Ultimate Villain's Return as a Doctor in the Cultivation World-Chapter 232- A Mother’s Plea

At the bite mark.

The flat, wide, completely-occupied, brown-eyed stop of a girl who had been looking at her mother’s body with the specific, cataloguing, is-she-hurt quality of a daughter doing a post-reunion damage assessment and had found something she was categorizing.

She breathed.

"Mother," she said. The flat, careful, present, I-am-going-to-ask quality of her voice.

The mother looked at her.

"Were you—" The daughter stopped. She looked at the marks. At the wrists. At the bite. At the specific, comprehensive, full-body evidence of a morning that had involved multiple categories of contact. "Were you raped?"

The flat, direct, no-other-word-available delivery of a girl who had looked at the evidence and had arrived at the only conclusion the evidence seemed to support.

She had seen slave traders work.

She knew what slave trader inventory looked like.

She knew what the marks looked like.

The mother looked at her daughter.

She looked at the marks on her own wrists.

At the bite mark her daughter’s eyes had stopped at.

She breathed.

"The immortal protected me," she said.

The flat, present, simple delivery of a woman choosing the most accurate and most manageable sentence available for what had happened.

The daughter blinked.

She looked at the bite mark.

She looked at her mother.

She looked at him.

He was at the courtyard’s edge, standing with the flat, present, nobody-asked-me-anything quality of someone who had been watching and had not been addressed and was not going to insert himself into the inventory.

The daughter looked at him.

Something in her face shifted.

The flat, present, recalibrating, the-sentence-I-received-does-not-fully-account-for-the-evidence quality of a girl who was bright and had been looking at her mother’s body carefully and was running the calculation on ’the immortal protected me’ against the specific, teeth-shaped, clearly-deliberate, not-from-a-slave-trader-category bite mark.

She looked at him.

Her brown eyes were wet and warm and present.

She moved.

The flat, forward, both-arms-coming-up, this-is-what-I-am-doing motion of a girl crossing the courtyard toward him — and she arrived and her arms went around him, the flat, full, both-arms, face-at-his-chest, not-going-anywhere hug of a girl who had been told ’you are weak’ by someone she had called master and had just found her mother alive and was distributing the available gratitude.

"Thank you," she said.

Into his chest.

The flat, muffled, present, genuine quality of it.

"Thank you, Master." Her voice, catching. "Thank you, sir. Thank you." The flat, repetitive, same-word-because-it’s-the-only-word quality of someone at the limit of their available vocabulary for gratitude.

He looked at her. 𝚏𝐫𝚎𝗲𝕨𝐞𝐛𝕟𝚘𝐯𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝗺

At the top of her head against his chest.

At the dark, full, present, fully-restored hair of a girl who had been a ghost this morning.

His hand moved.

The flat, present, downward, unhurried, automatic-quality movement of his hand while she was holding him — and his palm found the specific, present, fully-material, recently-restored, Foundation-Establishment-Early body’s available geometry at the lower region.

The ass.

The flat, full-palm, fingers-closing, present grip of someone whose hand had found a destination and had noted it.

She made a sound.

"’—Wh—’"

She pulled back.

The flat, immediate, full-body, what-was-that pull of someone who had received unexpected input at an unexpected location and had separated instinctively — and she was looking at him with the flat, wide, brown-eyed, is-that-what-I-think-it-was quality of a girl who had been hugging someone and had received something she had not been hugging him for.

He looked at her.

"It’s fine," he said.

The flat, present, matter-of-fact delivery.

He looked at her.

"I already collected the payment from your mother," he said.

She blinked.

The flat, present, I-heard-the-sentence quality of a blink.

She did not understand.

He noted: she did not understand. The flat, Foundation-Establishment, recently-restored, has-not-had-cultivation-context-for-this quality of a girl who had been a ghost and had been in a ruined sect and did not have the vocabulary for what he had said.

She looked at her mother.

The mother was looking at him.

The flat, amber-eyed, present, she-understood-exactly quality of a woman who had heard the sentence and had filed it at the full, correct, complete-accuracy level.

Her face was — the flat, warm, present, not-managing-it quality of a face that had received a sentence that was both accurate and was being said in front of her daughter and was deciding in real time how to handle the fact that it was being said in front of her daughter.

The daughter looked at her mother.

At the marks.

At the bite mark.

At her mother’s face.

"Then how did you get those marks, Mother," she said.

The flat, direct, put-it-together, asking-because-I-need-to-hear-it-confirmed delivery of a girl who had run the full calculation and had arrived at an answer and was asking because the answer needed to be spoken.

The mother looked at her.

She breathed.

"It was his doing," she said.

The flat, one-sentence, this-is-the-complete-accurate-answer delivery.

The daughter looked at him.

The flat, wide, brown-eyed, brown-eyed-going-wider, present, everything-stopping look of a girl who had just received confirmation of the calculation she had run.

"Master," she said.

Her voice had changed.

The flat, different-register, what-I-am-about-to-say-is-a-specific-kind-of-question quality of her voice.

"How could you," she said.

The flat, direct, not-a-demand, not-a-wail, the specific, quiet, genuinely-asking quality of a girl who was shocked and was asking from inside the shock.

He looked at her.

He looked at the mother.

He looked at the courtyard.

He stepped back.

One step.

The flat, single, unhurried, I-have-not-finished-saying-things step of someone creating a small amount of space for the next thing.

He looked at the daughter.

"Because I liked her," he said.

The flat, present, completely-un-performed delivery of a sentence that contained everything it contained without decoration.

"And I want her," he said. "As one of my concubines."

The daughter’s breath stopped.

The flat, full-stop, complete, no-sound quality of a girl whose respiratory system had received a sentence it had not been ready for and had paused while the brain processed the content.

She looked at her mother.

She looked at him.

She looked at her mother again.

At the marks.

At the bite mark.

At her mother’s face, which was — the flat, present, amber-eyed, not-managing-it, she-knows-exactly-what-he-said quality of a woman who had heard the word ’concubine’ applied to herself in front of her daughter and was not performing surprise.

He moved.

The flat, present, forward, unhurried, single-direction movement of a man who had decided the next action — and he was behind the mother, his arms coming around her from behind, the flat, full-front-to-back, chest-against-her-shoulder-blades, chin-above-her-shoulder, both-arms-around-her architecture of someone who had established a position.

His hands found her chest.

Both of them.

The flat, full-palm, present, warm, both-hands-at-once, complete-contact hold of someone arriving at a destination they were familiar with — and his fingers closed, the warm, deliberate, full-grip kneading of both hands at once.

"’—Aaahn~...!—’" Her voice. Immediate. The flat, involuntary, nothing-managed, right-there quality of the sound — the specific, didn’t-mean-to-make-that, body-made-it-before-the-brain-had-an-opinion quality of a sound from a woman whose body had been responsive to this particular pair of hands since the forest.

She winced.

The flat, bite-mark-location, still-present, second-contact wince of a woman whose body was reporting the specific, sensitive, been-addressed-recently quality of a location that had been addressed recently.

"Please—" Her voice, lower. The flat, present, my-daughter-is-right-there quality of her lowered volume. She looked at her daughter over his arm. "Please — my daughter is—"