Martial Dao: I Can Enhance My Talents

Chapter 379: Chapter 376: Disbelief

"Just some superficial wounds. It’s nothing."

Fang Han said calmly.

Yun Qianyue’s gaze fell on the tattered parts of Fang Han’s clothes and the dried bloodstains. Her brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.

She said nothing more, simply turning and walking toward the camp.

Fang Han followed behind her.

When they reached Fang Han’s tent, Yun Qianyue stopped and took a small Jade Box from her robes, handing it to him.

"This is Snow Skin Jade Dew Cream. It works wonders for healing injuries."

Her voice was flat, as if she were merely stating a fact.

Fang Han glanced at the Jade Box, then looked back at Yun Qianyue.

Yun Qianyue’s eyes were as cold as ever, but deep within them, there seemed to be a faint trace of... concern?

He didn’t refuse, reaching out to accept it. "Thank you."

Yun Qianyue shook her head slightly but said nothing.

She stood there, showing no intention of leaving.

Fang Han looked at Yun Qianyue, a little puzzled.

Yun Qianyue was silent for a moment before she finally spoke, her voice softer than usual.

"You have wounds in places that are hard to treat yourself. I’ll help you."

Fang Han was momentarily stunned.

He looked into Yun Qianyue’s cool eyes. There was no shyness, no awkwardness—only a calm composure.

It was as if she were talking about the most ordinary thing in the world.

But Fang Han knew that for someone with Yun Qianyue’s temperament, saying such a thing was already incredibly difficult.

He was silent for a second, then nodded. "Then I’ll have to trouble you."

The two of them entered the tent.

The space inside the tent was small and simply furnished, with only a thick animal hide blanket on the floor and a bundle serving as a pillow.

Fang Han sat cross-legged on the blanket.

Yun Qianyue knelt beside Fang Han and opened the Jade Box.

Inside was a milky-white ointment that exuded a crisp, clear fragrance. The scent alone was enough to calm one’s mind.

She raised her eyes, her gaze falling on Fang Han.

Fang Han understood. He untied his robes, revealing his upper body.

His physique wasn’t as burly or exaggerated as that of a typical Horizontal Martial Artist. His muscles were lean and well-proportioned, every inch of him containing a restrained power.

But at this moment, that well-proportioned body was covered in numerous wounds.

There was a long scratch on his left shoulder.

Several shallow cuts ran along the outside of his right arm.

A dark bruise marred his side.

And there were several more bruises on his back.

Yun Qianyue’s gaze swept over these injuries, and her cool eyes wavered slightly.

She said nothing, merely scooping up some of the ointment with her fingertip and gently applying it to the wound on Fang Han’s shoulder.

The ointment was cool to the touch, and a gentle warmth seeped into the wound.

’The effect of this ointment is extraordinary. The Contribution Points needed to exchange for it must be quite high. She probably got it from Senior Sister Yun Muyao.’

The tent was very quiet.

There was only the sound of their soft breathing and the faint rustle of the ointment being applied.

Yun Qianyue applied it with great care, not missing a single wound. Her movements were gentle, as if she were afraid of hurting him.

Fang Han sat quietly, saying nothing.

He could feel the warmth from Yun Qianyue’s fingertips and smell the faint, clean fragrance on her, like orchids and musk.

A moment later, Yun Qianyue finished treating the wounds on Fang Han’s back and knelt back in her original position.

She closed the Jade Box and handed it back to Fang Han, her gaze landing on his face.

"Today... what did you run into?"

Her voice was still cool, but beneath the coolness was a hint of inquiry.

"I ran into Meng Xian and had a conflict with him."

Fang Han didn’t take the Jade Box, instead pushing it back toward Yun Qianyue. Knowing how precious it was, he naturally couldn’t accept it.

He looked up at Yun Qianyue and said this.

"You ran into Meng Xian?"

Yun Qianyue’s pupils constricted slightly.

Meng Xian.

Seventeenth on the Celestial Pride List, a True Inheritor of the Netherworld Pavilion, with unfathomable strength.

The man was quite hostile toward Fang Han; she had personally seen the two of them face off that day in the Commandery City.

"He sought you out?"

Yun Qianyue asked.

Fang Han nodded.

Worry rose in Yun Qianyue’s heart at first, but she quickly sensed that something was amiss.

Her gaze swept over Fang Han’s injuries again. Although there were many, none of them were deep—they were only flesh wounds.

And Meng Xian...

"What was the outcome?"

Yun Qianyue asked softly.

The corners of Fang Han’s mouth lifted slightly. The smile was faint, but it carried an indescribable meaning.

"He was hurt worse than I was."

Yun Qianyue’s eyes instantly lit up.

The light flashed and was gone, so fast one might have thought it an illusion.

But Fang Han saw it.

He saw a flash of surprise in her cool eyes, a hint of disbelief, and a glimmer of... unconcealable light.

"You... won?"

Yun Qianyue’s voice was still cool, but underneath, there was a very faint tremor.

Fang Han nodded slightly. "I suppose so. He retreated on his own."

He retreated on his own.

Those four words carried more weight than simply "You won."

Yun Qianyue fell silent.

She watched Fang Han quietly, seeing how he maintained a calm expression despite having just defeated Meng Xian, the seventeenth-ranked expert on the Celestial Pride List.

Thirty-sixth on the Celestial Pride List...

She had originally thought that this ranking represented Fang Han’s current strength.

But she never imagined that this wasn’t his true strength at all.

