Chapter 6

Yue Wuhuan shivered violently, convinced the Immortal Lord was about to gouge out his eyes.

Song Qingshi finished his examination, a puzzled frown on his face. "Are you cold?"

Yue Wuhuan stiffly shook his head.

"If your eyes aren't causing discomfort, we'll address them later," Song Qingshi decided, prioritizing the issues. He returned to the table, removed his gloves, picked up the Divine Sense Bead, and approached. "I found white powdered drugs in your fingernails. Preliminary tests confirm they contain deer spring grass and intoxicating blossom—both potent aphrodisiacs. Additionally, the incense on your clothes and feathered skirt contained plant compounds that attract felines. That's why the Demon Tiger attacked you at the Banquet of a Hundred Flowers."

*He found out…*

Yue Wuhuan despaired.

This was a loophole he had discovered after countless attempts within the rules of the Pleasure Seal: slaves could not harm themselves, nor could they disobey their masters. But masters delighted in watching slaves degrade themselves—or be toyed with to death.

The only substances he could access were aphrodisiacs. By extracting their hallucinogenic components and increasing the dosage, he could drive animals into a frenzy.

So, he timed it. Using wax pellets to delay the drug’s release in the Demon Tiger, he coated himself in scents that would lure it. Once the banquet reached its peak, the drugged beast would charge—inevitably targeting him. Feigning intoxication, he would step forward, letting guests assume it was a performance arranged by Jin Feiren, and applaud.

Jin Feiren, obsessed with saving face and having taken a new favorite, would never intervene to spoil the fun. A moment’s hesitation, and the Demon Tiger would completely lose control, tearing him to shreds.

Yue Wuhuan had executed this plan with no expectation of survival—let alone being exposed while still alive.

In the Golden Phoenix Manor, any sign of disobedience from a slave warranted severe punishment. What he had done—scheming against his master—was an outright violation. But so what?

His initial panic faded into icy calm.

When he had first become a slave, his refusal to submit and his Wood Spiritual Root’s resilient constitution had made him a perfect victim. Under the Pleasure Seal’s control, he endured every imaginable humiliation, forced to admit he was more licentious than the most wanton courtesan. When his unresponsiveness displeased his tormentors, they dosed him with countless drugs, remaking his body into one hypersensitive to even the brush of fabric.

Each time he thought he had reached the depths of hell, he discovered there was further to fall. Eventually, he realized his despair and resistance only amused them. So, he gave up pointless resistance—and the hope of ever escaping the Pleasure Seal alive.

His body was already defiled beyond redemption, so revolting he longed to destroy it.

When the Demon Tiger had torn into him, he had felt no pain—only ecstasy.

Whether they gouged his eyes, severed his limbs for medicinal use, whether he was thrown into brothels or given to beasts for sport—nothing in this world could hurt him anymore.

Yue Wuhuan’s smile vanished. No longer feigning, he cast a cold, defiant glance at the Divine Sense Bead. "Now that you know, what do you intend to do?"

Song Qingshi declared firmly, "Someone is trying to harm you!"

Yue Wuhuan’s challenge fell flat. Stunned, he nearly lost his breath. "What?"

Song Qingshi was proud of his deduction. Though he rarely read novels, his senior sister had once said protagonists were always good—because villains couldn’t pass domestic publishing censors. The system’s introduction had described the bottom protagonist’s tragic fate, so this injury must be part of the original plot.

Based on crime reports he’d read, he concluded: Someone in the Golden Phoenix Manor, jealous of the protagonist’s beauty and favor, had drugged him to ruin him! Thus, Detective Song Qingshi solemnly announced, "I suspect the culprit is whoever dressed you that day. I’ll investigate and see justice done."

"No," Yue Wuhuan replied stiffly, his lips twitching. He couldn't comprehend an Immortal Lord could be this naive—yet the man seemed deadly earnest. At a loss, he muttered, "That won’t be necessary..."

Song Qingshi, touched by his "consideration," grew even more certain. He placed the Divine Sense Bead into Yue Wuhuan’s hand. "This belongs to you. Keep it."

Yue Wuhuan froze upon realizing no fresh Divine Sense mark had been imprinted on the bead.

