Rinne knelt beside Lyra again and tapped several of her acupoints with precision.


    This would slow her metabolism, effectively reducing blood and energy loss. The tension in Lyra’s pale face eased slightly, though she remained unconscious. After unfastening the girl''s bloodstained robe, her gaze fell on the glaring wound in the abdomen. The sight was grim, but Rinne remained unfazed.


    Cultivators were renowned for their tenacity, and this girl was no exception. Despite her injuries and broken spiritual root, her sheer life force had kept her alive until now—though only barely. Rinne couldn’t bring her back to her atelier unnoticed, so emergency treatment would have to be done here.


    This was a race against time.


    “Unfortunately, my cultivation is low, so I can only use the stupidest method to stop your blood loss.”


    Focusing her mental power, she constructed a set of tiny fire runes in the air.


    This was the Void Talisman Technique, a method of drawing talismans directly in the air without the need for paper. Though considered a lost art, someone had rediscovered it but the person ended up as her victim during her past life, though that was a tale for another day.


    Rinne held back from activating the rune right away, fearing the cold wind would extinguish the fire. Instead, she pressed the rune directly against the wound before activating it. A sharp hiss followed as the rune cauterized the wound, sealing it to stop the bleeding. This would definitely leave a scar.


    Rinne could only feel sorry for the girl.


    "If you care about appearances, you can buy a Beauty Pill later and fix it yourself."


    With the immediate bleeding under control, Rinne turned her attention to the broken spiritual root. Using her spiritual sense, she examined its condition carefully.


    ''Fortunately, the spiritual root is still there. It’s easier to repair a broken one than to recreate it from scratch.''


    Reaching into her spatial bag, she took out a middle-grade Spirit Gathering Pill.


    Normally, to repair damaged spiritual root, one would need a third-grade healing pill called Golden Lotus Pill. Naturally, she had no such thing in her hands. However, in this case, the pill itself didn''t really matter. What mattered was the pill inscription that she would imprint onto the pill.


    As for the middle-grade Spirit Gathering Pill, it was simply a worthless pill by Rinne''s standards. In the end, the girl was just a stranger and Rinne had no obligation to use good things on her.


    Rinne closed her eyes and accessed her Soul Library, designing a custom pill inscription tailored to Lyra’s injuries. The process was straightforward in her mind: guide the pill’s energy to the dantian, transform it into fine threads, and use them to suture the broken spiritual root. Once the threads stabilized the root, Lyra’s own energy would complete the repair.


    It took Rinne quite a while to complete her design, and once she did, she immediately returned and woke up in the real world. The inscription imprinted onto the pill within seconds, its faint glow confirming the modification.


    "Ok, this will do."


    As she moved to feed the pill to Lyra, the girl’s eyelids fluttered, and her eyes slowly opened.


    Rinne froze, her hand stopping instinctively mid-motion. For a brief moment, she regarded Lyra with a neutral expression, her next action paused by the unexpected development.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    ???


    Lyra''s POV:


    Lyra had been conscious ever since the searing pain of cauterization jolted her awake.


    The agony was unbearable, yet her body was so weak that opening her eyes or moving a muscle seemed impossible. She could only lie there, enduring, as the realization slowly dawned—someone was saving her.


    The smell of burned flesh lingered in the air, and the cold ground beneath her seemed to sap what little strength she had left. Despite her frailty, her mind remained alert, trying to piece together her situation. Whoever this person was, they hadn’t left her to die. For now, that was enough.


    Her thoughts drifted back to her childhood, a mixture of memories both sweet and bitter. Lyra had been adopted into Elder Zhelar’s family at the tender age of six. She had vague recollections of a simpler, quieter life before that—a family she could no longer remember, faces that had faded into obscurity. Elder Zhelar, a respected figure in the Frostfire Sect, had taken her in and given her a new home.


    At first, life with the Zhelar family was idyllic. Celia Zhelar, the elder’s biological daughter, was a year older and seemed every bit the caring older sister. Lyra still remembered the first day Celia spoke to her, her voice sweet and inviting.


    "Don’t worry, you’ll like it here. I’ll take care of you, okay?"


    Celia had said, crouching beside Lyra, who was timidly clutching a wooden doll.


    Celia''s warmth had soothed Lyra''s anxieties, making her feel a sense of belonging she hadn''t experienced in months. They shared laughter in the gardens, raced through fields dusted with frost, and confided their secrets under the moonlit sky. At least, Lyra had thought they were secrets.


    Their bond seemed unshakable, but subtle cracks began to form as they grew older. Lyra’s cultivation talent became apparent early on. Her ice-attributed spiritual root was a rare treasure in the Frostfire Sect, and it allowed her to progress at an astonishing rate. By the age of 18, she had reached the 10th level of the Spirit Gathering stage—a feat that drew both admiration and envy.


    One evening, as Lyra showcased her intricate ice technique, crafting crystalline flowers in her hand, Celia said to her.


    "You’re incredible... Father always talks about how proud he is of you."


    The words had sounded kind, but there was a glint in Celia’s eyes that Lyra couldn’t quite place. At the time, she dismissed it, believing her sister’s admiration to be genuine.


    By contrast, Celia’s progress had been slower. At 19, she was still at the 8th level of the Spirit Gathering stage. Lyra often tried to encourage her, offering tips and sparring sessions to help her improve.


    "Don’t push yourself too hard, Celia. You’ll get there. Everyone has their own pace."


    Lyra had said after a training session where Celia had struggled to keep up.


    But instead of gratitude, Celia’s face twisted into something unreadable. Lyra brushed it off, chalking it up to frustration. She never imagined it was the beginning of something far darker.


    Lyra had been confident about her future. The Foundation Establishment stage was within her grasp, and the sect’s upcoming assessment offered a rare opportunity—the coveted Foundation Pill, awarded to the top ten disciples. Lyra was certain she could secure a place among them, paving her way to breaking through in less than five years.


    Everything had seemed so smooth, so promising, until the day it all unraveled.


    "She’s using demonic techniques! That’s how she’s advancing so quickly!"


    Celia’s voice rang out in the sect hall, loud enough for everyone to hear.


    Lyra’s breath had caught in her throat as all eyes turned to her. She couldn’t understand what was happening. Why was Celia saying such things?


    Lyra instinctively shouted, her voice trembling but firm.


    "That’s a lie! I would never—"


    But before she could finish, the detection tool was brought forth, and to her horror, it revealed traces of demonic energy. The accusation was absurd, yet somehow, the evidence was damning.


    The events that followed were a blur of shame and pain. Her cultivation was destroyed as punishment, leaving her broken in every sense of the word. Cast out, humiliated, and left for dead, she had ended up here.


    The cold pressed against her, a chilling reminder of her current state. As she finally mustered the strength to open her eyes, the blurry figure of the person saving her came into focus.


    The figure was clad in an outer disciple’s uniform, the hood drawn low over their head. A wolf skull mask obscured their face, leaving only a faint silhouette visible in the dim light. Despite this, Lyra could tell from the soft tone she had heard earlier—this was a young girl.


    The girl froze when Lyra’s eyes fluttered open, her gaze locking onto Lyra’s with an unreadable expression. The silence stretched between them, unspoken words hanging in the cold air.