### Chapter 29: The Apple-Faced Female Cultivator
Inside the cave, a bloodied youth lay motionless, his eyes shut tight. Only his lips moved, barely, forming hoarse whispers: "Water… water…"
The words were so faint, they might have been the wind. Without careful listening, no one would have heard them.
He was alone.
His voice dwindled, then fell silent, as if even that meager strength had deserted him. Exhaustion pulled at him, a heavy tide urging him to sink into darkness, to let death claim him.
The cave settled into a tomb-like stillness. The youth might as well have been dead.
Minutes stretched into an eternity.
"Water… water…" he croaked again, the sound a little stronger, as if his body refused to give up.
Dryness gnawed at his throat, a pain sharper than the lingering ache of his meridians. He couldn't bear it, the need driving him to whisper, over and over, until his throat felt raw.
Just as he was about to lapse into unconsciousness, the cave entrance burst open. A figure hurtled in, clutching two large leaves cupped together—water sloshed inside, leaking through the cracks, leaving a wet trail across the stone floor. By the time she reached him, only a few drops remained.
"Water! I have water…"
It was the apple-faced female cultivator. But there was no trace of her usual sweetness now—only exhaustion and urgency, her features drawn tight with fatigue.
These two were Lin Yi and the apple-faced woman.
The water was pitifully little. Lin Yi drained it in one gulp, but it only made his thirst worse.
"Water… more water…" His voice, now carrying a sliver of strength, echoed off the cave walls.
"I'll get more! Wait for me!" She spun around, the empty leaves still in hand, and sprinted out again, her footsteps flying over the rocky ground. There was no thought of pausing to rest.
No one knew where she found the water, but each trip took half an hour. And each time, most of it leaked away, leaving only a trickle by the time she returned to Lin Yi.
So she ran, back and forth, fetching water until dusk. Only when night fell did Lin Yi's demands quiet, and he slipped into a deep, exhausted sleep.
The apple-faced woman, her energy utterly spent, collapsed beside him, unconscious before her head hit the ground.
In the darkness, their breathing settled into a rhythm—one deep, one shallow—filling the silence.
When dawn filtered through the cave's vine-covered entrance, Lin Yi stirred. His eyes fluttered open, squinting against the light, and the blurry shapes around him slowly sharpened.
His gaze drifted, then froze.
The apple-faced woman was curled beside him, her head resting on his arm, one hand draped across his chest, a leg slung over his thigh in a tangled, exhausted heap. Her face, in sleep, looked soft and innocent—no trace of the fear or weariness from before.
Lin Yi hesitated, reluctant to wake her. He tried to shift, but his body screamed in protest, every muscle and bone aching as if he'd been hit by a boulder. A low hiss escaped him.
He lay still, closing his eyes again, letting the quiet of the cave wrap around him.
It wasn't until noon that he opened his eyes once more.
The woman was already awake, sitting against the cave wall with her knees drawn to her chest. Her gaze darted between the cave entrance and the ground, pointedly avoiding his.
The air felt thick, awkward.
Lin Yi cleared his throat, trying to sit up. His body felt like it had been torn apart and glued back together—even lifting his head sent waves of pain through him.
"Do you want to sit up?" she asked, her voice small. When their eyes met, a faint blush crept across her cheeks, softening her features.
Lin Yi stared, a little dazzled. She wasn't the kind of beauty that took your breath away, but in that moment—with the flush of embarrassment and the hint of warmth in her gaze—she had a quiet charm that made his heart skip a beat.
He nodded, still dumbstruck, until she looked away, flustered. "Yes. If you don't mind."
She moved to help, her hands gentle as she eased him into a sitting position, propping his back against the cave wall.
"Thank you," Lin Yi said, his voice sincere.
"I should be thanking you," she replied, a small smile tugging at her lips now that the awkwardness had melted. "If not for you, I'd be back in their hands."
"Back in their hands?" Lin Yi frowned, confused. "Raiders usually just steal storage bags. Since when do they kidnap female cultivators?"
At his words, her expression darkened, a flash of anger and pain crossing her face. "My sect… they destroyed it. Burned it to the ground. Then they took everyone prisoner, forcing us to refine pills for them. I've tried to escape sixteen times. This was the sixteenth."
"Your sect was destroyed?" Lin Yi's eyes widened, shock rippling through him. "Raiders have that kind of power? And they made you… refine pills?"
"It happened a year ago," she said, her voice tight. "In that year, we've made them countless pills—enough to boost their strength by leaps and bounds. Our chance for revenge… it fades every day." Her voice wavered, and for a moment, despair clouded her eyes.
Lin Yi felt a pang of sadness, her grief weighing on him. "What was your sect called?"
"Fengqi Valley," she murmured.
Lin Yi blinked, drawing a blank. He'd never heard of it.
"It was a small sect," she said, noticing his confusion, though there was a flicker of something unsaid in her tone. "We kept to ourselves, so few outside our region knew of us."
In truth, Fengqi Valley had been renowned in the Great Liang Kingdom for its alchemists—until the raiders had wiped them out. But Lin Yi, a low-level disciple from the Southern Tang Kingdom, had never ventured far enough to hear of it.
"As long as you're alive, there's hope," Lin Yi said, fumbling for words. He'd never been good at comforting people, but her sadness felt too heavy to ignore.
She nodded, a faint, sad smile touching her lips. But as the words sank in, tears suddenly welled in her eyes, spilling down her cheeks.
Lin Yi panicked.
"Don't cry!" he blurted. "I— I hate seeing women cry. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to… I'm bad with words. Just… please stop. I'll do anything, just don't cry." He stared at her, earnest, silently praying she wouldn't ask for something impossible.
She let out a watery laugh, swiping at her tears. "It's not your fault. Just… memories." She took a deep breath, composing herself, and met his gaze again. "Thank you. For saving me. And for… listening."
Lin Yi shrugged, a little awkward. "Anyone would've done it."
But in his heart, he knew that wasn't true. In Yunmeng Marsh, survival mattered most. Few would risk their lives for a stranger.
The cave fell quiet again, but this time, the silence felt softer—less awkward, more like a shared understanding. Outside, a bird chirped, and somewhere in the distance, a stream gurgled.
For the first time in days, Lin Yi felt at peace.