Yue Wu Huan thought his eyes were about to be gouged out by the Celestial Lord, his whole body trembling with tension.
After completing his examination, Song Qing Shi asked in confusion, "Are you cold?"
Yue Wu Huan shook his head stiffly.
"If your eyes are not bothering you, we can defer their treatment," Song Qing Shi prioritized his concerns, then returned to the table to remove his gloves. Picking up a bead imbued with spiritual energy, he continued, "I found a white powdery substance between your fingernails containing elements of Deer Spring Grass and Beguiling Flower, both of which are potent aphrodisiacs. Moreover, the scent on your clothing and feather skirt contained elements that attract feline creatures. This is why the demon tiger targeted you during the Grand Floral Banquet."
He discovered...
Yue Wu Huan thought in despair.
This was the loophole he had found after skirting the edge of the slave seal rules many times: slaves can't harm themselves, slaves must obey their masters, yet masters are pleased to see their slaves humiliated or killed for sport.
All he could access were love potions. By enhancing the hallucinogenic elements several-fold, he could cause animals to lose their reason.
Thus, he timed everything perfectly, employing wax pellets for delayed drug release within the demon tiger. With himself doused in an attractive scent, he staged a performance after the atmosphere heated up. Influenced by the drug, the demon tiger would certainly choose him as its prey. He feigned a love-struck demeanor, and the guests assumed it was part of Jin Fei Ruo's entertainment, applauding in approval.
Concerned with maintaining face and pleased with a new favorite, Jin Fei Ruo wouldn't dampen his guests' moods. Hesitating for just a moment would cause the demon tiger to go berserk and shred its victim.
Acting with a death wish, Yue Wu Huan had never considered surviving while his true intentions were exposed.
Within the Jin Feng Villa, slaves who showed signs of disobedience were severely punished, let alone committing an act like plotting against their master—something that clearly violated the rules. But what did it matter now?
Yue Wuhuan's frantic mind began to cool down. He recalled the humiliation he'd been through when he first became a slave, his unwillingness to submit, and his Wood Elemental Spirit Root which was ideal for recovery. Controlled by the Pleasure Mark, he was forced to degrade himself in unthinkable ways, even admitting that he was more promiscuous than the most debauched courtesan. Because the beasts found him unresponsive in bed, they used countless drugs to sensitize his body, to the point where even the friction from ordinary fabric would be intolerable.
Each time he thought he had reached the depths of hell, he'd find hell had deeper corners still. Finally realizing that his despair and resistance would only give those people more joy, he abandoned his futile struggles, as well as the idea of ever freeing himself from the Pleasure Mark while alive.
His body was already filthy to the core, disgusting enough to warrant destruction...
Heaven knew that when the demon tiger lunged at him to tear him apart, he felt not pain, but the ultimate pleasure.
Whether it was gouging out his eyes, amputating his limbs to turn him into a medicine doll, subjecting him to abuse in a brothel, or throwing him to beasts for their amusement—nothing could inflict any more pain upon him.
Yue Wuhuan suppressed his smile, dropping all pretenses. He glanced at the Mind-Control Bead with an irreverent challenge: "Now that you know, what do you plan to do?"
Song Qingshi declared unequivocally: "Someone is trying to harm you!"
Yue Wuhuan almost choked. He thought he had misheard: "What?"
Song Qingshi felt his reasoning was impeccable—even though he didn't read many novels, his senior sister told him protagonists were always good people. Since evil protagonists couldn't pass domestic censorship, and the system's introduction mentioned the protagonist's tragic fate, it was clear that the current injuries were part of the original story's plot.
Based on social news he'd seen, he speculated that someone within Jin Feng Villa was jealous of the protagonist's beauty and favor. They had drugged him! So, Song 'Holmes' Qingshi, after careful thought, concluded, "I suspect it was the person who dressed you that day. I'll investigate later and clear your name."
"No," Yue Wuhuan felt his mouth twitch involuntarily. He couldn't believe that an Immortal Lord could be this naïve, but the other man seemed earnest about proving his own foolishness. Finally, he stiffly replied, "No need..."
Seeing Yue Wuhuan's apparent kindness, Song Qingshi felt even more certain of his hypothesis. He stuffed the Mind-Control Bead into Yue Wuhuan's hand, "This is yours, keep it."
Yue Wuhuan realized that the Mind-Control Bead had not been imprinted with new mental commands, leaving him stunned.
"I looked into this thing," Song Qingshi explained, "the Pleasure Mark involves curses, quite complex. Yaowang Valley doesn't have the method to break the curse, so I've sent out a reward offer through Ye Yu Pavilion. The Pavilion Master said it would take some time to get a response."
Yue Wuhuan paused for a long moment before hoarsely asking, "What... What's the price I must pay?"
Song Qingshi had been helped by many without expecting anything in return. He'd also helped many, asking for nothing.
In his eyes, the Pleasure Mark was an evil violation of human dignity, the root cause of the protagonist's suffering. Like a chain on a bird's foot, it needed to be removed naturally once the bird was rescued. It wasn't even worth mentioning.
So, he generously replied, "Just focus on your treatment and get well."
A servant reported that the medicine boiling in the courtyard was almost ready.
Song Qingshi hurried out to check on the medication, aiming to ensure its efficacy was optimized.
Yue Wuhuan incredulously stared at the Mind-Control Bead in his hands, his already anxious mind thrown further into disarray.
In his understanding of the world, the most expensive things were those given without a price...
The renowned Medicine Lord was known throughout the celestial realm for his cold-hearted indifference, devoid of any compassion. What did he want from him? His body? His life? Or perhaps his soul? Yue Wuhuan thought for a long while, eventually breaking into a laugh. He gripped the Mind-Control Bead tightly, resolute to risk it all. To break his chains, he was willing to do anything, even if it meant selling his soul to the devil.
When Yue Wuhuan saw Song Qingshi bring in the medicine, he quickly assessed what impression he should present to the other and what the other might need from him. He put on an obedient and submissive expression, cautiously lifting his eyes for a stolen glance, showing just the right amount of gratitude, and allowing Song Qingshi to administer the treatment.
Such an obedient patient! He complied with every request from the doctor, no matter how disgusting the medicine tasted, or how painful or irritating the injections were. He even thanked the doctor in soft, gentle tones. Song Qingshi found caring for him extremely rewarding and wished all patients were as cooperative.
