Nan Muran blinked, not understanding what he meant, and then saw him bend down in front of her.

“I’ll carry you back,” Si Ye said, looking into her round, blinking eyes, feeling his heart melt completely.

Nan Muran readily accepted Si Ye’s kindness: “Wow, this feels so blissful!”

The mountain path was narrow and rugged, but Si Ye walked steadily.

Staring at the perfect shape of his head, Nan Muran suddenly thought of the moment in her previous life when he had pulled her along, escaping from the underground laboratory.

The situations were completely different, yet somehow, the two images merged in her mind, making her momentarily confused about which was real: “Si Ye, how about we start dating?”

Si Ye’s steady pace suddenly halted because of her words. His heart started pounding uncontrollably, and his steps slowed.

“I’ve never dated before, so I might not do it well,” he said in a low, hesitant voice.

Hearing this, Nan Muran frowned: “What kind of nonsense is that? You make it sound like I have experience!”

Si Ye could clearly sense her displeased tone — was she angry? But why?

Seeing him stay silent, Nan Muran felt speechless. Fine, this topic was over again. She even felt her long-dormant stress response flare up. She directly struggled free from his back and stood in front of him.

“What’s your problem? Can’t understand Mandarin?”

Watching her explode in front of him like a little ball of fire, Si Ye couldn’t help but laugh: “I just said I might not do well.”

“And then?”

“You’ll have to be patient with me. I’ll also do my best to make it work. So, Nan Muran, are you willing to date me?” After saying this simple sentence, Si Ye felt even more exhausted than after a ten-kilometer armed march.

But he still felt it was right for a man to be the one to confess first.

Nan Muran couldn’t help but laugh. All her earlier irritation and anger vanished instantly, replaced by pure happiness: “Alright then.”

“Come on, I’ll carry you back,” Si Ye said, smiling, his ears turning red despite himself.

As they returned to the winding path down the mountain, it felt as if everything had changed — yet somehow, nothing had changed at all.

When they reached halfway down the mountain, dusk had already fallen. As they neared the village, they saw Jiawu, Han Yingtian, and the others waiting at the entrance.

“Ranran!”

“Sister Nan, Wild Wolf!”

“Miss Nan, Wild Wolf, you’re finally back!”

Everyone was excited and visibly relieved to see them return safely.

“The old soldier’s kid said you’d definitely come back safely, but we still weren’t at ease, so we waited here,” Jiawu explained with a smile.

Suddenly, a child’s anguished cries echoed from the village center.

“That sounds like Qijin,” the Hawk said, exchanging a look with Han Yingtian, both speaking simultaneously.

It was then that Nan Muran learned that Qijin was the old soldier’s grandson — the only spirit-type ability user in the village. He was named Qijin because he weighed seven jin (about 3.5 kg) at birth.

“Let’s go check,” Si Ye said, seeing the urgency in everyone’s faces and signaling them to lead the way.

The old soldier’s courtyard was a typical rural layout: two earth-built houses facing south at the front, and three large tiled rooms on the west side.

The cries came from one of the eastern earth houses.

Inside the room, a middle-aged woman sobbed as she watched her son clutch his head in pain, rolling on the kang bed: “Dad, isn’t there any way to help? If this keeps up, Qijin might go mad from the pain!”

Sitting across from her in a chair, the old soldier listened to his daughter-in-law’s pleas. His cold, deep-set eyes were filled with helplessness, and his already stooped frame seemed to shrink even more.

He knew he could try asking those soldiers who came for the fruits — maybe the fruit could save his grandson — but he couldn’t bring himself to ask.

Standing beside him was a strong, simple-looking middle-aged man, his eyes bloodshot with worry.

In the corner, two small twins huddled together on the worn-out sofa, crying in fear.

Nan Muran felt the pain and struggle of everyone in the room.

Han Yingtian and the others, as well as Jiawu and the Hawk, were also anxiously watching.

They cared about Qijin because the old soldier’s family had warmly hosted them.

And little Qijin, worried about their concern for those up the mountain, had secretly told them he had spirit abilities — that he could predict what would happen within the village in the next day.

He had also told them that Nan Muran and Si Ye would return safely.

“I’ll give it a try,” Xiangxi said, stepping forward without hesitation, reaching out to touch Qijin’s hand.

He attempted to use his healing ability to ease Qijin’s pain, but it was useless.

The faint hope in the family’s eyes vanished once again into despair.

Watching all this, Nan Muran sighed softly, then spoke in a calm voice: “I can help him.”

The old soldier, the middle-aged couple, and even the children on the sofa all turned to look at her.

She was stunning — so beautiful that she seemed completely out of place in the surroundings.

After a long silence, the old soldier reacted first, looking at Nan Muran: “What are your conditions? Speak.”

He saw clearly that this girl was neither a soldier nor someone who acted on impulse or blind kindness. Plus, she hadn’t finished her earlier sentence — he knew she could save Qijin, but it came with conditions.

Nan Muran smiled at the old soldier: “No matter what happens next, none of you can interfere.”

Everyone in the house froze, clearly not understanding what she intended to do.

Nan Muran looked at the one with the most authority here — the old soldier: “Agree, and I’ll save him now. Refuse, and after three to five more episodes like this, he’ll end up brain-damaged.”

The middle-aged woman, unable to bear seeing her son suffer, immediately nodded in agreement: “I agree! Whatever the conditions are, I agree — please just save my son!”

But Nan Muran didn’t respond to her, only kept her gaze on the old soldier.

After a long pause, the old soldier finally nodded: “Alright. I agree.”

Satisfied with the response, Nan Muran turned to look at the sweat-soaked Qijin on the kang.

She walked over and grasped his arm, letting her vitality flow into every part of his body, nourishing his spirit.

The pain eased, and Qijin slowly stopped struggling.

But then he strangely sat up — strange because everyone there could see clearly that he wasn’t sitting up by his own strength.

Nan Muran stood in front of Qijin: “Now, look at me.”

Qijin, somewhat dazed, lifted his head. His once chaotic mind had fallen silent, as if all the noise, all the images from before, had vanished.

In his world, in his mind, there was only the beautiful figure of the sister standing before him.

Nan Muran quietly looked at him, her hand continuing to infuse vitality into him, until he gradually calmed down and regained his clarity.