Xiao Ling was no longer the picture of utter panic from her first day in the dungeon. Yet, with each cautious step she took into the cell, a flicker of lingering fear remained deep in her eyes. The look of instinctive distress whenever she tended to Furenna’s wounds made it clear to Furenna that this little maid had not truly acclimated to this place, nor had she grown accustomed to witnessing such cruelty.
Xiao Ling was quiet and efficient.
She would always first carefully place the old wooden bucket down, then pull from it a neatly folded, clean cloth—worn and bleached from washing but spotless—replacing the one from the previous day which had been washed and dried.
The liquid in the bucket remained clear, giving off that faint, calming herbal scent.
After several days, Furenna had to admit it: the potion did indeed have a remarkable effect of soothing pain and aiding the healing of wounds.
The Demon King’s “favors” were always precise and effective, no matter their underlying purpose.
Beyond tending the wounds, Xiao Ling did her best to tidy Furenna’s disheveled appearance, combing out tangled hair, wiping grime from her face and hands.
She performed these tasks with complete focus, her lips slightly pursed, as if conducting a solemn ritual.
Furenna usually remained silent, allowing herself to be tended to, her body stiffening almost imperceptibly only when the cloth accidentally touched an especially tender spot.
Each time this happened, Xiao Ling would immediately stop, her large lake-green eyes flicking to Furenna with unease.
Only after receiving Furenna’s nearly invisible shake of the head or a slight relaxation of her posture would she continue.
This care felt less like a maid’s duty and more like the tiny kindness a lonely, helpless child offered to another sufferer within her limited means.
Furenna could sense the genuineness and nervousness in this kindness, which tangled with the wariness and an indescribable ache in her own heart.
On this day, after finishing the routine cleansing, Xiao Ling did not bow her head and hurry away as usual.
She knelt before Furenna, her hands nervously clutching the washed-out fabric of her own skirt.
Her cheeks were slightly flushed, as if mustering immense courage before she whispered:
“Heroine Sister… You… You’ve lost so much blood, and you’re always in pain. Just using the potion on the outside isn’t enough…”
“You… Would you… like something to eat? I… I brought you a little…”
Eat?
A flicker passed through Furenna’s eyes.
Since her capture, she had barely consumed anything.
It wasn’t just that her body, as the Heroine, could withstand deprivation; her dignity refused to accept the Demon King’s pity, especially being “fed” in this humiliating state.
But looking at the pure worry in Xiao Ling’s eyes now, Furenna fell silent.
She did not voice a refusal, only making a non-committal sound in her throat.
Xiao Ling looked as if granted a reprieve, a flash of relief crossing her face. She quickly produced a small, crudely woven wicker basket from behind her and opened the lid.
Inside were no delicacies, only a very simple, plain meal:
a palm-sized piece of coarse, dense-looking, dark-colored multigrain bread,
a few boiled root vegetables whose original color was indistinguishable,
a simply fire-roasted piece of meat giving off a bland, smoky scent,
and a small pinch of seasoning powder.
The food was arranged meticulously within the basket, the portions pitifully small—not even enough to fill a young girl.
Furenna’s gaze rested on this shabby yet meticulously arranged “simple meal,” a faint shadow of complex emotion passing deep in her eyes.
She looked up at Xiao Ling, her voice calm and even:
“Did the Demon King order you to bring this?”
Xiao Ling flinched violently, shaking her head hurriedly, stammering an explanation:
“N-no! Her Majesty only told me to tend your wounds, she didn’t say anything about this… This… this is… it’s my…”
Her face grew redder, her voice dropping to almost a whisper.
“…My meal… I… I saved half for you…”
Her head hung lower as she finished, the last words nearly inaudible, but Furenna heard them clearly.
The Heroine’s gaze suddenly froze, fixed on the top of Xiao Ling’s bowed head, exposing her slender, fragile neck.
It then moved slowly to the girl’s face, pale and thin from malnutrition, then back to the pitifully small amount of food.
This isn’t bait offered by the Demon King. This is half of the already meager, pitiful rations, forcibly saved from her own stomach, by a little maid who can barely keep herself alive.
That always-taut, icy cord in her heart was suddenly struck by a strange, aching sensation.
Not fear, not anger, but something heavier, a dull, heavy pain.
Xiao Ling, receiving no response, peeked up. What she saw was Furenna’s usually deep and sharp amber eyes, now seemingly unfocused,
gazing emptily at the food before her, as if something on that always-cold face was cracking, peeling away.
“Heroine Sister…”
Panic rose in Xiao Ling, thinking she had done wrong again, offended her. Her eyes instantly reddened, and she spoke urgently:
“P-please don’t be angry! I just saw you hadn’t eaten anything… This food is clean! I haven’t touched it! Really! I… I swear to the Goddess!”
“No need for oaths.”
