Chapter Three: The Cycle of Death

"I will!" Lin Shan declared resolutely. All he knew was that staying in the town was far better than wandering aimlessly in the forest. Perhaps being his sparring partner would make him stronger, maybe even help him recall the memories he had lost. One day in the future, he hoped he would believe his choice was the right one, rather than bowing his head in regret, blaming himself for choosing poorly, and losing all composure under authority.

"I don't know where you're from, I don't know what you're thinking, I don't know why you've come here," Lin Feng said, his rough voice filled with a blind confidence in himself. "All I know is that if you've come to me, you have to follow my rules!"

"Come here!" Lin Feng beckoned, signaling for Shan to step forward.

Lin Shan hesitated for a moment, then strode over, stopping about an arm's length away from Lin Feng.

"Your chest looks pretty solid," Lin Feng said, reaching his hand to Lin Shan's chest. "I wonder if you can withstand one of my strikes!" His words were sudden, decisive, and piercing.

"I—"

Lin Shan had barely uttered a single word when Lin Feng's hand, which had only slightly retracted, struck him squarely in the chest. The blow was as swift as the wind, as sudden as lightning. A falling leaf drifted by, and Lin Shan was already sent flying out of the courtyard, landing on the green stone slabs.

A few leaves fluttered down, settling on Lin Shan's chest. In the instant he was thrown out, Lin Feng remained seated in the middle of the courtyard, not moving a single step, as if the earlier blow had cost him no effort at all.

Lin Ruoxi had thought, when her father called her out, that he would speak with Shan about some matter. She hadn't expected that, in no time at all, she would see Shan flying out of the courtyard. Startled, she hurried over to him.

Lin Shan's features were contorted; a palm print was visible on his chest, clearly indicating a severe internal injury.

"It hurts..." Lin Shan's pupils were dilated and terrifyingly dark. In the moment Lin Feng's strike landed, it felt as if his heart had been pierced by a thousand arrows, nearly splitting apart. He touched his chest with his left hand, grimacing. The lingering fear gnawed at him; for that split second, it felt as if he had brushed shoulders with death itself.

"Thank goodness! As long as you're all right!" Lin Ruoxi's eyes glistened with tears, but she quickly smiled at Lin Shan.

Lin Shan forced a smile at Lin Ruoxi, who was so worried about him, proving he was still alive.

"Can you get up?" Ruoxi asked, seeing his stiff smile, concern in her voice.

"I'll try," Lin Shan mumbled dazedly, bracing himself with his hands.

Ruoxi hurried to help lift him by the shoulders. As he got up, Lin Shan bared his teeth in pain. Ruoxi’s heart was a tangled mix of relief and worry.

"Looks like it's not that bad. At least you didn't die," Lin Shan said in a trembling voice.

Ruoxi couldn't help but laugh at his words, though she thought he was celebrating too soon. "Don't be so quick to rejoice. This is only the beginning. The suffering to come is far from simple!"

With his back to Lin Shan, Lin Feng said coldly, "Mei, arrange a room for him in the west wing." With that, he strode away over the blue stone slabs.

"Yes, sir!" Aunt Mei replied at once, looking somewhat surprised. The west wing was usually reserved for important guests. Was he one of them?

Aunt Mei quickly hid her questions when she saw the look on Lin Ruoxi's face, then turned to Lin Shan and Ruoxi. "Miss, young master, let me take you there."

Lin Shan grunted, and with Ruoxi’s help, managed to stand. Limping, he followed Aunt Mei towards the west wing. The west wing was on the western side of the main residence, where the garden was lush and fragrant.

"Luckily, my father didn't use his full strength. Otherwise, you'd be in real trouble," Ruoxi said with concern.

"Is your father always this fierce? Does he always hit so hard?" Lin Shan asked weakly, holding his chest.

"No! My father is always like this..." Ruoxi replied with a strange expression and a smile.

"Always like this?" Lin Shan paused, his face gloomy, instantly regretting his decision to come to the Lin family. To endure even worse pain every day—who could take it? Lin Feng hadn't exaggerated; he wasn't trying to scare him—it was for his own good.

