The carriage was in terrible shape. Claw marks riddled its frame, splinters jutting out from gashes torn into the wood.

  At the back, a large dent had caved inward. It looked like it had barely held together, only the crates stacked inside had braced the impact, preventing total collapse.

  CLANG! CRASH!

  Jin Yu ripped the warped door from its hinges and tossed it aside. He began throwing crates out one by one, driven by a growing sense of dread.

  Then he lifted the last crate, and froze.

  Beneath it, crushed and covered in splinters, lay two small children—a boy and a girl.

  Blood pooled beneath the girl's head, staining her hair crimson. The boy had shallow cuts scattered across his face, but he was still breathing.

  For a second, Jin Yu just stared.

  The sight of the bloodied kids, the unnatural stillness of the girl, the silence in the wrecked carriage, it all pressed into him like a weight.

  He tossed the crate away and dropped to his knees, hands trembling as he checked for a pulse.

  His fingers lingered on the girl's wrist. Nothing.

  His breath caught. He swallowed, hard.

  He didn't move for a few seconds, just stared at her face, pale and peaceful in that terrifying way. His chest tightened. His vision blurred. When the sting in his eyes finally forced him to look away, he turned to the boy and pressed a hand to his chest.

  He gathered his Qi, ready to infuse it and then hesitated.

  “Min Li,” he called quietly.

  “Yes, Young Master,” Min Li stirred from where he leaned, still catching his breath.

  “Can I infuse my Qi into them?”

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  “Ah—!” Min Li jerked upright, instantly wide awake. “They’re mortals, Young Master. If it’s not perfectly controlled, it could destroy them from the inside.”

  “Okay.” Jin Yu murmured, falling silent again.

  “Should I come ove—?”

  “Don’t worry. Rest.”

  Min Li nodded weakly, though confusion crept into his eyes as he glanced toward the carriage.

  Why would Young Master ask such a basic question? And earlier… he didn’t even know which pills to give us…

  Meanwhile, inside the broken carriage, Jin Yu released a long breath and steadied his mind.

  He closed his eyes, focused his will, and extended a sliver of his spiritual Qi, so thin it shimmered like a thread of moonlight.

  He gently held the boy’s wrist and let the Qi pass through a tiny pinprick on his finger.

  And suddenly, he could see.

  Not with his eyes, but with his sense.

  It was like looking inside the boy’s body with invisible sight. Jin Yu could feel the boy’s heartbeat, erratic but alive. He followed the rhythm, tracing the Qi thread deeper, carefully navigating through the fragile web of meridians.

  A pulsing ache radiated from the boy’s side, a bruised ribs. Another flicker came from his leg, a torn ligament.

  Jin Yu’s brows drew together as he focused. Slowly, he willed a tiny portion of his Qi into the boy’s injuries, weaving it in like threads into torn fabric. Not to overwhelm, not to flood, just enough to nudge the body’s natural healing.

  It was exhausting.

  Controlling such a minute amount of Qi was like trying to hold a single grain of sand steady in a storm.

  But he kept going.

  He moved slowly, carefully smoothing out the inner damage. The bruises lightened. The tension in the boy’s chest eased. That pale face, once pinched with pain, relaxed ever so slightly.

  After several long minutes, Jin Yu exhaled softly, letting his Qi retract.

  The boy stirred faintly. His breathing grew steady.

  Jin Yu wiped the sweat from his brow and leaned back against the carriage wall, chest rising and falling in relief. A tiny smile crept onto his lips.

  He's stable.

  He glanced to his side.

  Then slowly, his smile faded as his gaze settled back on the girl.

  There was no pulse to find. No breath. No pain to heal.

  Nothing to fix.

  Just stillness.

  Jin Yu’s fists tightened on his knees.

  The dead girl’s face remained etched in his vision. He hadn’t even known her name.

  He looked up, gaze sweeping the carriage once more, and that’s when he noticed them.

  There were more children.

  Tucked between crates, slumped against the sides, lying in awkward, crumpled positions across the floor. At least five of them, all around the same age, boys and girls, their small frames covered in grime, their faces pale and sweat-slicked.

  Each bore shallow cuts or scrapes, likely from the attack… but there was something else, something off.

  They weren’t bleeding much. They weren’t groaning or crying. They weren’t even flinching.

  They were unconscious.

  Jin Yu narrowed his eyes and knelt beside one of them. He checked the pulse, it was steady, but faint.

  He moved to another. Same thing.

  That's when he remembered .

  They’ve been drugged…

  He looked around the carriage again. Some spilled powder near one of the crates. A half-broken flask tucked behind a barrel. His fists clenched.

  Those damn smugglers.

  With deliberate care, he checked each child one by one. All were alive.

  There was no internal damage, Just the signs of sedation and some superficial wounds from the chaos earlier.

  He wiped a dirty face clean with his sleeve and repositioned one of the kids into a more comfortable spot, making sure they could breathe easily. Then another. And another.

  When he was done, he returned to the boy he’d just healed and sat quietly for a moment, resting his hand lightly over the boy’s.

  The silence in the carriage was thick. The scent of blood still lingered.

  He didn’t speak.

  But in his mind, a vow slowly formed.

  I couldn’t save her… but the rest of you will make it. I’ll make sure of it.