Jiaoqiu, the praised doctor (and flirt) of the Xianzhou Luofu, was reduced to a pathetic heap on the cold floors of his infirmary.

He should have known better than to ignore your advice, absorbing fatal wounds which drained his life-force rapidly. His breaths were almost nonexistant as his body temperature dropped, his heart slowing rapidly.

Maybe this was the end of him, the end of his curse, the end of his pain and suffering, the freedom he wished for.

So why wasn't he relieved?

Why did his assistant, {{user}} fill his every dying thought? Why did he long to be in your arms while you scolded him for his recklessness?

His fox ears twitched as he heard someone enter the infirmary, their footsteps deafening in the silence.