Yue Wuhuan's Wood Elemental Spirit Root allowed for remarkable healing. The wound on his shoulder scabbed over in just five days.
After examination, Song Qingshi permitted him to get out of bed and move around, instructing him to get more sunlight as he prepared for the next course of treatment.
Whether it was the original Medicine Lord or the current Song Qingshi, neither cared much for attire. The patient's gowns prepared by the servants were made of simple cotton fabric, comfortable for the average person, but agonizingly abrasive for Yue Wuhuan. He dared not wander far from his chamber, pausing every few steps.
In the night, Song Qingshi noticed Yue Wuhuan's irregular gait and came to inspect. A simple touch on his collarbone nearly led to an unfortunate incident.
Yue Wuhuan looked at Song Qingshi's startled face and his crystal-clear eyes, devoid of any impure thoughts. A long-absent sense of shame welled up within him. Unable to bear the soft touch any longer, he recoiled into a dark corner.
Purity and desire, cleanliness and filth—the stark contrasts underscored the harshness of reality.
Yue Wuhuan kept repeating a truth he'd understood a long time ago deep in his heart.
Even if the Pleasure Mark were to be removed, he could never go back to who he was before...
Song Qingshi awkwardly withdrew his hand and looked at the figure hidden in the dark, opening his mouth but finding himself at a loss for words.
Yue Wuhuan quickly realized his mistake. The other already knew he was not pure; attempting to hide it would only make things more awkward. He swiftly regulated his breathing and gradually unfolded himself from the dark recesses.
Smiling, he lifted his eyes to meet Song Qingshi's and used the flirtatious words he'd long become accustomed to: "It's quite warm; would my lord like to inspect your servant's body?"
Rather than being discovered in a humiliating state, he preferred to display his shamelessness. As long as he could convince himself he had no shame, his heart would not ache.
Song Qingshi snapped awake before Yue Wuhuan could unfasten his belt, swiftly drawing all the bed curtains closed, veiling the room's suggestive atmosphere.
The sultry tone in Yue Wuhuan's voice abruptly ceased.
Calmly, Song Qingshi declared, "It's too late; the patient needs to rest."
Yue Wu Huan sat dumbfounded inside the tent, watching the faint silhouette outside extinguish the luminescent pearl and light the incense burner. A gentle fragrance infused with agarwood wafted in, soothing his burning body. Gradually, he lay down and withdrew into the solitary darkness.
He suddenly realized that tonight he wouldn't suffer bodily abuse, wouldn't have to endure nauseating words, and wouldn't be forced to act servile and submissive. The air was bereft of any lurid smells, replaced by an indescribable freshness that began to lull his usually alert mind, making it hard for him to keep his eyes open as he drifted into sleep.
There were no visions of hell in this dream—only the sweet scent of a white magnolia tree outside his childhood window.
Slowly, he relaxed his body, fully immersing himself in this long-forgotten sweet dream.
...
Song Qing Shi stood outside the tent for a long time, lost in thought.
Confirming that the tranquilizing incense had taken effect, he turned back, holding the luminescent pearl, gently lifting the curtain and sitting at the bedside. He employed his spiritual sense to reexamine the myriad problems hidden within this battered body.
After a long moment, he withdrew his spiritual awareness and looked quietly at Yue Wu Huan's face. The eyes were tightly shut, and the youth, now entirely relaxed, had lost his seductive demeanor. He resembled a slumbering wildcat that had retracted its claws and lowered its guard, as if forgetting all its past suffering and revealing its true self.
Free, proud, defiant...
His life should never have come to this point.
Song Qingshi gently tucked in the quilt and carefully brushed Yue Wuhuan's disheveled hair behind his ears, whispering a vow:
"I will heal you."
Song Qingshi spent the entire night searching the storeroom and eventually found an old robe made of red ice silk. He removed the decorative array from it, handed it to his medical servants, and asked them to modify it into an inner garment overnight. Along with a new cotton robe, he quietly placed it at Yue Wuhuan's bedside.
The next day, when Yue Wuhuan saw the ice silk inner garment, he paused for a moment.
Song Qing Shi was already urging from outside the door: "Hurry, let's go conduct the new treatment."
"Yes, Master," Yue Wu Huan, aware of his change in ownership, didn't dare to contemplate further. He quickly put on his clothes, feeling significantly more comfortable in his movements.
Song Qing Shi led him through the corridor to the adjacent elixir chamber, formerly a forbidden area in Medicine King Valley. This was where his predecessor conducted unethical experiments on both animals and humans. Honoring the Helsinki Declaration, Song Qing Shi refused any such practices. Fortunately, there were not many specimens left when he took over. He released those he could and assisted others in finding liberation, transforming the room into a treatment chamber. Remaining specimens were moved to other rooms—valuable assets for future medical research.
As Yue Wu Huan walked to the elixir chamber, he noticed that more than one medicine servant was giving him sympathetic glances, making him uneasy. Upon entering, he saw Song Qing Shi bring out a medicine vat large enough to contain a person, which heightened his anxiety.
Oblivious to Yue Wu Huan's discomfort, Song Qing Shi dropped precisely measured herbs into the vat and poured in water. Utilizing his internal alchemy fire for heating, he waited until the water turned a deep red before instructing: "Take off your clothes and get in."
Yue Wu Huan remained motionless, his gaze becoming stiff.
"Don't worry," Song Qing Shi finally remembered to explain, "this is Red Grass Detoxifying Bath—it's a medicinal bath, and it won't be uncomfortable."
Hesitating for a moment, Yue Wu Huan began to undo his waistband.
Song Qing Shi turned his back, taking a seat so as not to sneak a peek at Yue Wu Huan bathing.
Relieved, Yue Wu Huan swiftly disrobed and stepped into the blood-like medicinal liquid. The hot and spicy fluid penetrated his skin, causing a mild stinging sensation that was oddly comforting. He took a deep breath and fully relaxed, submerging himself entirely. However, he hadn't anticipated the liquid would overflow, splashing onto Song Qing Shi's neck, ears, and hair, as well as leaving faint red blossoms on his white mage robe.
For most cultivators, a robe is a treasured possession; even minor damages can cause heartache.
