The moon hung low in the ink-black sky, its silver glow streaming through the window like liquid light. Inside the wooden hut, the floor gleamed faintly, as if washed in quiet magic. Outside, the world was wrapped in a hushed stillness, broken only by the occasional murmur of wind through the trees.In the middle of the night, Yun Hanchuan was roused from sleep by the faintest sound—years in the business world had trained him to be a light sleeper. Any anomaly could pull him back to full alertness in an instant.
He slowly opened his eyes. With the sliver of moonlight filtering through the cracks in the window, he saw a small, thin figure standing before him. Nuan Nuan was holding a damp cloth in her hands, carefully pressing it against his forehead. It was only then that Yun Hanchuan realized his entire body was burning up. Waves of pain radiated from his wound—the fever from the inflammation was dulling his senses.
"You…" he tried to speak, but his throat was parched, as if it had been scraped with sandpaper.
Nuan Nuan sensed that he was awake. Her movements paused slightly, but she didn't stop. The coolness of the damp cloth against his searing forehead brought a touch of relief. In the moonlight, her eyes looked even more empty, like two glass beads that are covered with dust. Yet her expression was unusually focused—her brows gently furrowed, her lips pressed into a tight line.
"Thank you," Yun Hanchuan murmured hoarsely, his voice barely audible.
She didn't reply. She simply continued wiping his cheeks and neck to bring his temperature down. Her hands were gentle, precise—as if she could see exactly where his discomfort lay. When she reached the wound on his left shoulder, her fingers trembled slightly, but her motions remained steady.
"Do you do this often?" he asked softly, his voice unusually tender. "Taking care of injured people?"
Nuan Nuan shook her head and went on with her task. Under the moonlight, Yun Hanchuan noticed the small scars and calluses on her fingertips—signs of someone who'd handled herbs and foraged for long periods. She was only six, the age when most children were still nestling in their parents' arms, yet she had already mastered these survival skills…
The fever dragged his mind back into a haze. Before slipping into unconsciousness again, he vaguely saw Nuan Nuan pour a few drops of dark liquid from a small porcelain bottle into a bowl of herbs. The mixture had a bitter and slightly metallic sweetness to it, reminding him of a rare medicinal root he'd once encountered in Southeast Asia.
By early morning, sunlight filtered through the plastic-covered window panes, casting dappled shadows on the floor. Yun Hanchuan opened his eyes to an unusually quiet room. Cheng Yan was gone, and so was the little girl. Only the white cat, Taun Tuan, sat by the table, its golden eyes locked onto his.
Tuan Tuan let out a long yawn, showing a pink tongue and tiny fangs. It lazily licked its paw, then curled back up and drifted to sleep again, tail tip twitching like a casual wave.
Yun Hanchuan moved his shoulder tentatively and was surprised to find that the pain had significantly reduced. His fever was down. He carefully peeled back the cloth bandages and checked the wound. The bleeding had stopped, and the purple herbal paste had dried into a flaky layer. Even more astonishing, the edges of the wound had already started to scab.
The wooden door creaked softly. Cheng Yan stepped inside, visibly relieved to see Yun Hanchuan awake. "Mr Yun, you're up. How are you feeling?" A cloth strip, clearly bandaged by Nuan Nuan , was still wrapped around his forehead, but his complexion looked much better.
"I'm fine," Yun Hanchuan replied hoarsely, sitting up slowly. He only winced slightly as the motion tugged at his wounds. "Did you manage to contact the outside?"
Cheng Yan shook his head. "The signal's still unstable. I've tried several times, but without any luck. But…" He lowered his voice, a sharp glint in his eyes, "This might work in our favor. Let the Lin Corporation think we're as good as dead. When we strike back, they won't know what hit them."
A flash of cold light flickered in Yun Hanchuan's eyes—the kind that had once made him feared throughout the business world. "Lin Tianxiong went too far this time. I'm fine with business rivalry, but using guns…" He let out a cold laugh, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the bed frame. "When I return to Qianhai City, I want Lin Corporation to be wiped from the new energy sector within three months."
Just then, faint footsteps came from the door. Nuan Nuan entered, holding a small basket filled with freshly digged herbs. The roots still carried traces of damp earth. Her pant legs and cloth shoes were soaked with dew and smeared with mud—clearly she had gone out early.
