The Ring [2]

Warmth.

That was the first thing Shan Yifeng noticed, layers of it, heavy and soft, cocooning his battered body.

The second was the cool press of damp cloth resting on his forehead.

He blinked groggily, eyes fluttering open to a blurry ceiling carved from old wood, unfamiliar and dimly lit by the soft orange glow of afternoon sun filtering through paper windows.

Where... am I?

He tried to sit up but a sharp throb lanced through his ribs, and he groaned, collapsing back with a grunt.

That's when he noticed the blanket.

Heavy.

Tucked up to his chin.

…And beneath it?

Nothing.

His eyes widened slightly. His limbs stiffened in alarm.

Wait, I'm not wearing—?!

A shadow moved.

"Don't move," came Elder Mati's calm voice, footsteps approaching from beyond the screen divider. "You'll tear your muscles and reopen the bruises."