Young Master System: My Mother Is the Matriarch-Chapter 60: The Forgotten Survivor

Darkness swallowed Tao Long whole.

One moment—the alley's grime beneath his nails, the thugs' laughter like rusted blades against his ears. The next moment—nothing. No pain. No sound. Just the suffocating void, pressing against his eyelids like a burial shroud.

In the dark abyss of his mind, it felt like years had passed by due to the empty, desolate feeling that time was irrelevant.

Then—

Bright Light.

Nestled close to his face rousing him from his slumber.

A flickering lantern swayed above him, casting jagged shadows across a low, smoke-stained ceiling. The scent of bitter herbs and stale sweat clogged his nostrils. His ribs screamed when he tried to sit up. The damage his body had endured was not minor, it was a miracle the young man wasn't paralyzed.

"Easy there, boy." A gnarled hand pressed him back onto the cot. "Your guts were halfway to the Ancestors. Wouldn't do spilling 'em now." The person speaking to Tao Long seemed more concerned about preventing a mess rather than caring for his wellbeing.

Tao Long's vision swam into focus on an old man's face—weathered as mountain bark, eyes milky with cataracts but sharp as a hawk's. The healer's sleeves were rolled to the elbows, revealing forearms mapped with old burns and deeper scars—the marks of a man who'd wrestled death and won numerous occasions.

"Where—?" Tao Long's tongue felt like leather. The words came out cracked. "The city... the sky—" He had not fed himself for quite some time and that had greatly affected his vigor, if it wasn't for the herbalist channeling water into his mouth he would have long expired.

"Gone quiet." The old man spat into a clay bowl, few possessed a fluent poise with his craft that came with decades of toiling and grafting. "Two weeks you've been dancing on the edge, boy. The sky stopped screaming a few weeks ago"

Memories surged like bile— the clouds twisting into faces, the air thick with the stench of rotting qi. His hands flew to his side, where a bandage crusted with yellowed pus clung to his skin. "The Shen Clan—" Despite his poor condition he cared about the clan that had fed his family for generations.

*"Ash and whispers." The healer tossed a bloodied rag into a bucket. "Whatever crawled out of their halls ate 'em from the inside out. Would've swallowed the city whole if not for those two demons in human skins." The old man didn't seem to fancy the famous youngster that had evidently risen to acclaim after their bold actions.

Tao Long's fingers dug into the cot's frayed edges. "Li Wei." The name tasted like poison. "And that ice-blooded bitch." He felt deep resentment for the pair that were largely responsible for his current condition, which caused further anguish to his grieving heart.

The old man's chuckle was dry as kindling. "Aye. The ones who butchered your comrades into ribbons now wear hero's robes." He jerked his chin toward the clinic's lone window, where the distant glow of celebration fires had painted the night orange. "The Liu clan are even throwing a feast in their honor. Even the rats are drunk."

The Liu clan had risen to prominence alongside Li Wei and Leng Yue and were now enjoying benefits reserved for esteemed clans, such as hosting huge celebrations in honor of a guest. Tao Long could see beautiful paper lanterns floating above the Liu clan, it was quite the event.

A crash outside—wood splintering, followed by drunken laughter. The healer didn't flinch. "They say that the two clans 'got their just desserts .' Like scraping rot from a wound." His knuckles popped as he ground herbs into paste, clearly unbothered by nature . "Funny how no one mourns the maggots."

Tao Long's vision swam red. *His brothers-in-arms—left to bleed out in the dirt while their killers toasted their own glory. His fist came down on the cot—

THUD.

The old man's hand clamped his wrist like iron. "You'll tear your stitches, fool." Those milky eyes gleamed. "But I'd wager you've got more fire in you than sense. That's why you'll live." The old man could sense the bloodlust emitting from the young man and roused him further.

He leaned closer, his breath reeking of medicinal wine. "That night I dragged you here the fringes of the sky had split open. Found you choking on your own blood in that alley. Know what saved you?" A calloused thumb pressed between Tao Long's eyebrows. "Hate. Pure as forge-fire. Fought death itself to keep burning."

Outside, a firework exploded—CRACK-BOOM!—sending emerald sparks skittering across the rooftops. The revelers' cheers rose like a tide.

Tao Long's lips peeled back from his teeth. "I'll tear their victory to shreds."

The healer released him with a snort. "Spoken like a man already dead." He tossed a bundle of cloth onto the cot—a faded disciple's robe, patched but clean. "But if you're hell-bent on joining your brothers, at least do it properly."

From his belt, he drew a dagger—blackened steel, its edge serrated like a warlock's grin. "Took this off a corpse in the ruins. Shen Clan make. Cuts deeper than steel ought to."

Tao Long's fingers closed around the hilt. The metal was ice-cold, humming faintly against his palm.

"What do you want in return? I am no fool, nothing in this life is free"

The old man grinned, revealing three remaining teeth. "Front-row seat when you gut those 'heroes.'" He spat again. "The world's gone mad when heathens get parades."

Another firework—GOLD this time, showering the clinic in fleeting light. For a heartbeat, the shadows on the wall behind the old man twisted into something 'sinister'.

Tao Long stood, ignoring the agony in his side. The dagger's weight was a promise.

"I'll paint the streets with their blood."

The healer's laughter chased him into the night—a rasping, joyless sound, swallowed by the celebratory roar of a city that had already forgotten its dead.

Somewhere beyond the glow of lanterns, the wind carried the scent of blood.