The howling wind roared in Qin An’s ears. He felt like he was back on that night again—only now, torrential rain poured down, and a little girl rested in his arms instead.

*Is this how it ends?* Qin An gazed up at the obsidian sky.

He didn’t want to die. For the first time, that raw, unfamiliar feeling surged within him. He was Doville’s S-rank assassin, yet secretly, the underworld ranked him G-class—a tier beyond human limits.

Assassins were typically graded S to E. G-class was a later addition.

An S-rank could wipe out a platoon. A G-rank could annihilate a battalion—or even a small nation. The Esper world followed similar tiers: Levels 1 to 5. At the peak of Level 5 stood the "Awakened Ones," rumored to transcend divine boundaries and command all Supernatural Powers.

Only seven G-ranks and Awakened Ones were known worldwide. The youngest included Qin An, Esther, Sana, and a U.S.-bred genius from Los Alamos. That genius had once escaped his high-security lab barehanded, disabling every armed guard inside. Then there was the ageless, mad scientist who created him—his exact power unknown, but his futuristic tech alone made him formidable. He’d once called Qin An and Qin Yage "the world’s most perfect humans, surpassing Adam and Eve."

Qin An glanced at the pale face in his arms and almost laughed. *Since when did I become a selfless hero?* Sacrificing this much for a kid he’d known less than a day? Wasn’t he the hellspawn assassin?

Time’s up.

He jammed his blade into the sheer cliff face with all his strength. Sparks erupted against the unyielding rock.

Bathed in those sparks, Qin An knew the attempt had failed.

Yanking the knife free, his right hand tore open, blood and flesh mangled.

As he plummeted, he drew another dagger. Swinging it downward, wind whipped his face. The blade scraped the cliff, showering sparks.

Using this method, he slowed their fall for over ten meters. The dagger shattered. His right hand neared uselessness. He and Pupils were free-falling again.

"Now it’s up to luck."

Qin An had done all he could. He’d studied maps before camping here. The tallest peak was 600 meters; the shortest, 460.

If this was the 460-meter cliff, they’d have landed safely by now.

He crashed into the water like a meteor, spraying droplets. After swallowing mouthfuls, he surfaced. The pool was small but deep—seven or eight meters—and perfectly circular, as if drawn with a compass.

*Like a hunter’s trap,* he thought. *But why dig it five meters deeper? And make it an "art piece"?* He didn’t buy it. Maybe an Esper’s doing. But none of that mattered now—he was still alive.

Only those who’d died once truly knew life’s worth.

"Luck."

Qin An exhaled. Without this pool, he’d be crippled—or dead in the icy rain.

He lifted Pupils and trudged toward a cave, scanning the rain-blurred wilderness with weary eyes. Only his survival instincts spotted it: thorny vines veiled the entrance, hidden behind a moss-covered tree.

Inside the cave, fresh cuts opened on his skin.

No martial arts manuals on the walls. No venomous creatures on the floor. No hidden mechanisms in the corners. Just dry straw and scattered twigs.

His body screamed to collapse. But not yet. He stripped off his T-shirt, then his pants, leaving only his briefs.

He laid Pupils gently on the straw. Removed her muddy dress. Then her underwear. Her small, delicate body shivered.

He gathered twigs and dry grass. Dug a shallow pit. Stacked the smallest branches crosswise. Lit them with his lighter. Soon, a modest fire crackled.

Its weak glow radiated unexpected warmth.

Qin An held the girl—colder than a corpse—tight against his chest. *You have to live.*

He fed the fire through the night. By dawn, he could finally change into dry clothes. But Pupils’ forehead burned hot enough to fry an egg.

The rain faded to scattered drops. Qin An stepped outside, gulping the damp air. Dewdrops glittered like diamonds in the sun.

The valley breathed fresh after the storm. Leaves glistened emerald. Stream spray flashed pure white.

Medicinal herbs grew plentiful here: fever-reducers, tonics, blood-restorers. And if you looked closely—certain... *special* herbs for "staying firm."

He also found a cracked clay pot and a chipped porcelain bowl. The pot bore painted figures—likely an antique. Any archaeologist would’ve torn Qin An apart for using it like this.

Outside the cave, he carefully brewed medicine over the fire. Watching the white smoke rise, he knew help would come soon.

