Chapter 121: Sorry

Xun Feng frowned slightly, but when he tried to recall the sensation, it was completely gone—perhaps it had been nothing more than a fleeting moment of confusion, he thought to himself. Watching as the young man’s figure gradually faded into the distance, Xun Feng finally shook his head, deciding not to dwell on it any further.

Judging by the time, Qin Sheng should have woken up by now.

At the Suiyuan Shop.

Contrary to Xun Feng’s expectation, Qin Sheng had not awakened, even after taking her medicine.

“The result of a psychic backlash,” Lu Shenchen remarked, glancing at Qin Sheng as he busied himself searching for the herbs she needed.

“Psychic backlash?” Song Qing’an frowned, clear skepticism in his tone. “Has this ever happened before?”

His gaze fell again on Qin Sheng, who lay with eyes closed, quiet as a porcelain doll that might shatter at the slightest touch. An indescribable feeling welled up in his chest—a strange sensation he’d never experienced before, one that surfaced every time he saw Qin Sheng these past few days.

Song Qing’an’s expression grew dazed; he looked at Qin Sheng again, incredulous, and only when he felt none of that earlier sensation did he allow himself to relax.

Good. For a moment, he’d almost thought he was falling for her.

“What are you thinking about?”

Lu Shenchen waved a hand in front of the distracted Song Qing’an, pulling him back to the present.

“It’s nothing.” Song Qing’an coughed lightly, masking his awkwardness, then pressed on, “So there have been a few cases like this before, but not many?”

Lu Shenchen nodded, gathering his medical tools and heading outside. Song Qing’an tucked the blanket around Qin Sheng before following him.

“Not many at all—just one or two cases recorded. Most people adapt to their powers soon after awakening, even mastering them for their own use. Qin Sheng’s situation is unusually complicated.”

Lu Shenchen set down his book and, as if struck by a thought, glanced up at Song Qing’an. “Did Qin Sheng use her powers?”

After all, now everyone in their group knew Qin Sheng had awakened to her abilities, but she hadn’t fully mastered them yet. If she had unleashed her powers forcefully, a backlash would be understandable.

Song Qing’an frowned, recalling how Qin Sheng had single-handedly fought off a whole horde of zombies that day.

“She didn’t use her powers,” he replied with certainty. He had watched her closely during the fight; if there had been any psychic fluctuations, he would have sensed them. Even though she wore a spirit-dampening ring, it made no difference to him.

“That’s odd—suffering a psychic backlash without using her powers. I’ll need to do some serious research before I can give you a proper answer.” For once, Lu Shenchen’s brows drew together, clearly troubled by the complexity of the case.

“What are the chances she’ll wake up soon?” Song Qing’an’s gaze darkened as he looked toward the half-open door of Qin Sheng’s room, a bitter taste rising in his heart. If only he’d come sooner.

“Physically, she’s fine—just deeply asleep from exhaustion. But I worry what this might mean for her long-term health.” With that, Lu Shenchen climbed the stairs, intent on a thorough investigation.

Song Qing’an stood there, lost in thought, replaying every detail of seeing Qin Sheng today.

Usually so calm, his eyes always smiling, today the young man’s brows were knit in worry—torn, pained, and guilty.

His fingertips chilled, Song Qing’an felt his strength ebbing away. He slowly approached the half-open door, sighing softly as he prepared to close it and leave, when a weak cough sounded from inside.

It was as if a puppet had suddenly acquired a soul—Song Qing’an spun around, fetching water for Qin Sheng. In his haste, he bumped into the door, sloshing water onto his sleeve, but he couldn’t care less about such trivialities.

“Cough, cough…” Qin Sheng opened her eyes, immediately recognizing the room as the one where she’d often stayed at Suiyuan Shop. She remembered most of what had happened today, though at the crucial moment, it was as if her limbs had no longer belonged to her.

Qin Sheng hadn’t slept long, and most of her exhaustion still lingered. She struggled to lift her arm, only relaxing when she was sure the strange sensation had passed.

Just as she gathered her thoughts, there was a noise at the door.