Yue Wu Huan sensed trouble and discreetly emerged from the water, taking cover behind the rim of the tub to spy cautiously, worried he had offended the Celestial Lord.
Song Qing Shi paid no mind to what had just occurred; he was staring fixedly at the cobblestones on the ground. After a moment, he discreetly shook off the water droplets in his hair.
Yue Wu Huan pondered before asking cautiously, "My Lord, would you turn around so that I may dry you?"
Song Qing Shi lowered his gaze, focusing more intently on the cobblestones: "You're bathing; it's not appropriate to watch." In his worldview, it's ethical for a doctor to examine a patient's body for medical treatment, but peeping during a bath would be morally reprehensible.
Yue Wu Huan mulled over this for a while, then ventured a guess: "Does the Lord find me unclean?"
Song Qing Shi shook his head, whispering: "You don't like being watched."
"You jest, My Lord," Yue Wu Huan's eyes turned cold. He paused before emerging from the water, his wet hair clinging to his shoulders like a merman. His physique was sculpted to perfection, his waist slim yet teeming with latent power. Leaning against the edge of the tub, he drew close to Song Qing Shi's ear, his phoenix eyes beguiling and a red tear-shaped mole on his face captivating enough to steal hearts. In a voice like a siren's lure, he said, "What is there to hide about this wretched body of mine? Countless have seen and claimed it beautiful, even lascivious. They say I cannot even walk without a man, that I was born to be seen."
Song Qing Shi promptly interrupted him, reiterating: "You don't like being watched."
Yue Wu Huan studied him for a while before hoarsely saying, "I've ceased to care."
Song Qing Shi was at a loss for words but insisted: "You don't like it."
"Can we refuse what we don't like?"
Yue Wuhuan found this notion amusing. In the years when he was first sent to entertain guests, he was often coaxed with words like "if you don't like it, you don't have to do it." All that led to was having his vulnerabilities exploited for others' amusement.
Disliking being seen meant he had to display his most compromising postures time and again, in squares and at banquets, for everyone to see.
Disliking lewd talk meant enduring all kinds of drugs and torture devices until he learned to audibly excite the audience.
Until he gave up on shame, gave up on dignity, and pretended to enjoy these experiences.
He had long understood that in the eyes of these haughty cultivators, he was nothing more than a beautiful toy, devoid of emotion, to be molded into whatever pleased his masters. He often wished he could lose his sanity, like most slaves, living a dog's life without thought, pleasing his masters with his body.
Unfortunately, a glimmer of lucidity always remained in his heart, coldly scrutinizing his disgraceful self, leading to self-loathing.
Perhaps, he was already mad.
The fire beneath the vat had subtly increased at some point, the medicinal liquid becoming hotter, and so did Yue Wuhuan's face. He no longer felt the scalding heat as he sank his head deep into the red medicinal liquid, until even his nose and mouth were submerged, stifling his breath. He didn't want to come up; he wished to remain there forever, hoping that the boiling liquid could cleanse his filthiness, even melt his bones if possible.
Sensing something was off due to the silence behind him, Song Qingshi turned around. He realized he had lost focus while speaking earlier, allowing the temperature to spike. Yue Wuhuan had vanished beneath the surface of the water. Without a second thought, Song Qingshi lunged forward, reaching into the vat to pull him out.
The soaked beauty was dragged into his arms, eyes tightly closed, limbs limp, his wet hair clinging to his fair skin, water droplets splattering on the ground, drawing attention to the tattoo on his back. Song Qingshi felt no romantic thoughts; he quickly laid him down, checked his pulse, and started CPR and artificial respiration.
Yue Wuhuan spat out some water and opened his eyes to find Song Qingshi's face inches from his own. He could even see his own reflection in those clear eyes, tinged with red from the heat of the furnace. Long, water-laden eyelashes framed those eyes, making him look like a naive young boy, not at all like a millennia-old cultivator. What a lethal deception.
Not recognizing him earlier by the river and even feeling pity for him—his death would have been well-deserved.
Yue Wuhuan's thoughts became increasingly disordered. He subconsciously curled into a fetal position, images and memories flashing before his eyes. The pressure in his chest and the lingering warmth on his lips made him lose track of time, as if he had been transported back to moments of punishment.
Song Qingshi almost "flunked," his actions purely instinctual, like a startled tiger. Only when Yue Wuhuan regained consciousness did he breathe a sigh of relief. He realized that in the world of cultivation, there were many ways to treat drowning, making modern CPR unnecessary.
It was hard to articulate what had just transpired.
Performing CPR on a drowning victim is standard procedure for a medical student, regardless of the victim's appearance or age. Song Qingshi felt awkward for not employing the best emergency procedures from the cultivation world but didn't dwell on it. The problem was, he wasn't sure how to explain.
Yue Wuhuan's eyes lost focus; he slowly unfurled his body, no longer covering himself, resembling a dying fish forcibly dragged ashore, left to be carved up by others.
Song Qingshi quickly turned his head and closed his eyes, apologizing sincerely, "I'm sorry, I messed up the water temperature."
"Master, you did nothing wrong," Yue Wuhuan's eyes were open but saw nothing, his ears heard but understood no language. He repeated the standard response, "It's my fault, my fault..."
It was a lesson he had learned at great cost, drilled into him again and again, constantly reminding him how he should live.
"Wuhuan, you're so beautiful; you were born to be toyed with."
"Wuhuan, it's your body that seduces men, leading to your degradation."
"Wuhuan, your allure is so irresistible, it leaves me with no choice."
"Wuhuan, you're a creature born of desire."
"Wuhuan, it's all your fault."
"Wuhuan, it's all your fault."
...
"My fault, my fault, my fault…" Yue Wuhuan numbly repeated, "It's all my fault."
Because his very existence was a mistake.
Song Qingshi took off his robe and draped it over Yue Wuhuan. He suddenly realized that the man before him was in a troubling mental state, seemingly enveloped by some dark enchantment. After a moment of consideration, he reluctantly fetched a bucket of cold water from nearby, cast a freezing spell over it, and poured it over Yue Wuhuan. The cold shock snapped him back to a semblance of lucidity. Seizing the moment, Song Qingshi administered a tranquility pill.
