FRGNM -Chapter 81 The Contest

As whispers spread through the hall, the person seated above had already darkened his expression. Luo Song rubbed his fingers together, his brows knitting slightly as he lowered his head and asked, “Is what you said true?”

“Absolutely true, Young Master. Everyone in the palace already knows,” the maid standing beside Luo Song replied softly.

His gaze fell on Nangong Mo. Looking at the expressionless man, Luo Song smoothed his long hair and stood up. “Prince Nangong, I heard that the Crown Princess was recently attacked by assassins and is beyond saving. I am deeply sorry. May I ask, Your Highness, who killed the Crown Princess? I, Luo Song—even if it costs me my life—will avenge you.”

“This…” Nangong Mo frowned slightly and glanced sideways at Ling Ruoxi. He had never had any real feelings for Ling Huiru—she had merely been a bed companion. Her death brought him no real pain.

Now that Luo Song brought it up, the target was clearly Luo Mingyu and Ling Ruoxi.

“I don’t know,” Nangong Mo finally denied.

Laughing loudly, Luo Song walked toward Luo Mingyu. “You may not know, Your Highness, but I do. I’ve heard that it was you who killed the Crown Princess. Luo Mingyu, do you know the rules of the island? No one beside Prince Nangong may be touched!”

“Oh?” Luo Mingyu slowly rose to his feet, smiling faintly. “Luo Song, and how can you prove that I killed the Crown Princess? But never mind—I’ll say it plainly. Yes, I killed her. She intended to harm my woman and tried again and again to frame Ruoxi. My patience is limited. Do you think I would allow another woman to harm my woman?”

His expression was calm and composed, not the slightest ripple showing on the surface.

The air around them was thick with the scent of gunpowder.

Luo Song sneered. “Then do you know the consequences of offending the Nangong family? Don’t forget the Duanyun Kingdom—it is a state that offers tribute to Qiongyu Immortal Island. If we become enemies, you know the Island Lord will be furious.”

“I know. So what?” Luo Mingyu replied, his arrogant, domineering aura more than enough to suppress the man before him.

The two faced off—one calm and smiling, like a god descending from the heavens; the other cold and merciless, icy as snow, like a demon from hell.

Both were from Qiongyu Immortal Island, yet one was heaven and the other earth—one light, one darkness.

“Hmph, nothing much.” Luo Song laughed coldly. “But I heard on the island that the woman who captivated you is skilled in music, chess, calligraphy, painting, poetry, and song. She also knows medicine and isn’t bad with her hands. A dignified young master like you surely wouldn’t be interested in some useless woman. So—Dongmei, come out and compete with Miss Ling.”

He flexed his wrist as he spoke, smiling coldly.

Setting aside Dou Qi, music, chess, calligraphy, and painting alone would be enough to send Ling Ruoxi straight to the eighteenth level of hell. Her clumsy, barely legible handwriting—the kind that could make Luo Mingyu cry—how could it possibly compare to Dongmei’s?

Moreover, the women from Qiongyu Immortal Island were all carefully selected elites, darlings among maids, already masters of these arts. Some could even stand suspended in midair—proof enough of their strength, far beyond anything people here could match.

Damn it, this was clearly aimed straight at her!

Ling Ruoxi’s goosebumps nearly rose all over her body. Her mouth twitched as she was about to speak, but the man beside her nodded readily. “Sure. My woman is not something your little maid can compare to. What shall we compete in? You choose.”

“Damn you, Luo Mingyu!” Ling Ruoxi was about to explode. With her clumsy hands, she was doomed to lose here! And this man agreed so readily—wasn’t she about to make a fool of herself?

Music? She could play piano and guitar—did those exist here? Let alone the guzheng or jade flute; she’d never learned those. Chess? Would five-in-a-row count? As for Go, she could only cry. Calligraphy—would Three Hundred Tang Poems do? Painting—could comics count?

As for combat skills, she didn’t even have Dou Qi. Any Dou Qi practitioner here could defeat her easily. She had zero chance of winning.

“I won’t say I’m bullying her. Since her medical skills are said to be impressive, the first round will be medicine. The second, poetry. The third, combat. What do you think?” Luo Song sneered.

Luo Mingyu rubbed the bridge of his nose and smiled. “Fine.”

“Fine my ass!” Ling Ruoxi nearly cursed out loud. The first round was obviously being handed to her—she had studied medicine on Liuli Island, so naturally her medical skills surpassed those here. But the remaining two rounds? She was guaranteed to lose!

The man simply wrapped an arm around her waist and laughed softly. “I believe in you, Ruoxi. But don’t underestimate your opponent. There’s a reason Qiongyu Immortal Island is called an Immortal Island—its meaning goes beyond ordinary understanding.”

Oh? Was that a warning?

Ling Ruoxi frowned slightly.

The white-robed woman who had been standing beside Luo Song stepped forward and bowed slightly to Luo Mingyu. “Young Master Mingyu, please forgive the offense. Miss Ling, this way.”

