Nonsense! She’s Not a Bad Woman! - Chapter 30

“Become a fool?” Qiao Wanyan’s delicate brows furrowed slightly. “No way. I refuse to turn out like Jiang Qiyun.”

Jiang Qiyun: “?????”

He exhaled a long breath. Forget it. There’s no reasoning with someone whose brain’s half-cooked from fever.

“Hey, can you move at all? We need to get that arrow out of your shoulder—otherwise, you might not live to see tomorrow’s sun.”

Qiao Wanyan half-squinted, her energy drained. Her clothes were still soaked through, with only the side closest to the fire having dried a little. Yet despite the wetness, she didn’t feel cold. On the contrary—her whole body was burning hot, her head swimming.

“What if tomorrow’s cloudy?” she muttered, then paused and whispered, “It hurts. It hurts so much…”

Jiang Qiyun froze for a moment.

It was the first time he’d ever seen Qiao Wanyan act so soft and fragile. Her tone was light, with the faintest hint of a spoiled plea. That pitiful, coquettish look fluttered across his heart like a breeze, stirring an unfamiliar sensation he couldn’t quite name.

He closed his eyes and sighed in resignation. Forget it. At this rate, if I don’t step in, she’ll burn herself into a corpse before the fever gets her.

“I always carry wound medicine on me. I’ll pull the arrow out—but you’ll have to grit your teeth and bear it, alright?”

Qiao Wanyan gave a muffled hum. “Just… be gentle.”

Jiang Qiyun’s ears turned red in an instant.

His mind—completely unprompted—flashed back to the time he visited a friend and happened to pass by his study… only to hear unspeakable sounds coming from within. A woman’s voice, faint and breathy, saying, “Be gentle…”

He smacked himself on the forehead. What the hell am I thinking!?

Drawing in a deep breath, he focused on her injury. The arrow was still lodged in her shoulder. He hesitated, then steeled himself and slowly began to remove her outer garments, revealing the smooth, pale skin of her shoulder and neck.

The wound was already red and swollen, showing signs of inflammation. Jiang Qiyun clenched his jaw, gripped the shaft of the arrow, and began to pull.

The moment he moved it, Qiao Wanyan gasped sharply, a cold sweat breaking across her forehead. Her face turned deathly pale, lips—already lacking color—now completely drained of life.

The searing pain snapped her mind a little clearer, but Jiang Qiyun’s expression was no better.

“…It’s a barbed arrow,” he muttered, glancing at her in growing alarm.

Barbed arrows were a nightmare to extract—most grown men couldn’t endure it. How could a pampered noble miss like Qiao Wanyan take this kind of pain without passing out?

Her hands were clenched tightly into fists, fingernails digging into her own palms without her even noticing.

But the arrow had to come out. If it stayed, she wouldn’t make it through the night. She’d made it this far—she couldn’t die here, in some godforsaken wilderness.

Her eyes shone with steely determination, though her voice still sounded pitiful. “Knock me out. Once I’m unconscious, pull it out, alright?”

Jiang Qiyun shook his head. “No. If the pain shocks you awake while you’re out, your body could go into shock—it’ll only make things worse. I need to make a small incision to widen the wound. Bear with it.”

Qiao Wanyan shut her eyes, paused, then gave a quiet, “Alright.”

Jiang Qiyun took out his dagger and held it over the fire to disinfect it. Once it had cooled just enough, he carefully began to make an incision around the wound to loosen the arrow’s hold.

As he worked, he glanced over at Qiao Wanyan.

She was biting down hard on her lip, the originally pale skin now turning a deep red from blood pooling beneath the surface.

He whispered softly, “…You can scream, you know.”

“Don’t bite your lip like that.”

Jiang Qiyun had just spoken when—

AAHHHHHHHHHH!

A wretched, soul-piercing scream rang out.

He froze. That noise—so shrill it put slaughtered pigs to shame—had actually come… from her?

Before he could even react, he yanked the barbed arrow free. Blood gushed out in an instant, staining the arrow’s tip a violent crimson. The wound was a mangled mess of torn flesh and shattered skin.