"Master?" Yue Wuhuan seemed slightly dazed upon regaining consciousness.
"It's alright," Song Qingshi said as he wrapped him up with prepared towels and clothes, layer upon layer, like a bundled dumpling. He then offered a reasonable explanation, "You were hallucinating after almost drowning."
Yue Wuhuan nodded blankly.
Assured that his human 'dumpling' was securely wrapped, Song Qingshi stopped and advised, "Wear more clothes in the future."
Yue Wuhuan looked at him, asking uneasily, "I may wear more?"
Song Qingshi responded with firm guidance, "Autumn is approaching, and the weather is getting colder. You must wear more to avoid catching a cold."
"Thank you for your kindness, Master," Yue Wuhuan softly replied after confirming that Song Qingshi was not lying. He clutched his clothes tightly, and for some reason, he was reminded of the moment he entered Jin Feng Mountain Villa, the humiliating scene where he was stripped bare and reduced to an object.
Now, this deceptively innocent-looking man was personally dressing him, layer by layer, as if enticing him to expect something…
The interrupted medicinal bath had not fully taken effect.
Song Qingshi was busy refilling the vat with water and medicine while readjusting the temperature.
Yue Wuhuan sat quietly on the ground, watching Song Qingshi busy himself on his behalf. He pondered deeply, and then realized that the unbearable burning sensation in his body had lessened significantly. A subtle shift in his posture revealed that the drug-induced sensitivity had also diminished; the friction of the fabric against his skin no longer felt unpleasant.
After speculating for a long time without any answers, he finally mustered the courage to ask, "Master, what is the Red Herb Purifying Bath for?"
"Ah?" Song Qingshi paused, slightly bewildered. He realized he'd committed the classic overachiever's blunder—assuming everyone could keep up with his rapid-fire thoughts just by him mentioning a term or concept.
A quick learner, Song Qingshi reorganized his thoughts and chose the simplest explanation, "Your body has been corroded by various drugs, which is why you're uncomfortable. The Red Herb Purifying Bath can remove the residual drugs in your system. You'll need to take five baths, adding regenerative herbs and Snow Toad Ointment for the last two sessions to help heal old injuries. It will hurt and itch, and numbing medication won't help much. Don't worry; once you endure this phase, your body will return to its original state."
Song Qingshi couldn't bear to say much else: those people never cared about Yue Wuhuan's well-being, and the reckless use of aphrodisiacs had led to a dangerous build-up in his system. If it continued, he wouldn't survive for many more years.
"Being overdosed…is because they found me boring," Yue Wuhuan tightened his grip on his clothes, unwilling to let go. He hesitated for a while but decided to clarify the inevitable, "Master, if not for the drugs, my body won't respond to men. You won't find pleasure in me; I'm not suited for those things and only with the aid of drugs can I—"
Song Qingshi interrupted his disarrayed speech, "If it's not suitable, don't do it."
"You don't have to be kind to me," Yue Wuhuan grew more fearful as he exposed his feelings, his voice tinged with despair. "I have nothing to offer you but this body."
Sensing Yue Wuhuan's emotional turbulence, Song Qingshi turned to face him. Words of comfort circled his mind a thousand times but disappeared on the tip of his tongue. He could only muster, "You do."
The Yue Wuhuan in his heart was the child practicing his swordsmanship under the peach tree, the young man who aspired to become a sword master as a mere mortal.
The Yue Wuhuan he saw was a phoenix soaring through the heavens, the most brilliant star in the night sky—only now with broken wings and covered in dust.
Song Qingshi walked over step by step, each one firm and resolute.
Yue Wuhuan tried to remain calm, but his body betrayed him, trembling slightly as he thought of retreating.
Song Qingshi squatted down, half-kneeling, and looked intently into his eyes.
Yue Wuhuan felt cornered, as if he had nowhere left to go.
Song Qingshi promised, word by word, "Whatever you've lost, I'll help you reclaim; whatever you desire, I'll give you."
Yue Wuhuan's breathing grew rapid. Though he couldn't yet comprehend the full weight of this promise, he saw the sincerity and determination in Song Qingshi's eyes. Carefully, he asked, "What do you need me to do?"
Song Qingshi pleaded, "Please, stop hurting yourself."
After contemplating for a long time, Yue Wuhuan finally nodded.
Yue Wuhuan had a long history of self-harm attempts and his psychological state was severely compromised, prone to uncontrollable outbursts. Thus, promises should be taken with caution.
The Bonding Mark could prevent self-harm, but activating it required the use of a spiritual bead, which would only worsen Yue Wuhuan's psychological state and make him even more distrustful of treatment. It was the worst method for preventing self-harm.
Without hesitation, Song Qingshi eliminated the option of using the Bonding Mark. Other magical methods with similar effects were designed for tormenting enemies and were not significantly different. Song Qingshi had considered other means to treat psychological distress, such as hypnosis or erasing traumatic memories. However, hypnosis had its limitations, and erasing memories could harm the spirit. Yue Wuhuan had been taken under Xie Que's wing at the age of eight; the amount of memory that would need erasing was too great, and there was a high risk of causing irreversible damage.
After ruling out all unsuitable options, the only answer left was modern psychology.
The subject Song Qingshi was least proficient in was psychology. It wasn't that his academic scores were poor, but psychology required deep emotional engagement and internal analysis with the patient. He could barely handle his own social anxiety, much less manage a high-difficulty case like Yue Wuhuan.
The overachieving Song was once again gripped by the fear of an insurmountable problem, even dreaming of failing the subject.
He promptly removed all items that Yue Wuhuan could use for self-harm from his chamber and scanned Yue Wuhuan's vital signs multiple times daily using his spiritual sense. It wasn't until he noticed Yue Wuhuan staring blankly at the koi pond one day that he decided to take a leap of faith.
And so, the unreliable psychologist Song was forced into operation...
Song Qingshi meticulously formulated a treatment plan. He added calming herbs to Yue Wuhuan's medicinal decoctions and used soothing incense to aid sleep at night, substantially reducing the frequency with which Yue was jolted awake by nightmares. Among the few psychological treatment methods he knew, he ruled out those that were inappropriate or unattainable, ultimately deciding to try Rational Emotive Behavior Therapy.
