The military convoy tore through the streets of Jingdu like a silent black dragon, its sirens dormant but its presence absolute. Inside the lead SUV, Shen Xi leaned back against the leather seat, her mud-stained clothes a stark contrast to the luxury of the vehicle. Qi Yuan sat opposite her, his eyes occasionally flickering toward her with a mixture of curiosity and repressed wariness. He had seen many women try to climb into the Young Marshal's bed, but none had ever been invited—especially not one who looked like she had just crawled out of a grave.
Mount Jing loomed ahead—a fortress shrouded in silver mist and guarded by automated turrets and elite sentries. As they passed the final checkpoint, the air grew heavy with a strange, static tension. This was the forbidden land of Jingdu, a place where even the most powerful politicians feared to tread.
"The Marshal is in a volatile state," Qi Yuan warned as the elevator rose toward the top floor. "His old injuries have triggered a neural storm. The doctors have been dismissed. If you can't help him, I suggest you don't stay in the room for long."
Shen Xi stepped out of the elevator, her expression indifferent. "I'm not here to stay long. I'm here to work."
The heavy double doors to the master suite slid open, revealing a room drenched in shadows and the faint, bitter scent of sandalwood. Mu Feichi was sitting on the edge of the massive, dark-canopied bed. His shirt was discarded, leaving his broad shoulders and muscular back exposed. Even in the dim light, the scars across his spine—jagged reminders of the explosion on the border—looked like angry lightning strikes.
His head was buried in his hands, his fingers digging into his scalp. Every muscle in his body was coiled like a spring, vibrating with the sheer effort of enduring the pain. Chronic insomnia had turned his grey eyes into pits of bloodshot ash.
"You're late," he rasped. The voice didn't sound human; it was a low, guttural growl that vibrated through the floorboards.
"I had to settle some trash first," Shen Xi replied. She walked into the room without hesitation, her boots clicking softly on the marble.
Mu Feichi stiffened. The air around him seemed to drop ten degrees. In a blur of movement that her eyes could barely follow, he lunged. His hand shot out, locking around her throat and pinning her against the cold stone wall. His grip was a shackle of freezing iron, his chest heaving with ragged, uneven breaths.
"Do you know what happens to people who interrupt me when I'm like this?" he breathed against her ear, his voice laced with the irritability of a man on the brink of a psychotic break.
Shen Xi felt the air leave her lungs, but her pulse remained steady. She looked directly into those stormy grey eyes, which were swirling with a primal, predatory intensity. "They either die because they're in the way, or they live because I choose to save them," she said, her voice a cool silk that cut through his madness.
She raised her hand, her fingers finding a specific pressure point on his wrist. With a sharp, precise press, his hand went momentarily numb. He blinked, the fog in his mind clearing just enough to see the small, mud-streaked girl standing before him with the audacity of a queen.
"Let go," she commanded. "I can't fix a machine while it's trying to crush me."
Mu Feichi stared at her for a long, heavy beat, his chest brushing against hers. Slowly, his fingers uncurled from her neck, but he didn't move away. Instead, he leaned his forehead against hers, his weight forcing her to support him.
"The pain... it won't stop," he whispered, a rare moment of vulnerability escaping through the cracks of his iron armor.
"It will now," Shen Xi murmured. She reached for her leather roll of silver needles. In her mind, her internalized medical database mapped the inflammation in his cervical nerves, highlighting the exact path to relief. "Sit down. If you want to sleep, you have to trust the person holding the needles."