Chapter 695: Aren't You Dead?

Jiang Feng carried Ling Zhaixing through the long alley, turned onto two streets, and stopped in front of a black sedan parked at the roadside.

He opened the car door with one hand, carefully placed her into the back seat, then sat in the driver's seat himself, started the car, and drove away from the street that had already become a mess.

Ling Zhaixing said nothing the whole way.

She didn't know what she was thinking now.

Her mind was filled with too many tangled things, like a heap of beads that had been knocked over and mixed together; she only felt exhausted, every joint from head to toe clamoring with soreness, her eyelids heavy as if two sheets of iron were hanging over them—once closed they would never lift again.

Yet she didn't close her eyes.

She just stared out the window, watching the light and shadows stretched by the car's speed flow past like water, letting the silence fill every corner of the cabin.

When the car entered the Su Family courtyard, the sky had already grown a bit dark.

The western clouds were burned by the setting sun into a warm orange, spreading over the courtyard wall and gilding the outline of the blue tiles with a golden edge. Jiang Feng parked the car, walked around to the back seat and opened the door.

Ling Zhaixing supported herself on the seat and slowly moved out, swaying a little when she stood on the ground, and steadied her body by holding the car door.

Jiang Feng gave her a glance, said nothing, and walked ahead to lead the way.

After entering the house, Jiang Feng had her sit on the sofa, then turned and went into the adjacent medicine room.

Ling Zhaixing sat on the sofa, her back sinking into the soft cushion, and only then did her body fully relax; the force she had forced herself to bear all the way loosened, and the pain surged through her like a tide, drowning her from head to toe.

She lowered her head and looked at the cut on her palm made by a stone slab; the blood had already coagulated, forming a dark‑red scab.

Jiang Feng quickly entered the house, carrying a bowl of steaming decoction, and placed it before her.

He set the bowl on the coffee table, squatted down, took Ling Zhaixing's wrist, and with a cotton cloth dipped in liquid medicine, cleaned the wound on her palm.

"You just struck…"

Jiang Feng kept his head down, his hands never stopping their motion.

"…triggered an old injury. Stay at home these few days, don't move around."

Ling Zhaixing looked at him.

He squatted in front of her, one hand supporting her palm, the other holding the cotton cloth, gently wiping the blood scab at the edge of the wound, his expression focused, as if doing something perfectly ordinary.

He didn't ask who Lei Pengfei was; he asked nothing, just boiled the medicine, treated the wound, then wrapped the gauze layer by layer.

Ling Zhaixing watched the neatly wrapped gauze on her wrist and her throat moved slightly.

She gave no answer to Jiang Feng's words, nor said thank you.

After finishing the wound, Jiang Feng straightened up, packed the remaining powder and gauze, turned and walked two steps toward the doorway.

"Tell Jiangnan Wang."

Ling Zhaixing's voice chased after him from behind.

Jiang Feng's steps halted.

He stood in the shadow by the door, turned his head sideways.

Ling Zhaixing sat on the sofa, eyes lowered, watching her gauze‑wrapped wrist; her voice was light, like a breeze that could be scattered away.

"From now on, I won't pursue the feud with the Feixing Gang any longer."

She paused.

"The Feixing Gang's extermination… was entirely deserved."

Her trailing tone trembled slightly, but her manner was unwavering.

As she spoke, it was as if she were moving a stone that had pressed on her chest for a long time; though the shift still tugged at the old wound, once moved the breath finally could be taken again.

Jiang Feng turned around and looked at her.

"I've already asked Jiangnan Wang to investigate…"

"Perhaps your family members, you still have a chance to see them."

Ling Zhaixing jerked her head up sharply.

"Family?"

She repeated the two words, lips slightly open, as if hearing the term applied to herself for the first time.

She was an orphan taken in by the Feixing Gang; Master taught her cultivation, senior brothers and sisters raised her, and that was everything to her.

But all of that was false.

"Do I really still have family?"

She murmured the sentence.

Her voice was so soft that only she could hear it.

Jiang Feng gave no answer to the question.

"Rest well…"

He only gave her a glance, then turned and pushed the door open, walking out.

The door closed behind him, emitting a faint sound.

Ling Zhaixing sat alone on the sofa, head bowed, staring at the circle of white gauze on her wrist, unmoving for a long while.

After Jiang Feng left Su Family Villa, his figure flickered quickly in the twilight.

His feet barely touched the ground; his whole body swept across several streets like a leaf caught in the wind, passing through traffic and crowds, disappearing the instant onlookers hadn't yet had time to see clearly.

His speed was extreme; ten minutes later he was already standing at the entrance of Jiangcheng Hospital.

Once you step onto the path of the Martial Path, there is always one thing that remains unsolved!

If that matter isn't resolved, his Martial Path will never be smooth.

The Seventh Floor inpatient wing was quiet, the corridor empty.

He walked to the doorway of the ward at the end of the corridor and stopped.

The door was half‑closed, warm yellow light spilling out. He stood at the side of the door, his gaze peering through the crack.

Ye Xiaoyue faced away from the doorway, sitting on the chair beside the hospital bed, her body slightly leaning forward.

On the sickbed lay a person, face thin and pallid, eyes tightly closed, thin white Quilt covering the body.

Ye Zhonghai, at this moment, lay there unconscious and unresponsive.

Ye Xiaoyue's hand grasped her father's hand, the pads of her fingers gently rubbing his back of hand.

Her Shoulders sagged slightly, Throughout she looked a Circle thinner than when Jiang Feng Last Time saw her, her chin was much sharper, and the dark bruises under her eyes were deep.

She opened her mouth to speak, her voice very low, as if afraid of waking the person on the bed.

"Dad, when will you recover?"

She paused briefly, her fingers clenched for an instant, then released.

"I'm sorry, I still didn't do as you said."

Her voice began to tremble.

"Jiang Feng... I caused his death."

Ye Xiaoyue's Shoulders trembled slightly.

She covered her own Mouth with the other hand, a suppressed, intermittent choking sound leaking through the gaps of her fingers.

"I regret it so much... but I have no way. I already have None left, if I don't agree to help them, not only will I die, you will also have no one to care for you."

She lowered her head, her forehead pressing against Ye Zhonghai's Quilt, Crying muffled within the fabric, suffocating, like a lump of compressed air that wants to escape but cannot.

"Jiang Feng, in this life I have wronged him..."

Her words fell into the quiet ward, heavy and dense, lingering without dispersing for a long time.

Jiang Feng Standing outside the door, watching the figure hunched at the bedside, softly sobbing, his gaze faint.

He was silent for a moment, then reached out and pushed the door open.

The door leaf emitted a faint creak.

Ye Xiaoyue suddenly lifted her head, eyes fixed straight on the person Standing at the doorway.

Jiang Feng leaned against the doorframe, both hands in his trouser pockets, watching her.

"At least you still have a bit of conscience."

His voice was not loud, but each word fell clearly into the quiet ward, like a Stone thrown into a pool of still water, stirring Circle after Circle of ripples.

Ye Xiaoyue's Pupils suddenly contracted, her entire face instantly losing its color.

"Jiang Feng, aren't you dead?"