"I studied it," Song Qingshi explained. "The Pleasure Seal involves complex curses. The Medicine King Valley has no method to break it, so I’ve sent word to the Night Rain Pavilion with a bounty. Their master says the solution isn’t rare, but it’ll take time to procure."

After a long silence, Yue Wuhuan asked hoarsely, "What... must I pay?"

Song Qingshi had received help many times—none demanded repayment. Likewise, he had never asked anything of those he aided.

To him, the Pleasure Seal was an abomination, the root of the protagonist’s suffering—like shackles on a bird’s legs. Freeing the bird needed no repayment.

So, he answered casually, "Just focus on healing and recuperating."

A servant announced the medicine in the courtyard was ready.

Song Qingshi hurried out to check, to guarantee full potency.

Yue Wuhuan gaped at the Divine Sense Bead in disbelief, his mind in turmoil.

In his world, the most costly things came with no stated price.

The Medicine King Immortal was notorious for his cold-bloodedness—what did he want? His body? His life? His soul? After long contemplation, Yue Wuhuan gave a mirthless smile. Fingers tightening around the bead, he resolved to gamble everything. If freedom required selling his soul to the devil, so be it.

When Song Qingshi returned with medicine, Yue Wuhuan quickly assessed the man’s impressions and desires. Adopting a submissive act, he lifted his gaze with perfect balance of gratitude and vulnerability, submitting wholly to treatment.

This patient was perfect! Obedient, never uttering a complaint, even thanking him sweetly. Song Qingshi felt immense satisfaction—if only all patients were this cooperative.

Thanks to his Wood Spiritual Root’s remarkable healing, Yue Wuhuan’s shoulder wounds scabbed within five days.

After an examination, Song Qingshi permitted limited movement, recommending sun exposure, then prepared the next treatment phase.

The Medicine King Valley cared little for finery. Servants provided plain cotton sickroom garments—comfortable for most, but Yue Wuhuan’s oversensitive flesh chafed. He ventured no further, stopping often.

That night, Song Qingshi noticed his unusual walk. During the checkup, the lightest touch near his collarbone nearly caused an involuntary response.

Meeting Song Qingshi’s startled gaze—so transparent, so free of desire—Yue Wuhuan felt a long-forgotten shame. He withdrew into shadow, evading those gentle hands.

The contrast between purity and depravity, cleanliness and filth, exposed his sordid truth.

He reminded himself of what he’d long accepted:

Even freed from the Pleasure Seal, he could never return to who he once was.

Song Qingshi retreated awkwardly, at a loss for words.

Realizing his mistake—Song Qingshi already knew his disgrace—Yue Wuhuan composed himself. Emerging from the dark, he curved his lips invitingly. "I’m so warm... Would the Immortal Lord like to see me?"

Better to display his debasement than be exposed. If he convinced himself he felt no shame, his heart wouldn’t ache.

Song Qingshi came to his senses just as he reached for his belt. In a flash, all bed curtains were drawn, concealing the view.

Yue Wuhuan’s provocative tone died mid-sentence.

"It’s late," Song Qingshi said calmly. "Patients need rest."

Sitting dumbly inside, Yue Wuhuan watched the faint silhouette outside douse the glow-pearl and light incense. The blend of medicinal and sandalwood scents soothed his burning flesh. Slowly, he lay back down, curling into the lonely darkness.

Tonight, no one would violate him. No obscenities, no forced pleas for pleasure. The air held no depravity—only an unfathomable purity that lulled his hyper-alert mind into drowsiness. Against his will, slumber took him.

This dream held no hellscapes—just the fragrance of childhood magnolias outside his window...

He relaxed fully, surrendering to this long-lost sweetness.

***

Song Qingshi lingered outside, lost in thought.

Only after confirming the Soulsoothing incense had taken effect did he return. Lifting the luminous pearl, he quietly parted the curtains and sat beside the bed, using Divine Sense to examine the scarred tissue and concealed afflictions within.

After a long while, he withdrew, gazing at Yue Wuhuan’s face. Freed from seductive pretenses, the sleeping youth resembled a feral cat—claws sheathed, guard lowered, pain momentarily forgotten.

Proud. Stubborn. Meant for freedom.

This was never how his life should have been.

Tucking the blankets gently, Song Qingshi smoothed back disheveled hair and whispered his promise:

"I will heal you."