Chapter Seventy-Five: Making Oneself Strong

Qin Sheng looked at Song Qing’an with utter confusion. She felt as if everything that had happened that morning was a drunken blur—she only remembered the moment when Zhang Meng lunged at her, the searing pain that exploded in her body, and then, gradually, the loss of consciousness. When she woke, she was already in her room and had even slept for a while. As for why Song Qing’an, whom she hadn’t seen in ages, was now in her room, she had no idea.

She frowned, instinctively glanced down at her own clothes, and breathed a sigh of relief. At least her clothes were still neatly on her body.

Song Qing’an seemed to have noticed her gesture. He snickered, put down the cup in his hand, and teased, “Relax, I have no interest in a bean sprout like you.”

Qin Sheng reflexively wrapped her arms around herself, glaring warily at Song Qing’an, her eyes wide in warning. “If you’re not interested in me, I’m not interested in you either!”

Song Qing’an smiled helplessly, got up, and walked to the side of Qin Sheng’s bed, sitting down next to her. Suddenly, he leaned in, bringing his face just inches from hers.

The space between them was barely the width of a fist. Qin Sheng could feel the gentle warmth of Song Qing’an’s breath on her face, tickling her slightly.

“Really? Not interested in me?” Song Qing’an smiled slyly like a fox, his gaze locking with hers as he asked in a low voice.

His sudden closeness left Qin Sheng unsettled and tense. She could almost feel her heart leaping uncontrollably in her chest. If he came any closer, she truly might not be able to restrain herself.

“Hmph.” Song Qing’an seemed to sense her discomfort. He chuckled softly, the victor’s amusement in his voice, and before Qin Sheng could think to grab her Tang sword, he had already retreated.

As the distance between them widened, Qin Sheng’s mind finally cleared a little. She took a deep breath and, feigning nonchalance, looked at Song Qing’an with a smile. “If you come any closer, I won’t be able to resist drawing my Tang sword.”

Song Qing’an paused, the corner of his mouth twitching despite himself. He thought to himself that it was a good thing he had retreated in time, otherwise this feisty girl might really have drawn her sword on him.

“So, did I really beat Zhang Meng?” Qin Sheng finally remembered the crucial issue and quickly looked at Song Qing’an for confirmation.

He nodded, tacitly acknowledging her version of events.

Qin Sheng frowned. Given the state she was in this morning, it was highly unlikely she’d won the fight. What exactly had happened? Or had something else occurred?

A mass of confusion welled up in her mind. She simply couldn’t figure it out. Nothing like this had ever happened in her previous life, and the feeling of being out of control was deeply unsettling.

“What is it you want to ask?” Song Qing’an took his seat again, his presence lending an air of age and maturity to the rickety chair beside him.

Qin Sheng pressed her lips together, then spoke slowly. “Why was I able to win?”

Song Qing’an raised an eyebrow, unsurprised by her question, and lightly swirled the porcelain cup in his hand. “A special ability.”

A special ability?

Qin Sheng’s eyes grew wide. In her previous life, when she’d awakened her power, she’d felt nothing—she’d simply woken from sleep to find herself inexplicably stronger.

What had happened this time? Why was it different from what she’d imagined?

Song Qing’an quietly observed her shifting expression. Seeing her so astonished, he nodded without surprise.

“So I have a special ability now?” Qin Sheng looked at her palm in disbelief. The only thing different about it was that it was a bit dirty.

Qin Sheng: “...”

Song Qing’an gently set down his cup, stood with his hands behind his back, and walked to stand before her. “You could say so, but not exactly.”

Qin Sheng frowned, not understanding what he meant.

Seeing her glare, Song Qing’an laughed softly and continued, “By rights, you shouldn’t have a special ability. But the fact is, yesterday you did awaken one.”

Qin Sheng looked down at herself; there was nothing about her body that felt any different or special.

“No need to be puzzled. The power in you is unlike that of ordinary people, and right now, you can’t control it easily,” Song Qing’an tried to explain more, wanting her to better understand her own state.

A giant question mark spread through Qin Sheng’s mind.

What did this mean? She had a special ability, but she couldn’t control it. If she couldn’t control it, wasn’t that the same as not having it at all?

The more she thought, the less she understood the situation with her power.

“Do you want to be able to control it?” Song Qing’an asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Of course,” Qin Sheng replied instantly.

Song Qing’an puffed out his handsome cheeks, a smile lighting his eyes. “If you want to master your power, it’s all up to you.”

“All up to me?” Qin Sheng frowned in confusion.

Song Qing’an didn’t answer directly. “Make yourself strong. Take control of everything.”

