Inside the vast infirmary nestled in the serene Inner Courtyard, rows of beds were arranged with meticulous precision, facing each other across the polished wooden floors. The cavernous space was neatly divided into two sections by an ornately carved pingfeng—an imposing folding screen adorned with vibrant scenes of cranes taking flight, separating the male and female patient quarters.

The room was cloaked in a soft, diffused glow as shafts of golden daylight trickled through the solitary arched window high on the upper wall. Aged wooden shelves and drawers, overflowing with jars of dried herbs, pungent ginger roots, and twisted medicinal fungi, lined the walls, permeating the air with an earthy, musky aroma. Tendrils of aromatic smoke from smoldering incense coiled upwards, mingling with the incandescent rays that filtered through the open window, bathing the chamber in an ethereal, almost otherworldly ambiance.

Strips of clean white cotton and tightly wound bandages were being meticulously applied to groaning patients by disciples temporarily reassigned as medical attendants. They worked with solemn urgency, their brows furrowed as they tended to the wounded Official Disciples.

"By the heavens..." one attendant muttered under his breath, his voice faltering as he pressed his fingertips firmly against a patient's wrist, probing the meridian points with mounting trepidation. Beads of nervous sweat trickled down his temples as his complexion paled.

Clad in crisp white garments layered over their martial arts robes with cerulean stripes, the attendants moved with deliberate care from bed to bed.

The one who had spoken widened his eyes in alarm, sweat glistening on his brow as he withdrew his hands, having completed his grim examination. "The Qi..." he stammered, "It's as if something is actively obstructing and blocking its flow. I've never encountered anything like this in my training."

The injured disciple under his care could only clench his fists weakly against the coarse sheets, eyes widening with silent dread at the ominous diagnosis. Around him, other patients stirred restlessly, panicked murmurs rising as they overheard the troubling assessment.

Another attendant stumbled backwards from a nearby cot, hands trembling violently as terror contorted his youthful features. "Senior Brother Chen, quickly, come examine this one too!" he cried out, his voice edged with hysteria. "The exact same blockage...the very same aberrant pattern. What kind of monstrous, unholy martial art could possibly cause such an affliction?"

The patients' eyes darted furtively between the flustered medical attendants, their bodies rigid with mounting trepidation. Several tried in vain to part their dry, cracked lips to voice their growing fears, but could only manage shallow, ragged gasps. Beads of cold sweat formed on their pallid brows as they watched the escalating horror contorting the faces of those entrusted with their care.

Chen Mang—known deferentially as Brother Chen, a Senior ranked Inner Disciple temporarily appointed to oversee the infirmary—surveyed the unfolding scene with a heavy heart. The worry etched onto the Junior attendants' features, the pleading, desperate eyes of the stricken Official Disciples lying helpless before him.

Shaking his head slowly, he finally broke the stifling silence with a weary sigh. "My fellow Martial Brothers..." His voice faltered, thick with trepidation, as he swallowed hard to steady himself.

"This...this affliction is far beyond the limits of our training. We need the Elders." Chen Mang paused, allowing the weight of his grim proclamation to sink in before continuing in a strained murmur. "If we do not act swiftly...you risk permanent, irreversible damage to your hard-cultivated Qi."

As the full gravity of his words took hold, a visible tremor coursed through the prone disciples. One of the Junior attendants, his face ashen, gave a shakenhastynod before rushing from the chamber to summon the revered Elders, following Chen Mang's advisement.

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But as Chen turned his furrowed gaze elsewhere, something caught his ear—the faintest whispers of soft laughter seemed to drift from the opposite side of the ornate folding screen separating the women's quarters.

"You..." Chen muttered under his breath, his brow furrowing deeper as he started toward the partitioned female section to investigate. What he found there stopped him dead in his tracks.

Despite the clearly grievous injuries they had sustained, the female patients were sitting upright on their simple cots, serene looks of contentment on their faces. Some were heavily bandaged, their wounds coated with thick layers of pungent healing pastes.

Yet, apart from one figure still slumbering peacefully, they appeared unnervingly hale—the very picture of health. They chatted amiably, letting occasional soft peals of laughter, their demeanors betraying no signs of the battered, gravely wounded disciples who had been carried in just hours earlier.

Chen Mang's brow furrowed deeper as bewilderment gripped him. 'How is this possible?' he wondered, his thoughts racing frantically. He vividly recalled the appalling state they had been in when first carried into the infirmary on stretchers just hours before.

