Simultaneous traversal: All Abyss difficulty.

Chapter 808 Getting the hang of it

The next day, before dawn.

In the small courtyard behind the Hidden Moon Sect, Nangong Wan stood by the window, her gaze repeatedly sweeping across the stone path leading down the mountain.

The morning mist, like a damp rag, slowly wiped the bluestone slabs, but it couldn't clean Fang Tiezhu's simple-minded yet wicked figure.

"Weird things"

Her fingertips tapped unconsciously on the window, making a soft tapping sound.

You said you'd come early this morning, where are you?
The thought caused a sudden pang in her heart.

The wound on that kid's severed arm looked eerie; the dark green corrosive marks were nauseating to smell.

She frowned, intending to send a trusted disciple to search for the person, or perhaps... um?
From the shadows at the base of the courtyard wall, a head peeked out furtively, looking around like a weasel about to steal a chicken.

"Fang Tiezhu!"

Nangong Wan's voice wasn't loud, but it carried the penetrating power unique to Core Formation cultivators, striking that head precisely.

The head shrank back, and then a dusty, empty-sleeved figure slowly emerged, his face full of an embarrassed grin at being caught red-handed: "Hey, Elder, you...you're up so early?"

Nangong Wan ignored his clumsy small talk and scanned him over. Apart from being dirtier, she didn't see any new injuries.

She frowned slightly: "The sun's high in the sky! Are you a tortoise? You should have crawled there by now!"

Fang Yu rolled his eyes inwardly. "I don't even have a job, why do I have to get up so early?"

He instinctively wanted to reply that waking up naturally is a basic human right, but when he saw Nangong Wan's face, which clearly showed concern and a hint of irritation from not sleeping well, he swallowed the words back down.

"Ah, ah, I'm an outer disciple, so of course I get up early."

Outer disciple?

What are outer disciples supposed to do first thing in the morning?

His mind raced through the daily routine of a servant in Yellow Maple Valley—chopping wood? Carrying water? Sweeping fallen leaves?
In a flash, a vivid and impactful answer rang out: "Elder! I went to collect manure this morning!"

The air solidified.

Nangong Wan's clear, cold eyes instantly seemed to have been hit by a depth charge.

Looking at Fang Yu's empty sleeves and the "I'm just an honest, hardworking man" expression on his face, her mind exploded with a series of vivid, tragic, and frustrating images:
Scene 1: At dawn, as the sky begins to lighten, Fang Tiezhu, the one-armed youth, grits his teeth, his arm trembling as he tries to lift a heavy load of manure onto his shoulder. Several arrogant inner disciples beside him cover their noses, point and whisper, and utter grating laughter: "A cripple should do cripple work! Carrying manure is perfect for him! Haha!"

Scene Two: On a rugged mountain path, a manure bucket shakes violently, filling the air with a stench. The boy stumbles, the heavy load slips from his hands, and the filth spills all over the ground, splattering him from head to toe. Around him, laughter and contemptuous stares grow louder. He silently gets up and, with his only remaining right hand, futilely tries to clean himself.
Scene 3: In a dark and damp corner of a storage room, a boy is curled up, exhausted. The wound on his empty left shoulder throbs faintly from the friction of his dirty clothes. No one cares, no one bandages him, only the cold air and the lingering stench remain.
"Outrageous!" Nangong Wan's chest heaved violently, an unnamed rage shooting straight to the top of her head! How dare they?! A disciple who managed to survive by cutting off an arm in that hellish place, the Blood Forbidden Land, and even managed to bring back resources, was being treated so cruelly?!

Just because he lost an arm?!

Those "potatoes," those "clods of earth" stained with blood and mud that he had risked his life for, instantly transformed in her eyes into medals solidified from blood and tears, so heavy that it made it hard for her to breathe.

She took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing her turbulent emotions, but her voice was as cold as ice: "Come here."

Fang Yu was a little confused by the "symphony of grief and indignation" churning in her eyes, and moved closer without understanding why.

"Show your arms," ​​Nangong Wan commanded.

Fang Yu did as instructed.

Nangong Wan's gaze fell on the severed area on his left shoulder.