“Take control of everything…” Qin Sheng murmured, turning his words over and over in her mind.

“Is Sheng awake?!” came Jiang Miaomiao’s anxious voice from outside the door, accompanied by a soft, hesitant knocking—she wanted to knock but was afraid of disturbing Qin Sheng.

Hearing Jiang Miaomiao’s concern, Qin Sheng quickly got up from bed, not even bothering to put on her shoes, and hurried over to open the door.

“Sheng…” Jiang Miaomiao seemed stunned for a moment when Qin Sheng opened the door herself.

“I’m fine. What’s happened?” Qin Sheng asked quickly.

Jiang Miaomiao shook off her distraction and grabbed Qin Sheng’s hand. “Sheng, Xingyu suddenly fainted and won’t wake up.”

“Take me to him, quickly.” Without a second thought, Qin Sheng pulled Jiang Miaomiao along to check on Chu Xingyu.

“Wait,” Song Qing’an called from behind as she was about to dash out.

Qin Sheng paused, turning back softly, “What is it?”

Song Qing’an stepped out of the room, holding a pair of shoes—Qin Sheng’s shoes, unmistakably.

“Put your shoes on first,” he said, bending down to set them by her feet.

Qin Sheng was momentarily stunned, but quickly slipped them on and, taking Jiang Miaomiao’s hand, hurried to Chu Xingyu’s room.

Song Qing’an stood for a moment in a daze, then slowly followed after them.

As soon as she entered, Qin Sheng saw Chu Xingyu lying unconscious, his complexion pale. Instantly, she began deducing the possible causes of his condition.

“Sheng, do you need anything? We’ll get it right away,” Jiang Miaomiao offered, knowing that Qin Sheng had grown up in a family of doctors and studied traditional medicine—she’d need supplies to examine the patient.

“No need. Just step outside for now.” Qin Sheng lifted Chu Xingyu’s wrist to check his pulse.

Jiang Miaomiao nodded, glanced at the others in the room, and within moments, everyone but Qin Sheng and Chu Xingyu had left.

“It doesn’t look like a cold or fever…” For a moment, Qin Sheng couldn’t determine why Chu Xingyu had lost consciousness. If she couldn’t figure it out, she’d need professional medical equipment—there was no way to judge his internal injuries with the naked eye.

She clenched her fists, forcing herself to remain calm, and quickly retrieved some emergency medicine from her spatial storage to tend to his external wounds, giving him one of her grandfather’s strengthening pills as well.

“Ah…” Chu Xingyu groaned in pain, and within moments, his body temperature soared to an inhuman degree.

Qin Sheng tensed up immediately and hurriedly brought out medicine to lower his temperature. But it had no effect. Chu Xingyu was still in extreme discomfort, the veins in his neck standing out so starkly they became almost frightening.

He began to toss and turn on the bed, cold sweat beading on his forehead as if he were being tormented in hell.

“Xingyu.”

Qin Sheng called his name, but the only reply was a pained groan.

“Sheng is inside and won’t let anyone in, I hope you understand,” Jiang Miaomiao blocked Song Qing’an at the door.

Song Qing’an smiled faintly, “Are you sure you won’t let me in?”

“No,” Jiang Miaomiao said firmly.

“Then the boy inside may soon be nothing but a pile of bones. His temperature will just keep rising until he burns to death,” Song Qing’an replied, making the situation sound even more dire.

Jiang Miaomiao hesitated, uncertain whether or not to believe him.

“Miaomiao, let Song Qing’an in,” Qin Sheng’s voice called from inside, having overheard their conversation. Chu Xingyu’s condition was now beyond her ability to treat—perhaps only Song Qing’an, whom she knew nothing about but trusted, could save him.

“See? I can go in,” Song Qing’an said smugly, swaggering into the room.

Jiang Miaomiao sighed, a wave of helplessness washing over her.

“Will he be alright in there?” A’Di asked softly, sidling up to Jiang Miaomiao.

She shook her head. She didn’t know what would happen, but she would always trust Qin Sheng—and trust that she would save Chu Xingyu.

“Your friend is just as stubborn as you. No wonder you’re cut from the same cloth,” Song Qing’an remarked dryly as he entered.

Qin Sheng had no time for his quips and quickly called him over.

“I’ve already done emergency cooling and treated his wounds, but his temperature won’t drop,” she said anxiously, her brows deeply furrowed, eyes never leaving the suffering Chu Xingyu.

Song Qing’an nodded, sat beside the bed, and placed his hand on Chu Xingyu’s forehead.

“He’s just like you.”

“What do you mean?” Qin Sheng asked, perplexed.