Many had been writhing in agony, crying out from the searing pain lancing through their joints. Some bore deep, oozing gashes etched across their thighs and faces. Others had necks mottled with angry bruises or muscles in their legs twisted at unnatural, grotesque angles.

Such grievous injuries, especially for women unaccustomed to enduring this level of brutal physical trauma, should have left them bedridden for days, their faces contorted masks of visible agony. Yet here they were, chatting and laughing as if none of the catastrophic harm had ever befallen them.

The young women immediately noticed Chen Mang's imposing figure standing frozen before the partition, his expression one of utter disbelief. "Greetings, Senior Brother Chen," they chorused politely, cupping their hands in a show of respect.

Chen Mang waved his hands dismissively. "No need for formality. You're all still recovering from...from your injuries." He struggled to find the words. "What...what happened here?"

Before any of the healed women could offer an explanation, the last patient, a lithe figure who had been slumbering peacefully, suddenly stirred. Her eyelids fluttered open as she took in her unfamiliar surroundings with a look of bewildered trepidation.

"Senior Sister Lian!"

"Gang'er!"

...

Lian Rougang blinked slowly, her eyes struggling to focus as she turned toward the sound of the familiar voices. There sat Ding Xiuying, her dearest friend, upright on an infirmary cot. Ding Xiuying's radiant face was streaked with drying tears, yet she beamed a warm, relieved smile. Fresh white bandages were wrapped around her hands and neck.

Qiu Xia and Shen Bi, her Junior Sisters, smiled at her as well from their own beds. They too were heavily bandaged, yet remarkably animate.

As the reality of the situation blossomed in her mind, Lian Rougang's lips curved into a gentle, fond smile of her own. "How are you all?" she asked, her gaze drifting down to inspect her own prone form. Despite the extensive bandages enveloping nearly every visible inch of her body, she felt no pain, no lingering aches or injuries.

"We're just fine, Senior Sister," Qiu Xia replied softly, lifting her heavily bandaged arm with surprising ease to demonstrate her restored vigor.

"These bandages seem unnecessary," remarked the petite Shen Bi, as she experimentally flexed her slender fingers wrapped in pristine linen without any lingering discomfort or pain.

The atmosphere in the room shifted abruptly as Ding Xiuying tilted her head inquisitively. "More importantly," she began, her voice lowering with apprehension, "do you remember anything, Gang'er?" A crease formed between her delicate brows as she added hesitantly, "The last thing I recall is...your sparring"

Ding Xiuying's concerned gaze found her dearest friend. The other women turned their attention towards the newly-awakened Senior Sister as well, their expressions mirroring Ding Xiuying's worried frown. They too seemed to share only blurry recollections of what terrible events had transpired.

All of them knew one thing: the Emei Sect… that Senior Disciple of the Emei Sect… every single one of them had been defeated by her. It was quite shameful.

For a long moment, Lian Rougang merely blinked slowly, her expression unreadable as the cogs of realization visibly turned behind her eyes. Her mouth fell slightly agape as her countenance hardened, pieces of the puzzle at last falling into place. "Junior Brother..." she murmured, her tone taking on a razor's edge that caused the others to regard her with confused apprehension.

"Junior Brother Ji?" Shen Bi ventured hesitantly, trying to supply the name that Lian seemed on the verge of speaking. But before she could continue, a pained groan escaped her lips as she clutched at her temples, face contorting.

"Sister Shen!" Qiu Xia cried out, alarmed, only to cry out herself as a sudden piercing pain lanced through her own skull.

"Ugh...what's happening to my head?" Ding Xiuying muttered through gritted teeth, clearly being afflicted by the same debilitating invisible force.

As the bewildered patients began descending into chaos, , Lian Rougang stood abruptly from her cot. Her movements were decisive, imbued with crisp purpose as she straightened her back. "I need to get to the Central Courtyard. Right now," she declared flatly, her brows furrowed and eyes brimming with steely urgency.

"No, you mustn't!" Chen Mang protested, stepping forward to impede her. "You've only just—" But his words caught in his throat as his eyes widened in disbelieving shock.

Without preamble or hesitation, Lian Rougang tore away the thick swathes of pristine linen binding her form, letting the discarded bandages flutter to the hardwood in a heap at her feet. As she brushed past the stunned Chen Mang, her voice remained calm yet allowed no room for argument. "Thank you for your concern, Martial Brother Chen. But as you can see, I'm perfectly fine."

Where angry slashes and contusions had marred her flesh just hours prior, her skin was now unblemished and glowing with vitality. Not a single scratch or mark remained as evidence of the apparent grievous injuries she had sustained.