The gruesome wound, with its edges of rolled-up, charred flesh and dark green sap, showed absolutely no signs of having been treated!
Under her Core Formation stage spiritual perception, the faint corrosive aura and bloody smell emanating from the wound were practically a silent accusation. Fang Yu felt a little uneasy under her gaze, thinking to himself, "What's so interesting? Once I reach the Nascent Soul stage, it'll grow back in no time. Why bother bandaging it now? What a waste of spiritual energy!"

If Nangong Wan knew about this thought, she would probably be so angry that she would immediately unleash her magic weapon.

But in her eyes, this was clearly irrefutable proof of her helplessness and being bullied!

No one even provided the most basic medicine for the wounds, leaving the bizarre injury to worsen!

A strong sense of guilt and responsibility instantly overwhelmed all other emotions.

"Come in with me!" Nangong Wan stopped talking nonsense, turned around and pushed open the door to the quiet room, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Fang Yu followed him inside, completely bewildered.

The room was elegantly furnished with a faint scent of medicine, which clashed with his "dung-carrying" attire.

"Sit down." Nangong Wan pointed to a low stool.

As soon as Fang Yu sat down, he saw Nangong Wan take out several jade bottles, a basin of spiritual spring water, and a snow-white gauze from her storage bag.

She rolled up her pale white sleeves, revealing half of her fair wrist, and personally soaked a soft cotton towel in the water.

"Bear with it." Her voice was low, but her movements were exceptionally gentle. She carefully avoided the torn flesh and used a cotton towel imbued with gentle spiritual energy to gently clean the congealed blood and dust around the wound.

My fingertips occasionally and inevitably touched my skin, carrying a cool, spiritual energy and a kind of...
Fang Yu experienced a strange feeling of being taken seriously, a feeling he had never experienced before.

Fang Yu's body stiffened slightly.

He looked at Nangong Wan's focused profile, so close to his own, her long eyelashes drooping, her breath light and gentle. Her seriousness was even greater than when he used to block the bridge with a sniper rifle.

A faint fragrance wafted into his nose, mixed with the smell of medicine, making him feel uncomfortable all over.

His eyes involuntarily darted to the side—hey! That crimson alchemy furnace, like a sturdy, plump red man, was quietly squatting in the corner! The target was right in front of him! Within easy reach!

But... He looked at Nangong Wan's lowered eyes, felt the cool, soft touch on her shoulder, and then thought about what he would do if he took the stove now.
Nangong Wan had just finished treating her wounds when she turned around and discovered that her alchemy furnace was missing.

She's an elder! If this thing disappears in her meditation room, wouldn't the sect leader, Ni Chang, be an instant powder keg?
If someone is held accountable, Nangong Wan will be the first one to get away with it!

At best, they will be punished; at worst, they will face severe consequences.
"Hiss!" Fang Yu felt a headache coming on, as if two little people were dancing inside him. One was shouting, "If the rules allow it, it's reasonable! Take it and run! Who cares if the world goes crazy!" The other was waving a moral exemplar's flag and weakly saying, "This girl is healing you, and you turn around and swindle her? Isn't that a bit too much?"

He cursed inwardly in frustration: Damn it! When did I develop so many moral constraints?
Just as he was struggling with his inner turmoil, an aged voice, tinged with a strong sense of mockery, echoed softly in his mind:

[You're something else, actually. You know how to reflect on yourself now.]

Fang Yu nearly choked on his own saliva, mentally yelling, "Old Master, stop spouting nonsense! I'm just a modern-day office worker, suddenly possessing such supernatural powers. The fact that I haven't instantly turned into a 'I can do whatever I want' type of citizen is already a testament to my impeccable morals and wholesome values!"

He secretly rolled his eyes, his gaze sweeping over the quiet alchemy furnace again before quickly looking away.

Forget it
He slumped his shoulders resignedly, feeling the cool, healing spiritual energy emanating from Nangong Wan's fingertips. He sighed inwardly, realizing that the plan to raid her home would have to wait for another auspicious day.

This stove is scalding hot.

Nangong Wan was unaware of his inner thoughts; she was focused on cleaning the shocking wound, her movements becoming increasingly gentle, as if she were handling a fragile piece of porcelain.

In the quiet room, only the faint sound of the spring water dripping and the turbulent emotions of the two remained.

(End of this chapter)