Chapter 3

The beauty in red parted his vermilion lips and raised the emerald jade flute to play. The melody, overflowing with tender passion, wove its way into the heart, soft and lingering, as if beckoning all who heard it to step behind crimson curtains and share in carnal delights.

Song Qingshi’s mother was an internationally renowned pianist. Under her influence, music became his sole passion outside his studies. In the final days of his life, as his bodily functions failed one by one, his mind remained remarkably lucid. His mother spared no expense, installing the finest sound system in his hospital room to play music ceaselessly. She even leveraged her connections to invite top musicians from various fields to perform intimate concerts for him daily.

Music pulled him back from the brink of despair, soothing his soul. This extraordinary period made Song Qingshi exceptionally sensitive to the emotions embedded within music. He could discern the performer’s gentleness in a passionate piano piece or find hidden encouragement in a sorrowful guzheng melody.

Now, within this tender, amorous flute song, he heard a familiar echo of struggle and despair.

Song Qingshi finally lifted his head, gazing transfixed at the dazzling phoenix, unable to tear his eyes away.

Jin Feiren, noticing Song Qingshi’s sudden interest in the beauty, exclaimed delightedly, “Immortal Lord Song has taken a liking to this slave? His name is Yue Wuhuan. He possesses innate allure and a rare, top-grade Wood Spiritual Root. He’s astonishingly resilient in bed, growing wilder the more you torment him. Everyone who’s tried him raves about his talents. Would the Immortal Lord care for a taste?”

The explicit recommendation made Song Qingshi’s ears flush scarlet. He quickly averted his gaze and rasped in refusal, “No need.”

“Medicine King Immortal values purity and has no interest in such things, old friend. Don’t force him,” Venerable Lingbao interjected, pointing at Yue Wuhuan with a sigh. “If I recall correctly, this was one of Xie Que’s choicest specimens, wasn’t it? No one in the immortal realm raises beauties like him—each surpassing the last in desirability. Ah, but your connections with him are unmatched, old friend. All the finest goods reach you first.”

Jin Feiren waved a hand dismissively. “Nonsense. It’s thirty *hu* of mermaid pearls that have the best connections with him.”

Venerable Lingbao laughed heartily. “If friendship could be measured in wealth, you’d be the most well-connected man in the world! Come, let us drink three cups together in celebration of pleasure.”

Jin Feiren chuckled as well, ordering the youth in his arms to refill their cups before toasting with Venerable Lingbao.

Already heavily intoxicated, Venerable Lingbao leaned against the table, listening to the flute with half-lidded eyes. “I remember when this beauty first arrived,” he mused. “Even under the Pleasure Seal’s control, he resisted entertaining guests—made him all the more interesting to taste. Now that he’s descended into such debauchery, it’s a different flavor altogether. Truly, your unparalleled training methods are peerless, old friend.”

Jin Feiren shook his head. “A pity this beauty never sheds tears, no matter how you torment him. Born without them—takes away half the fun.”

Hearing a medical topic, Song Qingshi couldn’t help but interject, “Congenital absence of tears could be due to lacrimal secretion system abnormalities.”

Jin Feiren stared blankly for a moment. Though eager to befriend Song Qingshi, he couldn’t follow the physician’s medical jargon. Awkwardly chuckling, he changed the subject. “Don’t let his debauchery fool you—this beauty was once a cherished imperial prince in the mortal realm. At eight, Xie Que discovered his exceptional talent while seeking exceptional talents. He demonstrated immortal abilities, gifted the emperor an elixir of longevity, and praised the boy’s spiritual roots, offering to take him as a disciple. The emperor was overjoyed, happily handing his son over to the Immortal Master. Xie Que is a cunning operator—he formally accepts mortals with spiritual roots as disciples, earning their trust before tricking them into signing voluntary slave contracts. He teaches them basic cultivation, waits until their beauty peaks, brands them with the Pleasure Seal to preserve their youthful bloom, then sells them to brothels as specialized pleasure attendants.

“Though everyone knows he’s exploiting loopholes, they turn a blind eye, tacitly permitting this slave trade.”

