Bone Setting, Ninth Royal Uncle Is Going to Kill Me

At the very instant Serena Feng was hurled away by Shadow, Ninth Royal Uncle Nolan had every chance to intervene and save her—but he did not. Faced with the choice between saving a life and taking one, he chose the latter.

Nolan watched Serena crash to the ground. Even knowing she’d be badly hurt by the fall, he didn’t hesitate for a second. While Shadow’s movements slowed, Nolan surged forward and drove his sword straight through Shadow’s throat.

"You..." Shadow looked down at the sword piercing his throat, unable to believe he’d actually fallen to two opponents so young.

"So that’s all the Brocade Guard’s Shadow amounts to. I’m looking forward to meeting your commander, Zhuang Han." Nolan twisted his wrist, spinning the sword in Shadow’s throat until it pulped the entire neck. Shadow’s eyes shut, head slumping sideways; as Nolan yanked the sword free, Shadow collapsed to the ground.

Nolan retrieved Serena’s pistol, utterly uninterested in what Shadow looked like. Once a man was dead, his face no longer mattered.

He walked to Serena’s side, bent down, and lifted her into his arms. Seeing the finger-shaped bruises on her neck, a flash of ruthless fury crossed Nolan’s eyes as he turned and strode out of the woods.

Nolan knew the hut was dangerous now, but with Serena injured, he had no choice—even if it was risky, he had to go there. That was where he kept what he needed.

Carrying Serena back to the hut, he laid her flat on the earthen bed. Nolan didn’t check her injuries immediately; instead, he leaned in close and gently brushed away the strands of hair and dead leaves from her pale face.

Nolan felt no regret. If he had to do it all over again, he’d still choose to kill Shadow first. Trading his minor wounds for the enemy’s death was a bargain he’d make every time.

He rubbed his palm gently over Serena’s face, lingered only a moment, then went to the kitchen. Digging into the stove, he pulled out a small box containing the wound medicine he needed.

Thinking of the dirt covering Serena, Nolan hesitated for a moment before deciding to boil a pot of hot water.

To Nolan, lighting the stove was a terrifying task—and sure enough, he lived up to his fears: before the fire even caught, he managed to slice his palm open. When he finally got the flames going, they flared so wildly he nearly singed off his eyebrows.

The kitchen was a hazardous place. Nolan couldn’t fathom how Serena hadn’t managed to injure herself in it.

He started with a huge pot of water; by the time Nolan finished, only a small basin was left. He carried this precious hot water and the wound medicine back inside, undressed Serena, and wiped her body clean. He used hot compresses on the bruises around her neck, hoping to ease the swelling.

Aside from the injury to her throat, Serena had no life-threatening wounds. She knew exactly how to protect her vital points: after falling from such a height, all she suffered was a broken hand and a massive bruise across her back—her internal organs and ribs were untouched.

Bone-setting was something Nolan could handle, but he’d only ever done it for himself. This was his first time treating someone else.

Running his hand over Serena’s smooth, delicate skin, Nolan felt not the slightest trace of desire—only a sharp ache at how badly she was hurt.

Nolan had never even heard of anesthesia; to him, bone-setting pain was trivial. So he didn’t bother with any pain relief—just gripped Serena’s hand and, with a loud crack, snapped the bone back into place.

“Ah—!” Serena had fainted from pain before, but now the agony dragged her back to consciousness. Her tongue was already wounded, and she’d been clenching her mouth shut to stanch the bleeding. Now, with a cry, she spat out a mouthful of blood, splattering both Nolan and herself and tearing her tongue wound wider.

“Serena, what’s wrong?” Nolan hurriedly gathered her up, frantically wiping the blood from her lips—but every time he cleaned it, more kept flowing.

Serena gave a bitter smile, weakly shook her head, and opened her mouth to show she was all right—she just couldn’t speak. She had no intention of killing herself, so of course she hadn’t bitten too deeply.

As for the pain from the bone-setting, she planned to tough it out. But the cold sweat pouring from her brow and her steadily dropping body temperature betrayed her true condition—she was not doing well.

"Your tongue is injured? Let me see." Nolan pried open Serena’s mouth, but all he could see was blood. He filled his own mouth with water, then kissed her lips and passed the water to her.

If her tongue was wounded, pouring water in directly would only make it hurt more. Nolan used his mouth to feed her water, hoping it would hurt less.

Each time Nolan fed Serena clear water, she spat it out as bloody fluid. No matter how many times he tried, the water always came out red.

Nolan realized Serena’s tongue was badly hurt. The wound wasn’t large, but it wouldn’t stop bleeding. He stopped giving her water, took a mouthful of powdered hemostatic medicine, kissed her lips, and pressed the medicine directly onto her tongue.

The medicine touching the raw wound, combined with Nolan’s forceful handling, made Serena convulse in agony.

This wasn’t saving someone—it was outright torture.

Serena’s whole body was weak; her hand hurt, her mouth hurt, everything hurt. After Nolan’s rough treatment, she was in so much pain she almost wished for death. If she’d had any strength left, she would have shoved him away long ago.

Nolan wasn’t treating her like a patient at all—he was treating her like a test subject. She was certain this was his first time saving anyone; he had no sense of gentleness in his hands.

After a long struggle, the bleeding from Serena’s tongue finally stopped. Nolan let out a sigh of relief, laid her flat, found several wooden boards, and splinted her broken hand. Then he changed her into clean clothes. Even after all that, Nolan didn’t rest—he began massaging the huge bruise on her back.

Massaging out a bruise took force, and Nolan was no gentle scholar—his hands were heavy. Serena prided herself on her pain tolerance, but under his “spicy-handed flower-crushing” technique, she couldn’t help groaning in pain and nearly bit her tongue again.

After all that, dawn broke and neither of them had slept a wink. Luckily, the hut was far from any village—otherwise, anyone hearing the moans and groans coming from the place all night would have laughed themselves sick.

Morning came. Serena was still injured, but they had to leave. The people sent to hunt them—and Shadow—hadn’t returned all night. The Brocade Guard must have realized something had happened; by now, they’d surely sent reinforcements.

Serena was still weak, so Nolan decided to carry her on his back. As for the hut’s contents, he had no intention of packing up; once they left, he’d burn the place to the ground.

But they underestimated the Brocade Guard’s efficiency. The moment they reached the door, the sound of hoofbeats thundered outside...

“They’re here. Looks like we’re a step too late.” Nolan retreated inside, laid Serena back on the earthen bed, and pressed a kiss to her lips. “Rest. I’ll take care of this quickly.”

Serena nodded, used her uninjured hand to draw out her pistol, and handed it to Nolan. “Take this.”

“You keep it for self-defense.” Nolan didn’t accept it—this was Serena’s precious weapon.

“In my state, I can’t use it anyway. You take it—finish off those men outside quickly. You know how it works.”

Nolan thought for a moment, then didn’t refuse. He took the gun and strode outside...

Lyndaria’s Brocade Guard really deserves to die!