"Don't worry, I'm just kidding. Dad is usually well-behaved," Ruoxi said, patting his shoulder with a grin. "It's just that a few days each month, he gets a little irritable."

"That's more like it," Lin Shan sighed in relief. A few days every month? Isn't that just his period? he joked to himself, feeling as if the world had suddenly become kinder.

"Don't worry, I'll protect you!" Ruoxi patted her chest in assurance.

"Protect me? By carrying me back to my room after I'm hurt?" Lin Shan looked at her incredulously.

"At least I won't let you die! And even if you do, I'll give you a proper burial!" Ruoxi laughed.

"Honestly, you'd be better off saying nothing. I'd feel better that way," Lin Shan said, shooting her a sidelong glance.

Listening to their banter, Aunt Mei regarded Shan with surprise. He seemed quite different; never before had anyone dared to joke and bicker with the young miss like this.

With Aunt Mei leading the way, they rounded a corner and arrived at the door of the west wing room, painted in a bright red—presumably for good luck. When Aunt Mei opened the door, the interior was laid bare: two chairs and a table in between. Beside them was a smaller set of table and chairs. To Lin Shan, it looked just like a main hall.

On the walls were various murals of little figures—some with outstretched legs, others straining their arms. The frescoes were linked together, as if depicting a series of martial moves, but without any written explanation; it was impossible to tell where they began or ended.

After a quick glance at the entrance, Aunt Mei led Lin Shan into the side room—the bedroom. There was a master bedroom and a side room; clearly, he would be staying in the master.

Inside, the walls of the master bedroom were also covered in depictions of martial techniques. Lin Shan wondered if they were meant for Lin Feng's sparring partners to study. He had thought to ask Aunt Mei, but as soon as she had led him into the bedroom, she slipped away without a word.

Seeing that Lin Shan wasn't seriously hurt, and heeding her father's words, Ruoxi left the west wing with Aunt Mei.

Only after Lin Shan collapsed onto the soft bed did the piercing pain in his chest fully hit him. He pulled aside his clothing; the spot where Lin Feng had struck was red and swollen, radiating heat, completely different from the temperature of the surrounding skin.

Suddenly, his heartbeat became rapid and violent. His whole body flushed red as his temperature soared. Lin Shan's face twisted in terror; one hand gripped his chest, the other reached for his forehead. His brow was burning hot, veins bulging, and even the blood in his vessels seemed to speed up its flow.

Sweat beaded instantly on his forehead, dripping onto the pillow and soaking one side. His body felt scalding, sweat pouring down like hot rain. He tore open his clothing, desperate to cool himself.

He wanted to get up, to stagger to the small pool in the courtyard and plunge in, but found he hadn't the strength to rise—only his arms and legs twitched feebly. He felt weak, his organs racing, his limbs trembling beyond control, his blood surging faster and faster.

"I..." he gasped, the words choked and unclear. Tears welled in his eyes as the world blurred; exhaustion consumed him, eyelids heavy, longing for sleep.

Then, with a final pounding, his heart stopped dead.

Lin Shan closed his eyes, a faint smile blooming on his lips—finally, he would be free of this torment.

Outside the door, a middle-aged man smiled faintly, then turned and left the west wing.

=====

The next morning, in the west wing.

Bang, bang! The sound of knocking echoed through the silent corridor. Birds perched on the eaves startled and scattered into the sky.

Hearing no response from within, the woman at the door announced, "I'm coming in," and entered.

The main room looked just as it had yesterday, undisturbed. Without another word, she went straight into the master bedroom.

Creak, creak.

The tightly shut door swung open slowly.

The woman took in the scene, astonishment written across her face. A young man lay on the bed, bare-chested, sweat gleaming on his muscular chest in the sunlight. His discarded clothes were strewn messily on the floor.

He was smiling, as if very pleased, his hair damp and sticking to the pillow.

A girl waiting anxiously at the door could wait no longer; she rushed inside, hurrying into the master bedroom—just in time to see the woman reach out to touch the boy’s forehead and, startled, collapse onto the floor.

The girl was shocked by the scene before her and ran straight to Lin Shan’s bedside.