Chapter 949: Chapter 949

Yun Jianchu had already dashed into the room, her footsteps quick and frantic. Her voice broke with a mix of sorrow and desperation as she cried out, "Little bald donkey! Are you really dead?" Her tone was raw, piercing the air with grief. Earlier, when she had been residing within Nanli’s body, Cinian had always been a constant presence—hovering around, offering his quiet companionship. Truth be told, she’d grown accustomed to having him nearby, his familiar figure a steady anchor in her chaotic existence. The sudden news that he might not survive struck her like a thunderbolt, unleashing a torrent of sadness that erupted into wails so loud it seemed she might lift the roof off the building.

But as Yun Jianchu threw herself toward the bed, she froze. Cinian was still breathing—faintly, yes, but alive. She blinked, stunned. "What’s going on? He’s not dead?" she muttered, her voice wavering between relief and confusion.

Shandu, usually the epitome of patience and composure, had reached his limit. He stepped forward and gently but firmly pulled Yun Jianchu back from the bedside. "Master Chuyun," he said with a hint of exasperation, "with Master Nanli here, how could Master die so easily?" His tone carried a quiet confidence, a reminder of the skilled hands working to preserve Cinian’s life.

Yun Jianchu glanced around the room and noticed the intricate layers of talisman arrays shimmering faintly in the air. Her knowledge was limited, and her memory even less reliable—she couldn’t begin to guess what these arrays were meant to do. But that didn’t matter. All she needed to know was that they were powerful, and that was enough to reassure her. She pursed her lips and shot back, "Then who was it screaming so pitifully just now, misleading me like that?"

Shandu straightened, his expression earnest. "Master showed some signs of consciousness, and I got excited and shouted. How could that be called pitiful wailing?" he countered, defending his outburst.

Their brief exchange turned into a mild squabble, but it gave Siheng enough time to piece together the situation. Realizing he hadn’t arrived too late, a trace of relief softened his tense features. Nanli, who had been sitting off to the side to rest, caught sight of Siheng’s arrival. She stood up abruptly, her eyes widening in surprise. The exertion of her spiritual energy had left her pale, and her unfamiliarity with her now-prominent pregnant belly made her steps unsteady. She stumbled slightly, her balance faltering.

Yun Yubai, standing nearby, instinctively reached out to steady her. But before his hand could connect, Siheng was at her side in an instant, catching her with a firm, gentle grip. "Are you alright?" he asked, his voice low with concern as he supported her.

Yun Yubai quickly withdrew his hand, chastising himself inwardly. No more letting the memories of the Glassy Bottle affect me, he thought, determined to shake off the lingering emotions tied to that past. This time, his heart felt oddly calm—no bitterness, no ache.

Nanli steadied herself and shook her head lightly. "I’m fine," she said, then tilted her head with curiosity. "You’re out already? Don’t worry—I’ve been working on a few talisman arrays myself. They’ll buy Cinian a bit more time."

Siheng’s gaze softened as he looked at her. "I finished learning and came out. A’Li, you’ve worked hard," he said sincerely. He could see the toll it had taken on her—the dark circles under her eyes, the faint weariness in her posture. She clearly hadn’t rested properly in days.

Nanli blinked, a flicker of surprise crossing her face. "You mean you’ve mastered the first technique?"

"No," Siheng replied with a faint smile. "I’ve mastered them all."

"Even the second technique?" Nanli’s eyes widened in astonishment. She clapped him on the shoulder, her voice brimming with admiration. "Impressive! You learned it all in just two days. You’ve knocked Yining down a peg—he’s no longer the second-fastest. Now you are!"

Siheng’s brow twitched as a sudden thought struck him. He studied her for a moment before asking, "Are you ’Too Weak To Sleep’?" The name had surfaced in his mind from the fragments of memory tied to the technique, and something about her hands—those deft, familiar movements—clicked into place. Her words only confirmed his suspicion: she, too, had entered that tome to study its secrets.

Nanli let out an awkward laugh, scratching the back of her head. "Yeah... that’s me."

Siheng raised an eyebrow, a mix of amusement and disbelief in his expression. He’d assumed the top-ranked practitioner of that technique had long since perished, a legend lost to time. Yet here she was, standing right in front of him. Seizing the chance to tease her, he quipped, "Your title’s even worse than Fourth Brother’s."