Rational Emotive Behavior Therapy, a cognitive therapy created by Dr. Albert Ellis in the 1950s, emphasizes the role of individual will and rationality. The first step is to establish a strong working relationship with the patient to instill self-confidence. Then the therapy aims to dispel the patient's misguided self-perceptions, encouraging a more accurate self-understanding and a return to a healthy life.
The theory sounds simple, but implementation is an uphill battle.
Song Qingshi's favorite way to relieve stress is through studying and problem-solving. After racking his brain for a long time, he found inspiration from his own encounters in the library, where he had been approached by girls. He decided to pick a challenging book, pretend he couldn't understand it, and ask Yue Wuhuan for help. Upon receiving an "I don't know" as an answer, he could then naturally invite Yue to join him in searching for the answer in the library, all while subtly encouraging him to find joy in acquiring knowledge and building self-confidence.
There was once a girl who persistently tried to chat up Song Qingshi. He encouraged her to focus on her studies, instructing her on exercises and test-taking. Her grades improved dramatically, and she was accepted into a prestigious graduate program. During her graduation ceremony, she cried, thanking Song Qingshi for curing her of her infatuation.
Infatuation is a form of psychological disorder, right?
Thinking of this accidentally successful case, Song Qingshi felt a surge of confidence.
...
His original self was a bookworm. The library of the Valley of the Medicine King housed tens of thousands of books, mostly related to medicine and poisons.
Afraid that picking a professional text would reveal his intentions, Song Qingshi carefully selected a book called "Chronicles of the Jade Terrace," a travelogue of the immortal realms, from a dusty corner.
The travelogue was written thousands of years ago by a celestial scholar from the Confucian school and depicted a certain celestial realm. Given his preference for rationality over romanticism, and a lack of interest in poetry and literature, Song Qingshi found the text baffling.
Yue Wuhuan had completed his five medicinal baths, dispelling the residual medicinal effects in his body, and was currently recuperating while waiting for the future Six Pulse Reviving Soup treatment.
Convinced that Song Qingshi had no designs on his body, Yue Wuhuan dropped the coquettish act. He bundled up his hair with a green jade crown, wore a simple blue robe, and locked the collar high around his neck, revealing nothing suggestive. He seemed like a rigid ascetic, allowing no room for emotion.
Even though Song Qingshi had declined his use of the term "servant" to refer to himself, all he received from Yue Wuhuan were monosyllabic responses like "Yes," or "Alright." Song Qingshi, clutching the book, watched him from a corner for a long time. He feared both Yue Wuhuan's overt sensuality and his genuine coldness, more so the possibility of rejection.
Here he was, trying to provide psychological treatment, yet he'd handed over a book full of inappropriate content to a patient who had a psychological trauma related to it—a massive blunder.
Both regretful and embarrassed, Song Qingshi's ears reddened. He wanted to cry but couldn't.
Yue Wuhuan was the first to recover. Noticing the expression on Song's face, he realized it was a misunderstanding and offered consolation, "The majority of the celestial scholar's works are about landscapes. This is an exception. If you're interested in his style, you might enjoy 'Tales of the Sea Pearl Pavilion,' 'Secret Realms of a Thousand Mountains,' or 'The Endless Sea'."
Song Qingshi nodded gratefully, storing the recommendation.
Another awkward silence ensued, lasting a full two minutes.
Song Qingshi knew he couldn't let the silence drag on. Trying to find a silver lining in the awkward moment, he initiated small talk, "What is 'Tales of the Sea Pearl Pavilion' about? I've never heard of it, but it sounds interesting. Would you mind telling me?"
Yue Wuhuan paused for a moment, unsure how to describe it, and then recited the entire piece for him.
Although Song Qingshi was not particularly skilled in poetry and prose, he wasn't a fool either. After listening, he realized that the so-called celestial scholar was merely a pedant who used flowery language and obscure references to feign depth, ultimately creating empty and tedious literature.
Yue Wuhuan respectfully asked, "Would you like to hear more?"
Song Qingshi suddenly felt something was amiss. While he prided himself on his intelligence and memory, it was limited to well-written texts and had to be deliberately committed to memory. Who would bother memorizing such drivel? And recalling it flawlessly, understanding every subtle reference? He cautiously asked Yue Wuhuan, "Have you read many books? Where did you read them?"
"I was tutored by the Grand Tutor in my youth and read some books with Xie Que," Yue Wuhuan answered honestly, assuming that Song was probing into his past. "Mostly, I read them in the Golden Phoenix Manor. After satisfying the Manor's master, I would ask for permission to enter the library. Rest assured, I only read miscellaneous books, not daring to touch the sacred texts."
The library at the Golden Phoenix Manor was extensive. Yue Wuhuan had hoped to find a way to free himself from the books, but the Manor's strict rules prevented him from reading any sacred texts. He had once bribed the library's caretaker with his body to get hold of a couple of low-level sacred books but found no way to use them.
Song Qingshi knew the scale of the Golden Phoenix Manor's library, which far exceeded that of the Valley of the Medicine King. Even the miscellaneous section had tens of thousands of books.
Song Qingshi urgently inquired, "Do you remember all those books? Can you recite them?"
"I remember the books I've read, roughly over ten thousand volumes. If you require, I could recite them," Yue Wuhuan hesitated.
Song Qingshi drew a sharp breath, feeling his throat tighten. Casting aside his therapy plans, he hastily gathered various pens, inks, and rulers. He then recreated several intelligence tests he had taken before and had Yue Wuhuan complete them.
Initially puzzled by the strange shapes and questions, Yue Wuhuan quickly got the hang of it after Song's guidance. He finished the test effortlessly, handing it back promptly.
After tallying the score, Song Qingshi felt like he was suffocating. He had barely qualified for a high IQ society, relying on hard work to make up for his shortcomings. But Yue Wuhuan's offhand score was 162, tying with historical records and entering the realm of extraordinary genius. Considering different worldviews and educational backgrounds, the score could be even higher. The devastation and anger that Song Qingshi felt were immeasurable—how could such a potential history-making genius be reduced to this state? It was an affront to human dignity.
Yue Wuhuan looked puzzled at the tear in the corner of Song Qingshi's eye, unsure why it had appeared.
Hastily wiping away his embarrassing tears, Song Qingshi told him solemnly, "Wuhuan, you are incredibly intelligent."