Furenna spoke suddenly, her voice rougher and deeper than usual.
“This food… Since it’s yours, you should eat it yourself. I don’t need it.”
“But that won’t do!”
Xiao Ling grew agitated at once, forgetting her fear. She lifted her head, her lake-green eyes fixed pleadingly on Furenna, tears already welling.
“You’re hurt so badly, you have to eat! I… I may not be useful for much, but I know this: injured people must eat to get better!”
“Don’t worry, I’ll share half with you every meal from now on! I don’t eat much, really! This half is enough!”
She proclaimed it earnestly, unaware that her words were like the sharpest needles, pricking the softest, most raw places in Furenna’s heart.
This child, barely able to feed herself, living day to day, is thinking of giving up “half of every meal” to a so-called “Heroine” who may not even be able to protect her, who is herself in dire straits.
Furenna’s vision blurred suddenly. The coarse bread, the boiled vegetables…
They seemed to warp and swirl. A buzzing filled her ears, mingling with Xiao Ling’s anxious, tearful voice.
She seemed to see again the faces of the betrayers, the cold, mocking eyes of Demon King Iris, Timo’s tear-streaked face,
and finally, it settled on Xiao Ling’s own pale, anxious little face.
A low, choked sound escaped from deep in Heroine Furenna’s throat, immediately swallowed back as she clenched her teeth.
But the burning heat in her eyes and the rapidly blurring wetness of her vision could not be hidden.
“Heroine Sister?! You’re crying?!”
Xiao Ling’s eyes widened in shock, at a loss. She wanted to move closer but didn’t dare, tears falling freely.
“Did I say something wrong? I’m so stupid, I don’t know how to say things right, please don’t cry, I, I…”
She flustered, completely at a loss.
“Don’t panic.”
Furenna closed her eyes. Her thick, damp eyelashes trembled violently for a few moments. When she opened them again, they had forcibly regained their composure,
though beneath that calm churned a violent pain no one could reach.
The young woman forced her voice to steady, infusing it with a note of gentleness.
“I’m not angry. And I’m not crying.”
She looked at Xiao Ling’s frightened, unsettled face, tear-drops still clinging to her lashes, then let her gaze fall slowly to the wicker basket, to that pitifully small portion of food. She asked softly:
“This… is your meal? Half?”
Xiao Ling nodded timidly, adding in a whisper:
“I haven’t touched it today… It’s really clean…”
“I believe you.”
Furenna interrupted her, her voice very quiet, yet carrying a strange weight.
“But, Xiao Ling, look into my eyes and tell me the truth—this isn’t just half, is it?”
“This is nearly the entirety of your portion, brought here before me.”
Xiao Ling’s mouth opened, her face flushing crimson. Her fingers twisted the hem of her dress helplessly. Under Furenna’s deep gaze, she ultimately couldn’t lie, giving only a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.
Tears welled up in the little maid’s eyes again, this time from grievance and a fearful afterthought:
“I… I just wanted you to have something to eat. I didn’t think… I’d make you sad…”
“I’m not sad.”
Furenna’s voice was even softer now, like a feather, yet weighted.
“I’m just thinking… What have I done to deserve this, that a child must treat herself this way and offer me everything she has?”
The Heroine reached out. Not for the food, but with extreme gentleness and slowness, she stroked Xiao Ling’s soft hair.
Xiao Ling went completely rigid, feeling that unfamiliar yet exceptionally gentle touch on her head. Her tears flowed freely now.
But she was no longer panicked, only staring up dazedly at Furenna.
“Alright, no more crying.”
Furenna withdrew her hand. Her gaze turned calmly to the food, her tone becoming detached yet firm.
“You will eat this meal. All of it. Don’t save any, and don’t share it with me. That’s an order.”
“But—”
“No ‘buts’.”
Furenna looked at her. Her amber eyes held a deep, unyielding light.
“If you still see me as your ‘Heroine Sister,’ listen to me this once. I need you to keep up your strength so you can keep helping me, don’t I?”
Xiao Ling’s tears kept falling, but seeing Furenna’s calm, undeniable gaze, she finally, with a hiccup, nodded.
She looked hesitantly at the food basket, then at Furenna. Urged on by the latter’s look, she finally began to eat, slowly, taking small bites.
She ate carefully, savoringly, as if tasting a great delicacy,
yet the rapid, though still polite, pace of her eating betrayed that she likely hadn’t had a proper, filling meal in a long time.
Furenna simply sat there quietly, watching, saying nothing.
The eerie green glow illuminated her pale cheek and the girl’s thin, small form.
That frozen wasteland in her heart seemed to crack open a fine fissure because of this faint light and the sight of the girl eating with such effort.
The bitter wind still howled outside, but in this moment,
within this prison of despair, a tiny, insignificant, yet undeniably real warmth quietly spread.