Chapter Four: Physical Changes

“Master… has stopped breathing!” Aunt Mei stammered in terror as she sat on the floor.

Lin Ruoxi looked at Lin Shan lying on the bed, a faint smile still on his lips, but his chest was utterly still. Her face showed no emotion, but inside her heart surged with tumultuous waves. She didn’t know what to say.

She climbed onto Lin Shan’s chest, tears welling at the corners of her eyes. She remembered the first time she met him: he was gently stroking a little rabbit, asking her what it meant to die—those large, bright eyes had remained in her memory ever since.

Just the day before, Lin Shan had naively asked if Lin Feng was always like this. Lin Ruoxi replied no, and Lin Shan grinned his silly smile.

She had brought Lin Shan home, and before a day had passed, he now lay motionless on the bed.

Moments ago, Ruoxi had promised to protect him, to keep him from death—yet today, he had died right here.

If only she had stayed in his room last night, watched over him, never let him out of her sight.

Her tears burst forth, streaming down and soaking his chest.

“I won’t let you die, wake up!” Ruoxi cried, pounding Lin Shan’s chest, releasing the grief pent up inside her.

“Miss! Look! Look… Master’s hand—it's moving!”

Aunt Mei’s eyes widened in disbelief, her trembling finger pointing at Lin Shan’s hand.

“Lin Shan!” Ruoxi immediately got up and looked at his fingers.

His middle finger quivered, as if he had heard her voice and was struggling to awaken.

“Lin Shan! Are you alright?” Ruoxi grasped his shoulders, wiping away her tears, her voice brimming with joy.

“…Ah!!”

“Lin Shan, what are you saying?” Ruoxi leaned close to his lips, trying to catch his words.

But Lin Shan only muttered something indistinct, then fell silent again.

“Miss, maybe Master will wake up soon!” Aunt Mei sighed, offering comfort.

Yet under Ruoxi’s hopeful gaze, Lin Shan remained silent.

“Aunt Mei! Stay here and watch him! I’m going to find Lin Feng!” Ruoxi snapped at her, frustration clear in her tone.

“Miss, don’t be angry. See? Master’s fine now, just exhausted—he needs more sleep!” Aunt Mei, worried because Ruoxi had called her father by name, tried to soothe her.

“Don’t joke! Impossible! This is clearly just a final flare before death…” Ruoxi’s anger showed in her face, her frustration erupting.

“Just stay here and watch him—don’t leave!” Ruoxi, seeing Aunt Mei appear ready to follow her, hastily stopped her.

“Or else I’ll… I’ll…” Ruoxi choked on her words, unable to articulate her threat.

“In short, don’t follow me!” she finished, slamming the door behind her.

Aunt Mei reached out in vain to stop her, realizing she had neither the right nor the power.

The distance from the West Wing to the East Wing was nearly a kilometer. Her heart in turmoil, Ruoxi arrived at her father’s door.

She didn’t even notice whether the door was open or closed—she rushed straight inside.

Her father sat calmly on a stool, smiling as if he had expected her.

“Ruoxi, are you here to demand justice?” Lin Feng greeted her with a gentle smile.

“Mm.” Hearing her father’s measured tone, Ruoxi’s anger inexplicably subsided.

“By now, he should be awake, unless…” Lin Feng spoke slowly, his tone even.

Ruoxi felt a surge of hope at his words, tempted to rush back to the West Wing to check on Lin Shan.

“Really?” she interrupted anxiously.

Lin Feng gave no answer, just a slight nod. Seeing this, Ruoxi’s face broke into a joyous smile—she didn’t even bother with courtesy, but dashed straight back, happiness brimming on her lips.

After she left, Lin Feng’s lips moved. Anyone versed in lip-reading would know what he said:

“If he’s not awake, then he’s dead…”

His expression grew grave as he watched her go.

As Ruoxi neared the West Wing, her heart seemed to float ahead of her, already with Lin Shan.

In her haste, she stumbled on a step and nearly fell, pausing briefly to steady herself.

Despite the scare, she didn’t slow down, hurrying to the West Wing. Through the open door, she saw Aunt Mei beckoning with a smile, gesturing for her to come in.

“Master is waiting for you inside! He’s awake!” Aunt Mei called out, seeing Ruoxi’s anxious face.

