Mr. Crow tightened his claws slightly on her shoulder, gripping her coat.
He disagreed silently. From a third-person view, Lana’s life was not simply tragic... it was brutal.
She had struggled endlessly, fought sches, clawed for survival, and clung desperately to her dignity.
There were tis when her efforts looked almost pathetic... pathetic in a way that made the observer feel an ache in their chest.
But at the sa ti, he felt that she carried nurous problems... anxiety that gnawed at her in quiet monts, a body that was sotis too weak for the burdens she placed on it, and a relentless yearning for power while desperately trying not to let anyone see her vulnerabilities.
This mixture of fragility and fierce determination was sothing Mr. Crow had rarely witnessed in anyone.
And to say he admired Lana would not be a lie.
If anything, he only wished she could surround herself with better people.
’She deserves a life where she doesn’t have to constantly look over her shoulder,’ he thought. ’A life where she can simply exist in an environnt filled with warmth instead of suspicion.’
Unaware of Mr. Crow’s thoughts, Lana was quietly absorbed in her own.
If soone asked her whether she wanted another chance to be reborn, she would probably say no. It wasn’t an impulsive whim. It was simply the truth of how bleak her life had been.
If life was nothing but struggling without anyone to love her... without even one person who genuinely cared... then she didn’t want another round of it. That had been her wish.
But now that she had been granted a second chance, she intended to use it to its fullest.
Yet, even as she walked, she found herself wishing that if she died again in this life, she wouldn’t be sent back once more.
There was no one... almost no one... who wanted her alive. And almost no one who would care if she vanished entirely.
Both Lana and Mr. Crow eventually returned to the mansion.
After a quick dinner, they headed to their room.
Lana sat down and began cultivating, focusing her breath, feeling the flow of energy circulate through her body.
Midway through, however, she paused and instead took out her talisman materials, noticing how tired her body felt. She began drawing talisman strokes carefully, her hands steady despite her fatigue.
Mr. Crow couldn’t help but ask, "Why don’t you sleep? Your sleep quality has improved since you arrived here."
But Lana simply shook her head. "My body is fine. If I cultivate for a few more hours, I won’t feel sleepy at all. I’ll feel refreshed instead."
Mr. Crow let out a soft sigh. "This is one of your worst habits," he muttered. "You always try to stay awake as long as possible."
He had noticed a concerning pattern. She would stay awake for eleven days straight before collapsing into sleep on the twelfth.
Then she pushed herself to remain awake for thirteen days before finally resting on the fourteenth.
Even in the mansion, where she no longer suffered nightmares, she continued following the sa pattern. It made him deeply uneasy. Even if he scolded her, she would brush off his concerns without hesitation.
Just as he was wondering how to make her listen, Lana murmured to herself,
"I’ve been practicing talismans so diligently. Why isn’t my level improving? Shouldn’t I be able to unlock more by now?"
She had unlocked four or five, but still felt she hadn’t even crossed level one. And to say she wasn’t depressed, at least a little, would be a lie.
Mr. Crow muttered softly, "You don’t need to push yourself so much. So things take ti."
Lana kept silent, though in her heart she disagreed firmly.
’That’s not true. Hard work determines the timing of results.’ With that stubborn conviction, she continued drawing talismans, her strokes precise and unwavering.
Seeing her dedication, Mr. Crow could only shake his head.
’What kind of mystic cultivator doesn’t rest? Others know how to take care of themselves... she’s the only one who refuses.’
The next morning, Lana and Mr. Crow quickly showered.
In truth, Mr. Crow didn’t want a bath at all. Lana, however, insisted she needed a proper wash and refused to let him escape.
He fluttered away in protest, but Lana threatened, "If you don’t wash today, forget about perching on my shoulder."
That alone was enough to break him. Mr. Crow grumbled loudly.
"You’re acting like one of those cruel masters who enjoy tornting their beasts."
Lana laughed, her eyes glinting like so-called evil masters.
"I was evil from the start. You haven’t even seen how evil I can be. I could dress you in a pink strawberry outfit, and you wouldn’t be able to resist."
Mr. Crow froze, horrified. "You truly have a cruel mind!"
"Do you want to try it?" Lana asked sweetly.
Sensing the threat, Mr. Crow imdiately shook his head and landed obediently beside her.
Lana began washing him gently, her touch surprisingly soft.
She even humd a light tune, her lodious voice carrying through the room.
Mr. Crow grudgingly admitted she had a beautiful singing voice... so soothing that he found himself swaying slightly.
Lana noticed and smiled faintly, continuing to scrub him with care.
At first, Mr. Crow had expected her to take advantage of the situation and make him suffer, but he quickly realized her hands were delicate and precise, almost as if she feared hurting him. To test his theory, he let out a sudden yelp.
Lana imdiately stopped. "What happened? Did I press too hard?"
Mr. Crow internally smirked but nodded. "Yes... it hurt a bit."
Lana’s expression softened with guilt. She rarely heard him complain about pain, so she genuinely believed she had hurt him. She even whispered a soft apology.
Mr. Crow turned to look at her, but the mont he did, he was stunned speechless.
Lana stood there with her silver hair damp and loose around her shoulders, her blue eyes filled with concern, and her lips curved into an awkward, apologetic smile.
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