Qiao Wanyan had already passed out from the pain.

Jiang Qiyun quickly applied wound medicine to the area, tearing a strip from his own dried clothes to bandage her up as best he could.

Even so, he didn’t dare relax.

He carefully reached out and placed a trembling finger under her nose.

Only when he felt the faintest breath of air did he finally let out a shaky exhale.

Then, as if making a firm decision, he reached into his robe and took out a small porcelain bottle.

Inside it lay a single, precious pill.

The Guiyuan Pill—a miraculous elixir made by the retired head of the Imperial Medical Bureau, crafted with all his life’s effort. A gift from his grandfather the day he was born.

Only two had ever existed. One was still sealed away in the Imperial Pharmacy. The other… had been given to Jiang Qiyun.

A single pill could preserve a dying breath—but whether one survived afterward would depend on fate and willpower alone.

Qiao Wanyan lay unconscious. Her injured shoulder peeked out from the dressing, with fresh blood seeping through. She looked like a fragile flower ravaged by wind and rain—barely hanging on.

Her long hair was splayed across the wooden planks beneath her. Though her beauty had always been like that of a goddess, in her current feverish and weak state, she seemed even more heartbreakingly delicate. So soft, so defenseless…

Jiang Qiyun’s heart twisted.

In the end, he fed her the pill.

“Tch. What a waste on a shameless woman like you.”

Her clothes were still soaked, but Jiang Qiyun didn’t dare try changing them for her.

Instead, he built several more fires—by her head, her feet, and both sides of her body—to surround her with warmth.

The hut they found was half-collapsed. The bed was broken beyond use. He’d salvaged a few wooden planks, laid them down, and that’s where Qiao Wanyan now rested—completely encircled by flames.

Jiang Qiyun, utterly exhausted, collapsed beside her with no strength left to even sit upright.

His gaze fell on the girl in the firelight, lips pressing together silently.

To put it nicely, she looks like some sort of divine maiden being offered to the gods.

To put it not-so-nicely… it looks like he’s about to cremate her.

…

In the second half of the night, Qiao Wanyan stirred awake.

The very moment consciousness returned, so did the searing pain.

Just the smallest movement sent waves of agony crashing over her in relentless succession.

She went rigid—too afraid to move again.

This pain… was all thanks to Qiao Yihuan.

She had been too careless.

In the storybooks, Qiao Yihuan had always stepped forward to block the arrow for the crown prince.

But this time, instead of being a heroine, Qiao Yihuan had shoved her off a cliff.

Qiao Wanyan gritted her teeth. She was not the type to delay vengeance—yet this time, she’d have to make an exception.

“…Jiang Qiyun?” she called weakly.

Jiang Qiyun wasn’t asleep. Maybe it was from falling off that ridiculous cliff, or maybe it was the lingering echo of Qiao Wanyan’s scream from earlier that kept haunting his mind like a ghost.

He’d never liked her. To him, she had always been a fake, manipulative girl who fawned over the strong and stepped on the weak.

But just hours ago…

He saw a side of her that was real.

So real it felt unfamiliar.

Too unfamiliar.

It was like meeting her for the first time.

“What?” he snapped, opening his eyes irritably.

“…I’m thirsty.”

Jiang Qiyun sat up, his face scrunched in annoyance. Her tone sounded so commanding, so princess-like, it made his blood pressure spike.

“Why are you such a handful?” he grumbled.

But Qiao Wanyan wasn’t stupid. She could read a room.

This wasn’t the time to talk back.

“…Please,” she added softly.

Jiang Qiyun’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, then clicked his tongue and stood up. “Such a pain!”

Despite his grumbling, he stepped outside and made his way down to the river.

Not long after, he returned with a cracked wooden bowl filled with water.

Carefully, he helped her sit up and held the bowl to her lips.

Qiao Wanyan drank it all, every drop.

Only then did she sigh contentedly and mutter, “Took you long enough. What were you doing—evolving from a snail?”

Jiang Qiyun: “…………?????”

“…Are you secretly the God of Changing Faces?”