At the hint of excitement, the spectators hurried over. This banquet had originally been held to introduce Luo Song. Emperor Nangong Qin was busy with affairs and had sent Nangong Mo in his place—though the ministers below all knew their emperor was busy entangled with a beauty.

“Damn it, Luo Mingyu, what exactly are you trying to do?” Ling Ruoxi pinched the flesh at his side and glared at him fiercely.

But in his eyes, there was none of the teasing she expected—only a rare seriousness. Trust. Yes, absolute trust.

“Don’t lose my face,” Luo Mingyu said with a faint smile, his hand resting on her shoulder as he brushed past her.

Luo Song’s challenge was something he had to accept. He knew that now it was Ling Ruoxi’s turn—and soon, it would be his.

He didn’t want her to take risks, but he also could not lose to Luo Song. In his dictionary, the word “lose” did not exist.

“Very well. Let me see what your woman is capable of!” Luo Song snorted lightly and returned to his seat.

Dongmei looked gentle and obedient, no more than twenty years old. Her sharp, gleaming eyes locked onto Ling Ruoxi. “Miss Ling, best two out of three. If you win the first two rounds, the third will be unnecessary. For the first round—medicine—let Prince Nangong set the problem. He may choose someone with a difficult illness. We will each diagnose and treat accordingly.”

“Mm. Bring a seriously ill prisoner from the Heavenly Prison,” Nangong Mo said calmly. There was no shortage of sick people in the dungeon; bringing one or two was no problem. He knew Ling Ruoxi’s medical skills were extraordinary, so he wouldn’t choose something trivial. He wanted someone gravely ill, near death—only then would her abilities truly show.

Before long, the guards carried in a man. Having been imprisoned in the Heavenly Prison for years, his skin had turned pale, but his body was covered in whip marks from beatings. Both legs were broken, the flesh on them turning purplish. He was breathing in little air and exhaling much—clearly not long for this world.

A doctor’s instincts told Ling Ruoxi that the man was in critical condition. She took out a silk scarf from her bosom, folded it into a triangle, and tied it over her face. She did not touch the man directly; instead, she tore a strip from her skirt and wrapped it around her hand.

This immediately caused dissatisfaction among the onlookers, some of whom looked at her with disgust.

“How can she be like that? The man’s about to die and she’s still being picky!”

“But he is filthy—he does look disgusting. Doing that at least keeps her hands clean.”

“He’s just a death-row prisoner anyway. Is it really worth the effort to save him?”

The crowd buzzed noisily, but under Nangong Mo’s gaze, they all fell silent, eyes wide as they watched.

Dongmei, however, remained calm. She didn’t even examine the prisoner, simply standing there with her arms crossed. Luo Song watched the spectacle while sipping his wine, paying it little mind.

Severe infection from suppurating wounds, untreated fractures leading to persistent high fever and worsening injuries. The damp dungeon was a breeding ground for bacteria; constant contact with the ground caused rotting flesh and plague infection. On top of that, the man had previously suffered from mental illness—violent tendencies triggered by stimulation to the brain.

In short, he had likely been imprisoned for killing by mistake or committing some other crime.

Ling Ruoxi took pen and paper, frowning slightly. After a moment, she flicked her wrist, wild strokes appearing on the page—unintelligible to anyone but a physician.

After writing a full prescription, she set the pen down. “Go fetch these herbs. I will refine them into pills. Have him take them once a day for three days, and he will recover.”

“Bring silver needles. I need to perform acupuncture to unblock his meridians.”

For some reason, seeing that Dongmei still hadn’t moved made Ling Ruoxi uneasy.

Why wasn’t she acting?

What she hated most was facing an opponent who didn’t move—like someone who already knew everything she would do and was waiting to strike a fatal blow at the end.

Dongmei curled her lips in disdain. “Unblocking meridians? That’s a waste of time. And even if he takes your medicine, it will take three days to show results—too slow. He might not even live that long. Just watch me.”

“You—” Ling Ruoxi’s heart sank. She knew the worst was coming. She quickly turned to look at Luo Mingyu, but he merely smiled at her, his expression unchanged, even a little helpless.

Dongmei took out a pill and sneered. “It seems you still don’t understand why Qiongyu Immortal Island is called an Immortal Island. On the island, there are countless spiritual herbs. We refine some of them into pills—these pills can treat all kinds of conditions, including his.”

With a flick of her hand, the gray pill shot straight into the man’s mouth. The prisoner, who had been lying motionless, suddenly opened his eyes as if poisoned. He clutched his chest and rolled violently on the ground.

“Ah! It hurts—so much pain! Fire—fire is burning me alive! My legs—my legs! Ah—!”

His miserable screams echoed throughout the courtyard as he writhed and howled.

But at that very moment, something astonishing happened.

The man’s broken legs began to regrow at a speed visible to the naked eye—his necrotic flesh completely restored.