Be Gentle, Immortal Master

He read my mind and chuckled again. "I told you, this doesn't hurt at all, and my mind is too occupied with other things anyway."

I glared at him. "Do you know how much you're still bleeding? How can you …"

"It looks worse than it feels. Just finish it off soon, Qing-er. I'm starting to sweat thinking about how intently you're staring at me. If you drag this on, the wound would get infected before you manage to put the healing paste on it."

He was right, I thought helplessly. Hard as it might be, this had to be done, and the quicker the better … especially if he was really sweating. I gritted my teeth. Keeping my hands as steady as I could, I rubbed a tip of the makeshift towel against the cut over his shoulder blade, wiping off the debris and rinsing it with more water.

My heart twisted with every stroke of my hand. Some of the small pieces of limestone were stuck so deep that I had to almost scrape it out of him, and I thought I might as well be slicing him with a knife—the quick pain would be easier to bear than the slow torture. I paid close attention to his reactions, ready to pause at any moment if he flinched, but he didn't.

In fact, as I continued to work through the rest of the wound, his response was so lacking that I started getting a bit worried. How could he not react at all to this much pain? Not even a frown the entire time … Did he really not feel it at all? Could these bites have impaired his senses? But he was able to feel my earlier touch that was barely a brush …

In the end, I couldn't hold back the question. "Have you … always been insensitive to pain?" I asked, trying to word it as neutrally as I could.

"It's something that comes with using a sword," he said. His voice was calm now, with no more trace of hoarseness and no sign of discomfort either. "After too many years of killing and trying not to be killed … you get used to it."

Get used to it? How many bloodbaths did he have to go through to get used to this?

I rinsed off the shirt again, moving on to his shoulders. The cloth was stained completely pink now, and the smell of iron hung thick around us. My heart ached and trembled, not only at the sight of his injury, but also for how easily he was able to bear this and how lightly he had put it. I didn't dare think what had happened to him in the past that made him so accustomed to such suffering.

I suddenly remembered the scars over his heart. Those must've hurt even more … Was that when he learned to swallow all his pain and not show the slightest weakness to anyone else?

It felt like an eternity had passed when I finally finished cleaning his wounds, though it must not have been too long in reality, since the sun was still glowing bright in the western sky. I rinsed off the ruined shirt in the creek and wiped off the cold sweat on my forehead. At least the hardest part was done now, I thought as I reached into my pack for the healing ointment. He was still bleeding, but I couldn't do anything more at the moment except hope that the medicine would help the surface of the cut clot faster.

"Would you be able to sleep with this?" I asked, dabbing my finger into the jar of paste and rubbing it lightly over him. Sleeping on his back was out of the question, and even on his side or stomach would put too much stress on his shoulders, which wouldn't help with the healing. I suppose he could lean on me …

"I can sleep in the meditation pose just fine," he said. "You worry too much."

"I worry the right amount," I argued. "Unlike you, not paying any attention to your health. You shouldn't go searching for any more herbs in the heat of the day. Let's make our camp by the cave entrance tonight and start out early tomorrow when it's still cool. We'll rest in the afternoons from now on."

He raised an eyebrow. "We might never find what we need if our time is cut that short—"

"Then let it be. We can come back later for it, and if it goes out of season by then, there are always other substitutes." I gave him a glare to stop his protest. "If your wounds don't start healing in two days, we are going back to Mount Hua anyway, with or without the tuber fleece flower. I'll need to make you some stronger medicine that works better on deep lacerations like this."

He was quiet for a moment. Then he let out a soft laugh. "You've changed, Qing-er. You never talked to me like this before."

My hands halted, surprised at his comment and at my own words as well. It was true—I never talked to him this boldly, this assertively. Even after we crossed that line, I had never forgotten that he was still my master, that I still needed to respect him and follow his orders. It had never crossed my mind that I would one day dictate something to him like this.

But I knew he wasn't blaming me, and when I saw a smile curling the corner of his lips, I knew I was right. He liked this. He liked how much I cared about him, and he liked a lover that had changed from the obedient girl he had watched growing up into someone with her own power over him.

The painful worry in my heart lightened at the thought, and I smiled as well. "You are mine, Bai Ye," I said as I continued to work the ointment. "I claim the right to command my man to do what pleases me."