Back inside, he lifted Pupils’ limp body. Pried open her mouth. Tried pouring the medicine in. It spilled from her lips.

He pressed her philtrum, scraped key points on her body. She coughed twice. Her eyes slit open.

Chinese acupressure wasn’t magic like in wuxia tales—but it worked on vital spots.

"Cold... so cold," Pupils mumbled, burrowing into Qin An.

"An, my head hurts. Am I dying?"

"No," Qin An stroked her hair softly. "King Yama wouldn’t dare take a girl as lovely as you."

The pungent steam stung her rain-damp face. She shrank deeper into his arms.

"Time for medicine, Pupils." He held the bowl.

He blew on the spoonfuls carefully. But she recoiled from the dark liquid. "Do I have to drink it?"

"No choice. Bitter medicine heals. I’ve cooled it." He offered it again.

"I don’t want to!" She tried hiding in his chest. Qin An warned, "If you skip this, you’ll never see your mom again. And I’ll stop liking you."

"Ahhh!" To Pupils, only four people mattered: Grandpa, Grandma, Mom, and An. They were her whole sky. Losing half of it? Unthinkable.

She pinched her nose, squeezed her eyes shut, and gulped. But after one sip, she spat it out like a frog shooting water.

"What’s wrong?" Qin An wiped her mouth with his sleeve. *Allergic to Chinese medicine?*

She shook her head. "An... it’s too bitter."

"I’ll feed you. You must finish it." He took a large mouthful, then pressed his lips to hers, pouring the medicine in. The bitterness hit him—yet mixed with the sweetness of her mouth, it felt like heaven and earth apart.

Afterward, Pupils couldn’t sleep.

She stared at Qin An’s thin lips. *Do they have magic?* Why had she swallowed the hated medicine like water?

Her hand drifted up to touch them.

Qin An stirred. Felt softness on his lips. Opened his eyes. Pupils snapped hers shut, cheeks flushing pink like a startled rabbit.

He checked her forehead—still feverish. Then draped his dry shirt over her.

Pretending to sleep, Pupils snuggled into his warm embrace, smiling.

Survival rule one: prevent illness. To ward off toxic insects, Qin An ventured into the woods. He returned with tobacco-like leaves. Crushed them with a stone. Rubbed the juice onto Pupils’ exposed skin.

"An, what’s this?" she asked curiously.

"It repels mosquitoes. Smells strong, but bear with it, okay?"

She nodded quietly.

Pleased, Qin An kissed her cheek.

After coating himself, he scattered the leaves around the cave.

Azure sky. Qin An watched the black smoke curl upward. *These rescue teams are too slow.* Two days here, and no sign of them. But he couldn’t blame them—in this era, search tools were primitive. A few helicopters were the best they could muster.

Thankfully, Pupils’ fever had broken. Her mind stayed sharp. She’d even grown cheerful, chattering nonstop. A small victory.

They ate harmless wild berries for breakfast. Qin An refused to wait idly. *A hunter’s trap means people live nearby.*

He carried Pupils through thick forest. She tilted her head up. "An, where are we going?"

"On an adventure. Ever read *Alice in Wonderland*?"

She nodded eagerly—it was her favorite.

"Then you’re Alice now." He lifted her high, grinning.

Pupils wriggled free, landing like a rabbit unleashed. She hopped ahead, pointing. "An! Look! Isn’t that the bullyish, boastful Dormouse?" She aimed at a scrawny field mouse.

Qin An nodded. Though it was probably just an ordinary field mouse, he didn’t want to shatter the little girl’s fairy tale.

“Haha—it must be the crazy ‘Mad Hatter’!” Pupils pointed at a silly rabbit that had crashed into a wooden post, laughing heartily.

Pupils stood before a green leaf, watching a caterpillar—the nemesis of all girls—sipping dew. But she showed not a trace of fear, seeming even eager to tease it.

“This must be Absolem the caterpillar, who loves smoking a hookah. But where’s his hookah?”

“He probably forgot to bring it!”

Hands on her hips and face stern, Pupils declared, “Absolem is such a careless fellow.”

Qin An found it amusing to see Pupils so serious. Perhaps this was the real her!

Maybe it was only temporary, but Qin An still felt happy.