18. I will take responsibility for you.

She rubbed her heavy, dizzy head but could not recall what had happened. She only remembered knocking on the door of White Crane's place... and then?

Her eyes widened.

She was somehow lying on a bed?

And it wasn’t even her bed!

The first thing she did was lift the covers to check her clothes. Thankfully, she was still wearing the nightgown from last night, with no strange marks on her body.

But...

Like a stuck machine, she slowly turned her neck and glanced at the side.

His silver-white hair was messy, partially covering half his face. His pale lips were lightly pressed together, and his white shirt was slightly wrinkled. It looked like he was still asleep.

If not White Crane, then who else?

Could it be she was so desperate she took advantage of White Crane’s pale and fragile state?

For a moment, she wavered, doubting her own self-control.

Not impossible... though she felt she wasn’t that beastly.

His thick, white eyelashes fluttered as his pale eyes slowly opened. Upon seeing her, he was silent for a moment, then propped himself up against the headboard. “I will take responsibility for you.”

“...Huh?” she was shocked.

“Yes.”

“We?” She looked at White Crane in confusion. Seeing his calm expression and feeling nothing unusual on herself, she refused to believe she had forced herself on him in a moment of passion.

She might force Shi Jue, but never White Crane.

“Yes.”

“Did we... do everything?” Worried that White Crane didn’t understand, she clapped her hands twice for emphasis.

His pupils contracted slightly, as if he hadn’t grasped the meaning at first. He frowned and nodded, “I will take responsibility for you.”

Seeming concerned she still had doubts, he added, “You carry my scent—very strong. I... did something very improper to you.” Lowering his gaze, his pale cheeks flushed.

Refusing to believe it, she lifted the covers again. Two slightly disheveled men—how could that be? She jumped out of bed, feeling no strange sensations at all.

“What exactly did you do to me?” she pressed.

White Crane tilted his head, pursed his lips, and stayed silent.

---

She ruffled her messy hair and clicked her tongue.

“I bit you while you were asleep.”

“No wonder my neck felt stiff. Wait, why did you bite my neck? Aren’t you a vegetarian?” She touched her neck, feeling a faint sting just behind it.

“Birds are omnivores,” White Crane answered solemnly.

“I was seriously injured three months ago... that’s why I did such a thing to you. I will take responsibility,” he explained.

“You were injured? Then why didn’t you tell me when I asked before?” she inquired.

Seeing his hesitation, she kindly offered an explanation for him: “Were you afraid I wouldn’t believe your story about the changes? That I might use it to threaten you?”

“That’s understandable; treatment is fine. But let me clarify—I don’t need you to be responsible. You don’t have to say it unwillingly. I don’t like that aloof type anyway.”

Having just gotten out of bed, her mood fluctuated sharply, and her tone was somewhat harsh.

She stepped forward and grabbed his hand decisively. “I’m treating you now. If you get hurt in the future, just tell me directly.”

Closing her eyes, she guided the life force within her body to flow into White Crane, just as before.

Suddenly, she was pulled into another illusion: a waterfall curtain, towering mountains and dense forests lush with life. But an overwhelming inferno swept through, devastating everything. Inside a treehouse, a delicate silver-haired boy with pale eyes was trapped, unable to escape the raging flames.

With such distinctive eye and hair color, she immediately recognized him as White Crane.

The boy’s face was smudged with soot, yet his beauty was undeniable.

“Help! Save us! Cough, cough.”

She knew she was now inside White Crane’s spirit world, so she was safe.

She stepped through the flames and rushed into the collapsing treehouse.

“White Crane, come quickly! I’ll take you out!”

The boy’s eyes brightened when he saw her, then he called out, “Big sister, and my little brother is hurt. Can he come with us?”

Only then did she notice another boy hiding behind White Crane.

The boy peeked at her shyly.

Also silver-haired with pale eyes.

A sudden flash of thought raced through her mind—she felt she had overlooked something.

With the fire growing fiercer, she grabbed both White Crane’s and the younger boy’s hands and led them out of the blaze.

As they escaped, a white light flashed.

She opened her eyes. White Crane had his eyes closed, brows furrowed, a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead. His once pale face now showed a healthier tint.

“How’s the wound?” she asked, knowing roughly it was on his back, concerned.

---

White Crane slowly opened his eyes and looked up at her.

Recalling the scene just experienced, a fragile female had descended like a goddess, rescuing his helpless childhood self from the fire. The scorching heat seemed to linger on his skin, as did the warmth in her palm.

“Much better,” he averted his gaze.

Seeing his odd reaction, she grew curious. “Let me see the wound to check if it’s fully healed.”

“No need.”

Afraid his tone was too cold, he added, “It’s ugly. You won’t like it if you see.”

No female beast would adore a male covered in scars.

Guessing his shame, she said naturally, “It’s okay. I don’t mind. Show me. I’ll feel at ease only when I see the wound truly healed.”

He was silent for a moment and agreed, “Alright.”

One by one, he unbuttoned his white shirt. What appeared first were large burn scars from arm to chest, along with various old injuries. Against his fair skin, they were particularly striking.

Her first reaction was shock, then pain.

She thought of the little boy in the fire—so beautiful and lovely in youth, yet suffering so much...

“Don’t look. It’s ugly.”

Long exposure to her gaze made his already low self-esteem shrink further. He pulled his shirt closed.

But she grabbed his hand firmly. The petite, snowy-skinned girl looked up seriously and said, “It’s not ugly.”

She wanted to ask how he had been rescued from that fire, but the answer was clear before her.

Taking his hand, she drew the shirt from his grasp and slowly removed it.

White Crane turned slightly to show her his back.

The grim scar stretched a foot or two, almost spanning his entire back.

Though it had scabbed over, it was still unimaginable what he had endured.

“The wound is scabbed. It might itch a bit these days, but don’t scratch, or it will slow healing.” She helped him put on the shirt she had removed.

His lean waist and slender back resembled a perfect work of art.

The scars were but beautiful markings.

She silently helped him dress.