She looked up to see Song Qing’an entering with a cup of water, clearly flustered after bumping into the door.

Qin Sheng stared, briefly at a loss for words. Her throat ached so badly that even when she parted her lips to speak, nothing came out.

“Awake?”

“Come, have some water.” Song Qing’an set the cup on the wooden table and moved to help her sit up. Since Qin Sheng was too tired to move, she let him.

After two sips, she finished the cup, her throat much soothed, and prepared to ask what had happened.

“Psychic backlash,” Song Qing’an said, as if reading her mind, offering the answer before she could even ask.

“Hm?” Qin Sheng was surprised he’d anticipated her thoughts; hearing she’d suffered a psychic backlash, she bit her lip anxiously.

Like a worm in her stomach, Song Qing’an spoke again, answering the question on her mind. “It’s rare—but you’re fine now.”

Qin Sheng nodded thoughtfully, licking her lips which soon felt dry again.

Before she could ask for more, Song Qing’an was already refilling her cup.

She watched his hurried figure in surprise. Somehow, Song Qing’an seemed different today—strangely tense, unlike the image she had of him.

When he returned, this time he was much calmer, carrying the water steadily.

“Drink up.”

Qin Sheng’s pale lips curved into a smile as she took the warm cup, finishing it in a few gulps.

“Want more?” Song Qing’an took her empty cup and set it on the table.

She shook her head, smiling contentedly. “No, I’ve had enough.”

He nodded slightly. Suddenly, the air between them felt awkward.

Qin Sheng shifted nervously.

“Sorry…”

A tiny, mosquito-soft apology reached Qin Sheng’s ears—spoken so quickly and quietly, yet she heard it clearly. She was startled, not sure why Song Qing’an was apologizing.

“I wasn’t there sooner.” Song Qing’an saw the surprise and bewilderment in her eyes, pressed his lips together, and spoke again.

Qin Sheng’s hands tightened, her nervousness plain. Faced with this Song Qing’an, she was at a loss—but beneath it all, a warmth stirred in her heart, a feeling she realized she hadn’t felt in a long time.

She smiled gently, saying, “It wasn’t your fault. Don’t blame yourself.”

But Song Qing’an’s eyes remained dim; he pressed his lips together, unsure what to say.

Sensing his discomfort, Qin Sheng forced a lighthearted smile. “I did take on a whole horde of zombies by myself—shouldn’t you at least praise me?”

She’d never tried to ease the mood this way before, and it felt odd, but more than anything she wanted to recapture the feeling she’d had with Song Qing’an before—the freedom to be happy without care.

At her teasing, Song Qing’an shook his head, laughing softly, and obliged her with praise.

“You were very brave today—just as I remember, perhaps even more impressive.”

Though it was a straightforward compliment, Song Qing’an’s deep, magnetic voice lent the words a subtle, ambiguous undertone.

But there’s truth to the saying: a handsome man’s praise can lift anyone’s spirits, especially when it’s someone with such a pleasant voice.

Qin Sheng’s smile bloomed, bringing color back to her once-lifeless face.

Song Qing’an, his gaze filled with her radiant smile, felt his own inner turmoil ease.

“Alright, alright, I’ll stop being conceited. But why did I suffer a psychic backlash?” Qin Sheng sobered, fixing Song Qing’an with a serious look.

Her bright smile gave way to her usual calm composure, and Song Qing’an, to his own surprise, felt a twinge of regret—he almost wished her smile had lingered a bit longer.

He clenched his hands at his side, quickly shaking off the thought, his earlobes tinged red—a testament to his inner conflict.

Qin Sheng, however, noticed none of this. For one, she was more concerned about her own condition, and for another, the white strands of Song Qing’an’s hair covered his red ears.

Song Qing’an composed himself and relayed everything Lu Shenchen had said.

Qin Sheng digested it in silence before speaking. “So it’s hard to determine the cause, and I’ll just have to be on guard from now on?”

Song Qing’an nodded, confirming her thoughts.

A seed of worry took root in Qin Sheng’s heart—if she ever suffered another psychic backlash while using her powers, the consequences could be dire.

“With me here, you don’t have to worry.”