To be able to force Meng Xian, ranked seventeenth on the Celestial Pride List, to retreat on his own—in terms of true strength, Fang Han was already worthy of seventeenth place, or perhaps even higher.

"Senior Brother Fang."

Yun Qianyue suddenly spoke, her voice very soft.

Fang Han looked up at her.

But she said nothing more, just shaking her head gently. "It’s nothing."

She stood up and gave Fang Han a slight bow. "I’ll head out now."

With that, she turned and walked out of the tent.

As she reached the tent flap, her steps paused for a moment.

"Rest and heal well."

She didn’t turn back, her voice still cool.

Then, the pale-green figure lifted the tent flap and vanished into the twilight.

Fang Han sat inside the tent, gazing at the gently swaying flap in silence for a moment.

He looked down at the wounds on his body, which had been meticulously treated, and a very faint smile slowly appeared on his lips.

...

Bonfires were lit one by one throughout the valley, illuminating the night sky.

The returning leaders from the various factions gathered around the fires, discussing their Demon Hunting experiences from the day, with hearty laughter occasionally breaking out.

On the edge of the Qingxuan Sect’s camp, several disciples were gathered around a bonfire, whispering among themselves.

Suddenly, someone hurried over and sat down by the fire, a mysterious look on his face.

"Guess what I just heard?"

"What?"

"It’s about Senior Brother Fang."

Hearing Fang Han’s name, the disciples’ attention was immediately captured.

"What about Senior Brother Fang?"

The person lowered his voice and said conspiratorially, "I heard that Senior Brother Fang fought Meng Xian from the Netherworld Pavilion today."

"Meng Xian? The one who’s seventeenth on the Celestial Pride List?"

"That’s right, him."

"What was the result?"

The mysterious look on the man’s face deepened, and he lowered his voice even further. "I heard... Senior Brother Fang won. Meng Xian was defeated and retreated."

As soon as he said this, the area around the bonfire fell silent for a moment.

Then, someone couldn’t help but laugh out loud.

"Are you kidding? Senior Brother Fang is thirty-sixth on the Celestial Pride List, and Meng Xian is seventeenth. That’s a nineteen-rank difference. How could Senior Brother Fang possibly win?"

"Exactly, who would believe that? It must be a rumor."

"I heard Senior Brother Fang was injured when he came back today, but not seriously. If he really fought Meng Xian, how could he have gotten off with just a few light wounds?"

"That news is probably fake."

The disciple who brought the news was rebuked by the others and looked embarrassed. He defended himself, saying:

"I just heard it from someone else. As for whether it’s true, who knows?"

"It’s definitely fake."

"Just take that kind of news with a grain of salt. Don’t take it seriously."

Everyone shook their heads, and the topic of conversation soon shifted elsewhere.

Similar conversations were taking place around several other bonfires in the valley.

Some had heard the news of Fang Han’s clash with Meng Xian from the returning leaders, but most people didn’t believe it.

The thirty-sixth on the Celestial Pride List defeating the seventeenth?

The gap was just too wide, so wide that it was hard to believe.

...

Night enveloped the valley. The firelight flickered in the gentle breeze, casting the faces of those nearby in shifting light and shadow.

The moment Meng Xian stepped into the rendezvous point, he felt the stares landing on him.

One after another.

There was surprise, curiosity, scrutiny, and an indescribable complexity.

His face was grim. Without stopping, he walked straight toward the Netherworld Pavilion’s camp.

His bandaged left ribs ached faintly, and every breath pulled at the wound, fanning the flames of rage in his heart.

"Is that Meng Xian? How did he get so injured?"

"Those wounds... they look like sword wounds."

"A sword? Who in the Cloud Mist Mountain Range could injure him with a sword?"

"I heard Fang Han from the Qingxuan Sect fought him today..."

The whispers were very low, but they still reached his ears intermittently.

Meng Xian’s expression grew even uglier.

His steps faltered for a moment as his gaze swept over the whispering disciples.

Swept by his cold glare, the disciples immediately fell silent, lowering their heads and daring not to speak further.

Meng Xian snorted coldly and continued walking.

He could feel their gazes still fixed on his back, like thorns pricking his skin.

Humiliation.

A humiliation like none he had ever known.

He, Meng Xian, the great seventeenth-ranked expert on the Celestial Pride List, a True Inheritor of the Netherworld Pavilion, had been forced to retreat by a kid who had just turned twenty.

What was even more hateful was that he had been seen in such a sorry state.

Those whispers, those strange looks—they were like a series of slaps, striking him hard across the face.

"Fang Han..."

He repeated the name in his mind, each syllable filled with bone-deep hatred.

After passing a few bonfires, the Netherworld Pavilion’s camp came into view.

In the center of the camp, a figure in a black robe with dark silver patterns stood with his hands behind his back, speaking to several Netherworld Pavilion disciples.

It was You Xin.

Hearing footsteps, he turned his head slightly, his long, narrow eyes sweeping over.

When his gaze landed on Meng Xian, his pupils, which had been calm, contracted slightly.

He didn’t speak, just stood there quietly, watching Meng Xian approach.

Meng Xian stopped in front of him and lowered his head slightly.

"Senior Brother You Xin."

His voice was hoarse, laced with a shame he could barely put into words.

You Xin’s gaze lingered on his wounds for a moment before moving to his pale face.

"You’re injured?"

His voice was flat, betraying no emotion.

Meng Xian gritted his teeth and said in a low voice, "Yes."

"Who did it?"

You Xin asked.

Meng Xian was silent for a moment before he managed to say with difficulty, "Fang Han."