"Master, it has no significance," Yue Wuhuan slowly regained his composure and lowered his gaze, thinking sarcastically that no one cared whether he was intelligent or not; they only cared about his performance in bed.
The corner of his mouth curled into a derisive smile, his eyes revealing countless hidden malice. This so-called intelligence only made him endure more pain than others. "This is the immortal realm—a world of beasts where the strong prey upon the weak."
Author's Note: Song Qingshi: I was very responsible back then! I made that girl do five big exercise papers every day to cure her of her infatuation! Not easy! I deserve some praise!
P.S.: At least Yue Wuhuan has to do ten papers daily to recover, right?!
Standing in the Medicine King Valley's library, Yue Wuhuan looked at the treasured tomes of immortal techniques around him and felt as though he had entered a treasure trove.
Both Song Qingshi and his predecessor were the types who preferred not to fuss over life's mundane matters. The library was a restricted area, devoid of servants to clean, and so books and items were scattered about haphazardly. Only Song Qingshi himself knew their respective locations. After bringing Yue Wuhuan in, he instructed him to tidy the desk while he went to find the books he needed.
With effort, Yue Wuhuan tore his eyes away from the books and looked towards the daybed near the window. A low table in the middle of the daybed was piled high with hundreds of books, alongside dried ink and a stack of papers marred by corrections. It seemed like the place where his master normally read and rested.
He walked over and began to dutifully organize the books, only to discover a worn-out copy of "Nie's Poison Scripture" tucked away. Yue Wuhuan's breath caught for a moment; he realized the 'Nie' referred to the infamous Poison Master Nie Jue from thousands of years ago, who was a terror to the righteous path. The book likely contained various poison formulas developed by the Poison Master.
Casting a covert glance at Song Qingshi, who appeared unobservant of his actions, Yue Wuhuan sneakily opened the book and was delighted to find that it began with the recipe for "Thousand Mechanisms Powder," a colorless, odorless substance capable of killing cultivators below the level of Yuanying (Primal Infant)...
This method of killing, requiring no cultivation, was precisely what he had been fruitlessly seeking during his time at the Golden Phoenix Manor.
Yue Wuhuan quickly skimmed through the book, committing the formulas to memory.
Thousand Mechanisms Powder, Soul Devouring Incense, Puppetry Pills…
Each poison was like a sharp knife, keen and lethal.
Long-repressed murderous intent surged in him like a tumultuous tide, flooding his mind with various vicious methods for utilizing these poisons.
Unknown to all, his heart had long been forged into a demonic entity in the crucible of hell. He yearned not just for self-destruction, but for the annihilation of the whole corrupt world, himself included.
"This book isn't meant for you," came Song Qingshi's voice from behind him.
Gently closing the book, Yue Wuhuan slipped it back into the pile on the table and turned around nonchalantly. A compliant expression returned to his face as he offered a prepared excuse: "The book is quite old and its pages got scattered while I was tidying. Please forgive my carelessness, Master."
Setting down the stack of books he was holding, Song Qingshi picked up the "Poison Scripture," flipping through it and noticing, indeed, that some pages were loose.
With his gaze directed at the ground, Yue Wuhuan felt a light sheen of sweat form on his palms. He was highly on edge.
"You lack the basics; it's too early for you to delve into this book," Song Qingshi advised kindly, seemingly oblivious to his inner turmoil. "The principles of toxicology are similar to those of pharmacology. You should start by learning basic pharmacopoeia to identify herbs. For instance, the seeds of 'Heavenly Grass' and 'Swallow Orchid' look alike but have vastly different toxicities. Misusing them could cause significant issues. Begin with the basics, learn to discern herbs and grasp their pharmacology. After that, you can study pill concoction and finally explore this poison scripture."
Yue Wuhuan looked up abruptly, incredulous, and asked, "I can learn from the Poison Scripture?"
"Why not?" Song Qingshi was puzzled. After a moment, he handed the "Nie's Poison Scripture" back to Yue Wuhuan and reassured him, "I think you should have more confidence in yourself. The material in this poison scripture is not that difficult to grasp. You'll get the hang of it soon enough, but you'll have to be very cautious during the manufacturing process. Some of the substances can't even make contact with the skin, and a few are even airborne... If there's anything you don't understand, feel free to ask me anytime."
Was this a matter of confidence?
Yue Wuhuan was left utterly dumbfounded by this windfall and couldn't find his voice for a long while.
Oblivious to Yue Wuhuan's internal state, Song Qingshi continued to rain metaphorical pies down upon him, "If you have an interest in poisons, it would be beneficial to learn about concealed weapons and magical arrays as well. Using poisons becomes even more efficient that way. Later, I'll compile related books for you, and you're welcome to use my laboratory..."
Yue Wuhuan couldn't hold back anymore, interrupting the enthusiastic person before him: "Have you ever considered what I might use these things for?"
"I have," Song Qingshi said, his eyes full of relief. "I've been worried that the protagonist you are—so kind-hearted and easily bullied—is like a beautiful flower with no means of self-protection, vulnerable to being plucked by anyone. I'm also concerned that after I accomplish my mission, the system might withdraw me from this world, leaving you without protection and at risk of falling into danger once more. Don't be afraid, Wuhuan. Being beautiful is not your fault; it's the fault of those beasts. Whether it's magical artifacts, poisons, or hidden weapons—if this immortal realm is a jungle where the strong prey on the weak, you must have the means to protect yourself and prevent anyone from taking advantage of you."
"Is it wrong to not want to be violated?"
"Is it wrong to not want to be bullied?"
"Is it wrong to not want to do things I dislike?"
A gentle breeze brushed past the window, bringing with it a clean aroma that intermingled with the faint scent of medicinal herbs, stirring the heart.
Yue Wuhuan listened, stunned, to words he had never heard anyone say to him before. Each sentence felt like a surreal dream.
"From now on, let the world be incapable of ever humiliating you again."
...
Learning requires mutual discussion and collective advancement.
Song Qingshi loved study buddies, especially those intelligent enough to be his equals. The professors he followed were internationally renowned experts in medicine, and his senior classmates were all exceptionally gifted. He greatly missed the happy times spent learning and conducting experiments with them.
With Yue Wuhuan's high intellect and diligence, what more could one ask for in a study partner?