Ruoxi peered into the room, her eyes full of anticipation. The main bedroom door was ajar—without hesitation, she pushed it open, just in time to see Lin Shan changing his clothes.

“Lin Shan?” Ruoxi stared in disbelief as he stood up. Moments ago he had been still as death, and now he was getting dressed—anyone would be shocked.

“Did you just go to see your father?” Lin Shan, flustered at almost being caught undressed, covered himself with his hands and asked.

“You didn’t give him a hard time, did you?” He had heard from Aunt Mei that Ruoxi had stormed off to the East Wing and assumed she’d gone to argue with Lin Feng.

“No, I didn’t. I just wanted to ask what he’d done to you!” Ruoxi replied between sobs.

“I was just afraid you’d never wake up, that I’d never see you again,” her voice trembled with tears and sorrow.

“Ruoxi! Why are you crying? See, I’m right here, aren’t I?” Lin Shan, seeing her tears well up again, was at a loss for how to comfort her.

“Don’t cry, don’t cry!” He gently wiped her face with his fingers, feeling a pang of pity.

“Lin Shan! Why do you smell so sweaty?” Ruoxi, now that her nerves had settled, was suddenly assaulted by a foul odor and wrinkled her nose in distaste.

“Ah!” Lin Shan touched his chest and realized his skin was sticky. He remembered how feverish he’d been the previous night—he must have sweated through without bathing.

The thought made him uncomfortable, and he wanted nothing more than to wash up. Just as he was about to get out of bed, he realized he didn’t know where the bathroom was.

“Aunt Mei, where can I wash?” he asked awkwardly.

“There, just behind you. Everything you need is inside,” Aunt Mei said with a smile.

“Ruoxi, I’ll go bathe now,” Lin Shan gestured toward the bathroom, smiling at her.

“Hurry up, you stink!” Ruoxi grinned, pinching her nose.

“Don’t scrub yourself raw!”

Lin Shan gave her a sheepish grin, finished dressing, and walked over. The door blended so well with the wall he hadn’t noticed it—he hadn’t paid attention yesterday, but now realized there was a door here too.

“Oh, Master, the lord says to come see him tomorrow. Today, just rest,” Aunt Mei told him.

Lin Shan paused at her words, replied with a simple “Alright,” and went into the bathroom.

Who knows how much time passed before the bathroom door slowly opened again.

After his bath, Lin Shan felt invigorated as never before. His eyes were clear and bright, gleaming with new vitality.

He examined his hand—the skin was so smooth, the pores barely visible, his fingers supple and fair. He was amazed at his transformation, suspecting it might be related to Lin Feng’s strike the day before.

He knew at least it had something to do with the night of sweating—grime and blemishes seemed to have been flushed out, leaving his skin much fairer.

Lin Feng had told him there was no need to spar today—perhaps he had another purpose. Did he already know about this change?

A long, deep sleep, a body drenched in sweat—could it be connected to the mural on the wall?

Lin Shan studied the mural, scanning from left to right. In his mind’s eye, he saw the little figure come to life, its movements slowed many times over, each stance vivid in his memory.

Suddenly, his eyes brightened—this seemed like an opportunity, a chance to learn martial arts, to protect those he cared for.

He recalled how powerless he’d been under Lin Feng’s blow, how much he needed to grow stronger.

He remembered the palm print left by Lin Feng, now completely gone; his chest was smooth, with no trace of injury.

All these changes in his body left him dazed. He looked up at the mural, the little figure’s movements transforming before his eyes. He imitated each stance, his body replaying the sequence.

A strange energy welled up within him, as though a middle-aged man demonstrated martial arts, revealing their essence. An indomitable spirit filled him, as if charging forward without resistance.

As he finished the sequence, he felt a distinct change in his body—a bead of sweat fell to the ground.

Plop.

The sound rang in his ears; he could hear his own sweat hit the floor.

His eyes lit up—he could sense every subtle change in his body, each movement perfectly attuned, a natural, flowing power.

He drew his hands down over his chest, gathering his breath inward, exhaling slowly.

He lifted his left leg with ease, the air parting around him, a wide grin on his face. Then he raised his right leg and kicked out with force!

To his amazement, he leapt up and crashed straight into the wall. Losing his footing, he fell to the ground, stars spinning before his eyes.

“Ah!”

The mural toppled, landing squarely on his chest. It was heavier than it looked—his head bounced off the floor and thudded back down.