Of course, Khac Na Lang was not nice for no reason to the slave who intended to run away when he fainted, much less the one who had seen him this weak.

Khac Na Lang waited for Tu An to finish eating, then asked:

"Can't this leg be cured?"

Tu An did not know what to answer.

If Khac Na Lang asked like that, he certainly felt that the wounds on his body were made better by Tu An.

This leg could be treated. It might or might not be.

He was not a doctor; he just had a little bit of passion and a little bit of understanding.

Tu An once thought that if life were like the stories he heard from his mother, he might have become a doctor.

At present, Tu An knew that he could treat this wound better, and whether he could make it back to its original state or not, no one could make sure.

He used to succeed in curing many of his teammates, and also failed many times.

Khac Na Lang looked at Tu An silently, assuming that he didn't want to help him.

Khac Na Lang was very thoughtful. He did not resent, get angry or make a mess. He just closed his eyes slightly for a while and said:

"If I get better, we can leave here and go to the inner city."

Tu An knew he had to get out of here.

Khac Na Lang was unable to protect him. It was only temporary that the people outside waited for Khac Na Lang to die to take him with no need for any effort.

But if it took too long, they would be ready to rob the subject.

A slave could at least be exchanged for a lot of salt.

If they thought it was little, the Khac Na Lang family would not have been so devastated.

Tu An lowered his head and took a deep breath.

"I don't think I can do it. Maybe I can just make it a little better."

Khac Na Lang looked very disappointed.

But he quickly concealed his emotions:

"Just do it."

Tu An looked at the remaining herbs.

In the end, he still decided to help Khac Na Lang.

Tu An approached him, gently but firmly, saying:

"You have to cut all this rotten meat. I don't have a blade that is sharp enough."

Of course, Tu An knew that there was a knife hidden on the rooftop, but Khac Na Lang did not take it out, so of course, Tu An could not admit that he had seen him hiding the knife there.

Khac Na Lang instructed his slave to get the knife.

Tu An watched indifferently as he threw the knife into the fire and cut each piece of meat on his body.

Khac Na Lang was in pain, but he didn't want to show any emotion.

Hatred took over his heart.

Hatred for the people who made him like this and then abandoned him here.

Khac Na Lang was in so much pain that he was delirious.

But the mind was still a bit clear.

He didn't follow his instincts to raise his hand to strangle the man who was using a knife on him.

He tried to open his eyes to look at Tu An.

The light of the fire flickered on the delicate face.

Drops of sweat, one by one, trickled down his cheeks.

A few naughty strands of hair obscured the lively round eyes that were attentive.

Both hands were stained with blood.

His lips were tightly pursed as if he was afraid of pain.

Khac Na Lang did not know how long he had been attracted to this slave; only when he stood up to inform them that it was all finished did he regain his soul.

His legs were braced with two fixed wooden bars.

Tu An passed him some water:

"You should rest for a while."

That night, Tu An slept very deeply.

Perhaps it was because he was too tired to run away all the other night, or maybe it was because the treatment for Khac Na Lang's wound was too stressful.

Tu An only knew that when he woke up, the sun had already risen.

Khac Na Lang dragged his body to the outside.

Tu An and Khac Na Lang were only an arm's length apart.

Khac Na Lang sat there, silently keeping his eyes on him.

Tu An immediately sat up.

His mind was still engrossed in last night's dream.

He stammered and didn't know what to say.

Then ends up with a silly question:

"Why did you wake up so early?