraction to Gu Xianqing? Or those seductive sweet nothings? The dreams and reality blurring into ever more intense kisses?

An He couldn’t untangle it.

Just like she couldn’t sort out her bond with Gu Xianqing.

Dangerous, alluring things really did draw people like moths to a flame.

When An He snapped back to herself, her fingers were unconsciously tracing her lips. Did tactile memories have a delay? In this undisturbed solitude, that bone-deep intoxication finally spread fully.

She frowned, unwilling to dwell, but her mind conjured last night’s scene unbidden. The lingering warmth, the possessive claiming laced with blood and desire—it clung to her lips and teeth, unforgettable.

It had been a brazen ploy, so why had Gu Xianqing agreed so readily? The more she pondered, the more that helpless yet unwilling-to-resist contradiction intensified.

Was it because Gu Xianqing didn’t mind kissing her? Or because her possessiveness ran so deep she’d use a kiss as bait to hook her?

An indescribable tingle spread from An He’s heart, with no answers in sight.

The heart monitor’s rate spiked, beeps accelerating. An He jolted awake, annoyed, covering her eyes with one hand. What am I even thinking!

Gu Xianqing was clearly using her—she couldn’t have fallen for it!

An He took deep breaths, spending a quarter-hour emptying her mind. When she opened her eyes again, she’d pulled free from the fruitless thoughts, clarity in her gaze.

She began assessing her situation and next steps.

Judging by the Saint Lord’s treatment, her infiltration of the First Fortress was ninety percent successful. An He had several priorities.

First, uncover her own origins as quickly as possible.

Second, since the Cabin Cocoon Project tied to the God and the First Fortress still held Divine Blood, seize the chance to clarify the God’s mysteries too.

Third, use Sekhmet to investigate Gu Xianqing’s identity.

In the end, her deliberations converged on one person—An Ning.

An Ning was the sole survivor from acquiring the Divine Blood; she must have seen the God’s true form. Gu Xianqing spoke of her with intimate familiarity, and An Ning was her mother—if An He wasn’t part of the existing Cabin Cocoon Project, An Ning must have tampered somehow.

The name pulled every thread like a shuttle, all clues bundling toward An Ning.

An He had to find related records at her earliest convenience.

At that thought, a chill ran through her. Good thing she’d used a fake name—otherwise Sekhmet would have grown suspicious. Damn, why didn’t Gu Xianqing warn her?

Her thoughts circled back to Gu Xianqing once more.

Gu Xianqing’s injuries were severe; would she get timely treatment in the Lower City? Had she skipped dream-invasion last night from sheer exhaustion?

She could use the Eye of Prophecy to check. But on second thought, An He abandoned the idea.

Forget it. Gu Xianqing’s a monster—what do I care?

…

Gu Xianqing bit one end of the bandage, looping the other around her shoulder and underarm, wrapping and pulling tight. A muffled groan of pain escaped her lips, making Lan Ming’s heart race from behind the broken wall.

“How about I help?” Lan Ming had seen plenty of tough customers in the Lower City’s four or five decades, but never one this badly hurt still bandaging herself. She’d have to bow and call her “big sis.”

“No need.” The curt reply hissed through clenched teeth. Gu Xianqing wore a duckbill cap and wig, cold sweat trickling from her temple stray hairs, dripping onto her bare arm and sliding down taut muscles.

Lola leaned against the wall’s outer side, silent for a long beat before kicking off to head out the door: “I’ll steal some burn salve for you.”

“Where from?” Lan Ming followed. “Need backup?”

“No. I have my ways.” Lola refused flatly.

Lan Ming and Leticia paced in circles awhile before deciding to head out, trading scrap for some nourishing food to help Gu Xianqing recover.

The two-room outpost fell quiet. Gu Xianqing wiped excess salve with paper, straightened her sleeves, and flopped back onto the ragged sofa armrest.

Thanks to An He, aside from the blast wounds, her body felt no other ills. Gu Xianqing closed her eyes, slowly quelling the tremors from pain.

She’d expended far too much energy; her body was utterly spent. But her mind raced on.

Gu Xianqing figured that after last night’s talk, An He would focus on probing An Ning.

How much data on that dead woman lingered? The Cabin Cocoon Project was classified; ordinary Babel Tower archives wouldn’t hold it. But Sekhmet and Wen Yewang? Maybe.

What would An He uncover? How would she view her own identity?

Gu Xianqing schemed slowly. As long as An He wasn’t truly loyal to the First Fortress, she had room to maneuver. Maybe redirect the heat onto Wen Yewang—and settle that grudge along the way.

Her An He just kept surprising her. Gu Xianqing smiled faintly. As expected, she’d hooked An He—fascinated yet fearful, craving answers she couldn’t have, unable to shake her off.

By now, An He had willingly plummeted with her and saved her. The ploy had worked perfectly; An He couldn’t leave her side, even willing to die for her. Gu Xianqing felt trading half a shoulder for that instant of sincerity was a bargain.

Pain was nothing.

Especially since Gu Xianqing didn’t mind pain.

She licked her lips, endlessly replaying An He amid the rubble, those pitch-black eyes. The little lamb had no idea how captivating her expressions were—adorable when obedient, wild when defiant. Staring into those eyes, Gu Xianqing couldn’t refuse her anything.

The memory of lips meeting, tongues entwining was so vivid; the impulse and irrepressible fervor still burned in her chest. Had An He gotten the message of her “you can’t escape” declaration?

Gu Xianqing breathed deeply, ignoring the restless itch deep inside, yearning for their next meeting to further tempt her little lamb.

She sat up, adjusting her cap.

Lola returned swiftly, setting the meds on the coffee table before the sofa: “Got some painkillers too. Take one if you can’t tough it out.”

“Not yet.” Gu Xianqing covered her mouth with a hiss.

She’d almost forgotten—the tiny wound on her tongue tip defied treatment. Gu Xianqing couldn’t for the life of her figure it out; she hadn’t bitten during the kiss. Why had An He?

“What’s wrong?” Lola eyed her pallor. “Face hurt too?”

“No.” Gu Xianqing paused. “Mouth ulcer.”

Lola half-believed it. She was sharp at reading people and hadn’t missed Gu Xianqing’s flushed ear tips. Weird—did ulcers cause blushing?

“Right.” Lola sat on a nearby wooden chair, expression even. “While I was out, An He contacted me via private channel.”

“What’d she say?”

“If things go smooth, she’ll replace Min He and come to the Lower City personally to capture you. Said to wait for her.”

Lola added: “Oh, and she had me ask if you have meds for your wounds.”