Without a word, the little girl walked to Yun Hanchuan's bedside and began changing his dressing. Her hands moved with practiced skill—cleansing the wound with warm water, applying fresh herbs, and rebandaging the injury. It was all done swiftly and smoothly, with not a single wasted movement.
Yun Hanchuan noticed new scratches on her small hands, and dirt still clung under her fingernails. In the morning light, those tiny wounds looked like silent accusations that made his chest tighten inexplicably.
"Thank you," he said gently, though he didn't expect a response.
Her hands paused for the briefest moment. Her long lashes fluttered, but she quickly returned to her task. Her fingers were cold, but her touch on his injury was gentle beyond belief—far more delicate than one would expect from a six-year-old child.
Cheng Yan watched silently for a while, then said, "I'll go get breakfast ready." He shuffled to the mud stove, trying to light a fire. But he was clearly no expert—smoke filled the air, making him cough and splutter.
As Nuan Nuan finished changing the dressing, she tilted her head toward the commotion. Though blind, Yun Hanchuan could almost see the faint expression of disdain on her usually blank face—the slight wrinkle of her small nose and the tight press of her lips made her look like a miniature grown-up. The thought brought a faint smile to his lips.
"*Cough cough*… This country stove is a nightmare…" Cheng Yan wiped the soot from his face, completely stripped of his usual elite assistant image.
After much struggle, the fire finally caught. Cheng Yan shouted excitedly, "It's lit! Look, I—" He paused mid-sentence when he noticed both Yun Hanchuan and Nuan Nuan seemingly "looking" at him. Embarrassed, he quietly lowered his hands.
Then he froze.
In the morning light, Nuan Nuan bore a shocking resemblance to Yun Hanchuan—same high nose bridge, similar jawline, even the slight downward slant at the corners of their eyes. His gaze flicked between the two, stunned into silence.
"Cheng Yan," Yun Hanchuan's voice brought him back, "Head to town later. Try to reach our people."
Cheng Yan nodded, his eyes drifting back to Nuan Nuan , trying to say something. But in the end, he stopped and merely said, "Understood," then stepped out to complete his task.
The cabin was quiet again. Yun Hanchuan watched as Nuan Nuan silently prepared breakfast, swiftly chopping wild vegetables, brushing her stray hair behind her ear now and then.
He leaned back against the wall, watching her, his expression softening. The image of her tiny figure working at the stove stirred a memory—of a painting he once saw long ago. He couldn't remember the painting itself, but the feeling lingered.
"What's your name?" he asked, his voice deep and gentle.
Nuan Nuan didn't respond. The rhythm of her chopping didn't change—tap tap tap—steady and calm.
"Do you live alone?" he tried again.
Still no reply. Only Tuan Tuan jumped onto the table and let out a single soft "meow," as if answering for her.
Yun Hanchuan wasn't offended. He kept going. "Where did you learn about herbs?"
This time, her movements faltered. The knife paused in mid-air for a second before resuming, the sound of chopping now noticeably heavier. Yun Hanchuan realized he might have touched on something painful and chose not to press further.
After breakfast, Nuan Nuan cleaned the dishes and neatly stacked them on a wooden shelf in the corner. Then, picking up her small basket and a smooth, worn walking stick—its tip marked with a red ribbon—she moved toward the door. It was clearly her guide through the mountains.
Yun Hanchuan instinctively stood up, intending to follow. He didn't feel at ease letting a blind girl venture into the hills alone—especially not for the sake of collecting herbs for him.
But Nuan Nuan stopped at the doorway. Without turning her head, she said softly, "Don't follow..."
The voice was quiet, but firm—leaving no room for argument.
Yun Hanchuan stood in place, watching the small figure disappear through the door. A strange feeling welled in his chest—it was the first time in his life that he'd been firmly rejected, let alone by a child. As the head of Yun Corporation, he was used to deference and obedience. Yet here, in this remote mountain village, a blind girl had pushed back.
He let out a helpless sigh and returned to the table. Tuan Tuan hopped onto his lap, nudging his hand with its head—almost as if comforting him.