Long Yingtong clenched her teeth in silence, her eyes full of trust and comfort as she looked at Yang Mengchen.
Yang Mengchen concentrated on twisting the needle. First, the moment did not allow her to be distracted, and second, she dared not look into Long Yingtong's eyes, fearing she would not be able to restrain her tears. The pain that seeped from the bones, and the pain produced during the acupuncture, was unbearable even for the most stoic of men, yet Long Yingtong, so young, persevered with gritted teeth. Mengchen felt a mix of heartache and admiration.
After an incense stick had burned down, Yang Mengchen removed the Black Needle and gently wiped the cold sweat from Long Yingtong's forehead with a handkerchief, "Yingtong, do you feel a little better now?"
'I feel much better, thank you, Sister Mengchen.' Long Yingtong gestured with her hand, her pale face lifting into a sweet, grateful smile as some color returned to it.