The elixir of longevity could only be taken once, extending life to a hundred years.

Cultivators who reached Foundation Establishment lived at least three hundred years, making the elixir useless to them. Most bought it for mortal servants, and at just two low-grade spirit stones, the profits were astronomical. This fueled an endless stream of slave traders, yet none matched Xie Que’s skill in cultivating his stock.

To Song Qingshi’s surprise, his memories revealed that the original owner of his body had met Xie Que.

One spring, while secluded in research for a new pill formula, Xie Que arrived carrying an unconscious child seeking treatment. The child was a mortal, around eleven or twelve, with a rare pure Yang constitution, a Wood Spiritual Root, and already at the third level of Qi Refinement—a prodigy surpassing even some mediocre descendants of immortal clans. Xie Que claimed the boy was his disciple of three years, bitten by a Ghost-Faced Serpent during mountain training. Though the venom wasn’t lethal, it painted the victim’s face in grotesque, multicolored patterns.

The original owner typically refused to treat mortals, but Xie Que begged tearfully, insisting this was his most important disciple and offering exorbitant payment. In a good mood and annoyed by the weeping, the original owner relented, bestowing two antidote pills and ordering him to stop crying.

Xie Que kept vigil at his disciple’s bedside for three days until the boy awoke, his body recovered save for the fading venomous markings. Still fearful of lingering toxicity, Xie Que lingered in Medicine King Valley for half a month, refusing to leave until the boy’s face was flawless again.

During that time, the valley’s peach blossoms bloomed magnificently, painting the sky crimson. Whenever confounded by alchemical challenges, the original owner would climb to a high vantage point to ponder amidst the blossoms. Without fail, he’d discern a diminutive figure practicing swordplay beneath the trees—morning, noon, and night—as much a part of the scenery as the flowers themselves.

For mortals, cultivating immortality was like a carp leaping over the Dragon Gate—a near-impossible feat with few successes.

Xie Que fretted at his side, anxiously worrying over dropped swords or exhaustion, even arguing with the boy several times. On a whim, the original owner extended his Divine Sense and overheard the child say, “Master, though mortal bones can’t compare to immortals, my father taught me that the Dao favors the diligent. So I’ll work twice as hard and never waste time.”

“That’s true,” Xie Que said, grimacing as he tried to dissuade him. “But your injuries aren’t fully healed, and I worry you’ll strain yourself. Besides… why swords? Our Yanshan Sect cultivates through music. Wouldn’t the flute or zither suit you better?”

“Your music teachings are wonderful, Master,” the boy replied sheepishly, scratching his head. “But I love the sword. I want to be like Mo Yuan Sword Sovereign. Don’t worry—I’ve mastered all the tunes you taught me, even better than my seniors. It hasn’t hindered my cultivation.”

Defeated, Xie Que sighed. “Fine. I’ll find you a pair of ice-silk gloves later. You must wear them when practicing, and soak your hands in medicinal baths nightly to keep them soft. No calluses—they’ll interfere with your future training.”

The boy cheered, alight with excitement. “Master, you’re the best!”

“Just don’t get hurt,” Xie Que chided, tapping his forehead lightly. “You little rascal, you scared me half to death. From now on, no more sneaking off to the back mountains, and no more all-night training. You’ll ruin your eyes.”

The boy agreed obediently.

Xie Que bent down, ruffling his hair with a sigh. “You have no idea how much you mean to me…”

“I do,” the child said earnestly, looking up. “I know immortals scorn mortals who cultivate, and they scorn masters who only take mortal disciples. I won’t shame you, Master. I’ll form a Golden Core and prove your judgment right!”

Xie Que studied his face silently, his gaze unfathomably dark.

The boy tugged at Xie Que’s sleeve, suddenly shy. “Wu Huan loves you most, Master!”

Xie Que traced a finger along the child’s mottled cheeks, pausing at the dazzling crimson teardrop mole beneath his left eye. After a long silence, he smiled with utmost tenderness. “Master loves you most too.”