Nanli waved a hand dismissively, unfazed. "I was going for low-key."

"That’s not exactly low-key," he shot back, smirking.

"I didn’t stick to one consistent name—that’s low-key enough," she countered with a grin. "But there’s no point dwelling on it. Those were old achievements. These days, I can’t even enter those texts anymore." Her tone shifted, growing more serious as she refocused on the task at hand. "Anyway, enough about that. Hurry up and treat Cinian. The sooner we start, the better—and it’ll reduce the risk of complications."

Siheng nodded. Time was of the essence. The room couldn’t accommodate too many people during the procedure, so only Shandu and Nanli remained as the others stepped out.

Drawing on the memories of the Qiankun Life-Extending Needle, Siheng began by checking Cinian’s pulse, his spiritual energy probing the extent of the internal injuries. Within moments, he formulated a plan. With a wave of his hand, he used his energy to lift Cinian into a cross-legged sitting position, then settled onto the bed across from him.

The treatment commenced. To mend Cinian’s severed heart meridians and repair his damaged channels, Siheng would need to proceed in two stages. He summoned the spiritual needles with practiced ease, their delicate forms shimmering faintly as he guided them to the precise acupuncture points on Cinian’s body. His control over their force was impeccable—each needle sank in, activating the points before spreading his abundant energy to sustain and reconnect the heart meridians.

Siheng’s eyes were closed, his consciousness fully attuned to the process. He could "see" the needles’ movements within Cinian’s body—how they danced through his meridians, coaxing life back into the broken pathways. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, his lashes trembling faintly from the strain. This technique demanded immense spiritual energy and focus—no wonder it required an immortal of the Sixth Realm with a divine mark to wield it. A single misstep could spell disaster: the patient would die instantly, and Siheng himself would suffer a crippling backlash.

Shandu stood by, barely daring to breathe. His eyes darted between Siheng and his master, tension etched into every line of his face. Nanli, meanwhile, sat back down, one hand propping up her head. She glanced at Shandu and said casually, "You don’t need to be so on edge. Breathe normally—it won’t disturb him."

Shandu jolted slightly, startled by her words. After confirming that Siheng remained undisturbed, he let out a cautious breath, his shoulders relaxing as sweat trickled down his back. "I was afraid of disrupting the Celestial Sovereign," he admitted. "It seems this healing technique is like entering a meditative trance—immune to outside interference?"

"Pretty much," Nanli replied with a nod. "The Life-Extending Needle is an incredibly precise method. The practitioner has to be completely focused to avoid any mistakes."

"Amazing... truly amazing," Shandu murmured, awestruck.

Nanli’s expression grew thoughtful as she analyzed aloud, "It’s decent, but techniques have a flaw: the user becomes so immersed that they’re oblivious to external dangers. To use it safely, you need a secure location—or reliable guardians to watch over you. Hmm... no obvious way to improve it yet..." Her voice trailed off as she sank into her own musings.

Shandu, unfamiliar with celestial techniques, could only listen in quiet wonder. Still, he felt confident that Jialan Celestial Mountain was a safe haven for such a procedure. He ventured another question: "At this rate, how long will it take?"

"No telling," Nanli said, snapping out of her thoughts. "It depends on the patient’s injuries and the practitioner’s skill."

Shandu’s frame shuddered. "It won’t take a year or two, will it?"

Nanli chuckled. "It’s possible."

Shandu’s face fell, distress creeping into his voice. "Master Nanli, how can you laugh? If it really takes a year or two, our Divine Buddha Sect would owe you and your child an unforgivable debt." Cinian’s life was worth saving, but Nanli—pregnant and weary—deserved her husband’s care. What if the child was born before Siheng finished? The guilt would be unbearable.

Nanli waved off his concern. "Don’t worry. It shouldn’t take that long. I have faith in him—he’s the second-best, after all."

Shandu exhaled quietly, reassured. This was the Celestial Sovereign, after all—the only immortal in the Nine States certified by the Heavenly Dao itself.

But just then, a pouch at Nanli’s waist began to tremble violently. Shandu’s eyes narrowed. "Master Nanli, that pouch... it doesn’t look like a Qiankun Bag. What’s inside? Why’s it shaking so much?" His tone grew wary, his protective instincts flaring. He almost urged her to remove it so he could inspect it, fearing it might harm her or the child.