Elated, Scholarly Song quickly helped tidy up the books on the daybed and clean the table. After casting multiple cleaning spells, he set out spiritual tea and various pastries, lit incense to aid concentration, and then, pulling Yue Wuhuan to sit opposite him, began to read.
Yue Wuhuan felt somewhat unsettled. He surreptitiously observed for a long while, noticing that the person next to him was genuinely engrossed in reading, with no ulterior motives. Gradually, he too calmed down and began to read quietly.
At some point, dark clouds obscured the sunlight, and raindrops started pattering on the eaves, creating a rhythmic symphony. A damp breeze carried a few chilly droplets through the window, touching the readers within. Yue Wuhuan soon felt the chill. He got up, switched on the glowing orb, and gently closed the window curtains. When he turned around, he saw Song Qingshi was still engrossed in his book, oblivious to the change in the surrounding environment.
Slowly approaching, Yue Wuhuan cautiously lifted his beautiful eyes to get a detailed look at the person for the first time. In his mind, he etched an intimate portrait of this man who wore snow-colored garments and had skin as smooth as white jade—slightly disheveled hair, a face a bit too youthful, good-looking but not stunning. Yet, he had the clearest eyes in the world—unfamiliar with desire, untainted by filth—like a crystal that had accidentally fallen into the bustling mundane world, without being stained by a speck of worldly dust.
Yue Wuhuan observed him for a long, long time, and yet, his eyes never lifted.
It seemed that apart from the books that filled the room, nothing else could catch his eye or occupy his heart...
Suddenly, Yue Wuhuan found the whole situation rather amusing. If someone were to know that the rumored ill-tempered Medicine King Immortal and the notoriously charming Wuhuan were in a study, doing nothing but reading quietly for an entire day, wouldn't they find it utterly unbelievable?
One must have a form of obsession to achieve greatness.
Ultimate obsession breeds ultimate purity, transforming into one's true heart.
No one ever realized that the Medicine King Immortal was merely a bibliophile engrossed in the ocean of books; all his quirks originated from this obsession. Stripped of this frenetic shell, within lay the simplest of hearts...
Yue Wuhuan lowered his head, smiling silently for a long while, his smile gradually tinged with a hint of bitterness. He recalled their first encounter by the river, the sensation of fingers brushing over his hair and cheeks—a touch slightly warm. Had he known they would share such a moment, he would have endured any penalty to present himself in a better light, to avoid revealing an unflattering side.
Night fell, the sound of rain ceased, the moon peeked out, and insects chirped among the grass.
The study felt like a world apart, insulated from external changes. Devoid of clamor or intrusion, there was only the soft rustle of turning pages and a persistent, lingering scent of medicinal herbs.
Yue Wuhuan looked at his book, feeling an unprecedented sense of peace...
How wonderful would it be if this could last a lifetime?
Song Qingshi suddenly set down his book and began scribbling on paper with a brush.
Curious, Yue Wuhuan leaned to look, only to find that Song was writing quickly and urgently. His handwriting was so messy it was almost illegible, but it appeared to be a list of herbs.
All at once, Song stopped, lost in thought, inadvertently smudging his left hand with wet ink. Oblivious, he lifted his hand to support his chin, leaving a black mark on his face.
Yue Wuhuan found himself fixated on that black mark, finding it incredibly jarring.
After hesitating for a long moment, he finally took out a handkerchief and carefully wiped it away, removing the stain that marred the untainted image in his heart.
Song Qingshi finally snapped back to reality, realizing it was already dark outside. Seeing the ink stains on the handkerchief in Yue Wuhuan's hand, he became aware of his own folly and said apologetically, "I tend to lose track of time when I read. Are you hungry? Feel free to wake me up next time."
Yue Wuhuan shook his head with a smile, "I was engrossed as well; I didn't realize it had gotten late."
"Here, have some," Song Qingshi pushed all the pastries on the table toward him. "I've undergone grain avoidance; I won't get hungry."
Yue Wuhuan didn't decline, picking up a piece of hibiscus cake. He thought for a moment and casually introduced a topic, "My Lord, you seem deeply engrossed. Are you researching some important formula?"
Song Qingshi organized the scattered papers on the table and answered, "It's called the 'Six Meridians Revival Soup.'"
The hand holding the hibiscus cake froze, and Yue Wuhuan stared at him, dumbstruck.
"It's what you'll be taking later," Song Qingshi scratched his head, searching for the right words, "This medicine can reopen your blocked meridians. However, I tested the formula and found it to be extremely painful; you might not be able to endure it. I'm considering methods to alleviate the pain, whether to slow the medicinal effect or numb the pain receptors. I might need to run several more tests..."
If the meridians are cleared, then the hope of returning to the path of immortality emerges...
Why would he go to such lengths for him?
"My Lord," Yue Wuhuan found his voice trembling, "I'm not afraid of pain..."
"No one is truly immune to pain; that's why medicine seeks various ways to alleviate suffering. Severe pain can even cause shock," Song Qingshi looked down at the paper in his hand, stating the obvious, "I don't want you to endure that kind of agony."
Why can't he bear to see him in pain?
Why is he treating him so well?
Why?
Yue Wuhuan was desperate to know the answer.
Finally, he voiced the question that had been haunting him.
Song Qingshi wasn't familiar with the tropes of system novels, which usually required keeping secrets from the protagonist, nor did he know what "OOC" meant. However, his intuition told him that Yue Wuhuan wasn't yet ready to handle such an absurd truth. Not keen on lying, he hesitated for a long time. Just when Yue Wuhuan thought he wouldn't get an answer, Song Qingshi gave an apologetic smile.
He recalled the day he was reborn, the beautiful ray of sunshine that dispelled the clouds in his heart.
A small act of kindness that made him unafraid of a world unknown.
"You once wished me good luck for the night; I wish for a lifetime of good luck with you."
Author's Note: Confused Song the Scholar asks, "Is my novel-hopping system different from others? Does the system instructor also offer online tutoring? Isn't OOC related to work casualties? (on Operation Casualty)"
Studying is the correct way to solve all psychological issues!
To Song Qingshi's delight, the veil of despair that had enshrouded Yue Wuhuan lifted. It was as if a lifeless porcelain doll had come alive, as if a withered flower had begun to bloom again.
He began to take the initiative—approaching, talking, acting. Every morning, he waited at the doorstep for Yue Wuhuan to wake up and start reading.
Even though the world had been unkind to him, he still treated it with gentleness.
No wonder readers adore protagonists who suffer; who wouldn't love such a person?
Song Qingshi's social anxiety gradually subsided, revealing more of his true nature in front of Yue Wuhuan.
Outside his chamber, hesitant knocking sounded.
Song Qingshi groggily lifted his head from the table, realizing it was already daylight. He had fallen asleep while reading again, missing his usual study time and keeping someone waiting outside. Rushing to his feet, he quickly checked for any stray drool before rushing to the door barefoot and disheveled, mumbling, "I accidentally fell asleep on the table again."
Suppressing a yawn and rubbing his slightly reddened eyes to wipe away the sleep-induced tears, he felt a little embarrassed. After all, he had promised to get proper rest and not sleep on the table. Glancing at the person in front of him, he stood up straight, looking as repentant as a kitten caught doing something wrong.
"It's fine; I just got here. Please don't do it again," Yue Wuhuan replied, feeling almost as if he were in a daze.
Now that Song Qingshi was his mentor, he regarded him with due respect.
Initially, he had resolved to follow his master's instructions to the letter. However, Song Qingshi was anything but regimented. His erratic lifestyle, messy room filled with books, clumsy grooming, and wearing the same clothes repeatedly were all cause for concern, let alone his inability to manage his subordinates and domestics.
Why did he ever think such a person would be cruel?
Yue Wuhuan pondered in confusion...
Song Qingshi felt deeply aggrieved upon discerning Yue Wuhuan's thoughts. Throughout his life, he had never concerned himself with anything other than studying. Everything was simplified to save time. He had always been an obedient student, led by professors and managed by senior students.
Who would've thought that in addition to saving the protagonist, he'd have to take on corporate management in another realm?
His predecessor was even worse at communication and offered no insights on management.
Song Qingshi discovered that his predecessor wasn't erratic; his outbursts had their reasons. For example, a jar that had been washed by a servant contained a medicinal fungus he'd cultivated for years. His fury knew no bounds when the servant failed to admit the mistake and when others dared to equate his meticulously developed anesthetics with common knockout drugs. He would become livid, unable to articulate his frustration, and sometimes resort to fatal actions.
His domestics were also walking on eggshells. With only a few words of instruction, they had to guess his intentions, which wasn't easy. The mere sight of their master made them all as skittish as mice before a cat.
Recognizing the flaws in his governance, Song Qingshi resolved to transform his domain into an academy of medical research. With a plan in place, he appointed Yue Wuhuan as his executive secretary to shoulder the burden of communication, reorganizing internal affairs tirelessly every day.
Sharpening the axe won't delay the work of chopping wood.
The various roles in his domain were reassigned, with clear and specific duties for each person. Those who showed a willingness and aptitude for learning were even provided the opportunity to study basic pharmacology, potentially serving as backup medical practitioners in the future.
Yue Wuhuan looked at the token that granted him access to all areas of the domain, even the treasury, with a complicated expression. "Master, how can you trust someone so easily?"
Song "Hands-off Manager" Qingshi magnanimously replied, "I don't trust just anyone. I trust you."
The protagonist, confirmed by the System as a truly good person, is beyond reproach in terms of character! Plus, keeping him busy with tasks will prevent his mind from wandering to other things.
It's a win-win solution!
Filled with gratitude and dedication, Yue Wuhuan set to work. His royal upbringing, coupled with years at the Jin Feng Mountain Manor, had made him adept at reading people and carrying out tasks with ease. In addition to managing various affairs, he also took on the household chores for Song Qingshi—organizing his room, managing his clothing, preparing meals, and even serving as his wake-up call.
He relished this simple, mundane life.
He even wished to hypnotize himself into believing that he was still a normal person.
...
Song Qingshi noticed Yue Wuhuan's improving mental state, seeing more smiles on his face and no tendencies for self-harm. This allowed him to joyfully refocus his attention on restoring his Dantian and cultivating his skills.
The concept of spiritual roots and Dantian were phenomena unheard of in the world of modern science.
Piqued by curiosity, Song Qingshi seized the opportunity when Yue Wuhuan was preoccupied with internal affairs. He retreated to his newly converted basement dissection lab, selected cadavers that exhibited particular types of spiritual roots, and proceeded to dissect them. He aimed to discern the differences between mortal and immortal physiologies, and to understand what exactly spiritual roots were.
In the past, his physical limitations restricted him to merely observing his senior classmates perform dissections. He had always envied them.
Now, rejuvenated and in possession of a healthy body, he was ecstatic as he fulfilled his long-standing wish for dissection.
The scalpel danced between his fingertips as he moved from one cadaver to the next, losing all track of time in his excitement.
After each dissection, Song Qingshi would pause to remove his surgical mask and record his findings, all while enjoying some refreshments and invigorating tea. Just as he was happily recording his observations, the door to the basement opened. Yue Wuhuan walked in carrying dinner, only to freeze at the sight of the dissected bodies, opened intestines, and exposed organs.
Yue Wuhuan cautiously asked, "Master, what are these?"
With a piece of osmanthus cake in his mouth, Song Qingshi turned around in alarm, realizing he might be in trouble.
He had apparently forgotten to instruct Yue Wuhuan to avoid the dissection lab.
In the field of modern medicine, dissection is crucial. Each year, watching the freshmen enter the dissection lab for the first time is a favorite pastime among the senior students. Bets are placed on how many will vomit or faint, and how many will endure to the end. In any case, there are always freshmen who end up being carried out, but they soon grow accustomed to it. Within a few years, they all become veterans, capable of heading to the cafeteria to munch on ribs right after a dissection session.
However, Yue Wuhuan had likely never even dissected a frog. Would this be too much for him?
Glancing at his dissection lab, which looked akin to a murder scene due to his exuberance, and then at the disordered cadavers scattered around the room, not to mention the nauseating stench of decay, Song Qingshi swallowed the osmanthus cake in his mouth. He discreetly fetched a basin, preparing it for Yue Wuhuan's potential use.
"Let me explain. Don't panic; it's not what you think."