Chapter 10

Learning is the true path to resolving all psychological issues!

Song Qingshi was overjoyed to find the aura of despair that had enveloped Yue Wuhuan dissipate. It was as if an emotionless porcelain doll had sprung to life, or a withered flower had suddenly burst forth with vibrant vitality.

Yue Wuhuan began to proactively approach, initiate conversations, and take action. Every morning, he would wait by the door for Song Qingshi to wake up and study.

Though the world had treated him harshly, he still extended gentleness to it.

No wonder readers adored the protagonist (submissive type); who in this world wouldn't be drawn to such a person?

Song Qingshi’s social anxiety gradually eased, his nervousness vanished, and he increasingly revealed his true self in front of Yue Wuhuan.

Outside the bedchamber, a hesitant knock sounded.

Song Qingshi drowsily lifted his head from the desk, realizing it was already broad daylight. He had accidentally fallen asleep while reading again last night, missing their study time and leaving someone waiting outside for who knew how long. In a flurry, he rose, subtly checking for any tell-tale drool, then rushed to open the door without even changing or putting on shoes. He mumbled, “I accidentally fell asleep at the desk again.”

He yawned, rubbing his slightly reddened eyes and wiping away sleepy tears. Remembering his promise to rest properly and not sleep slumped over the desk, he suddenly felt a pang of embarrassment. He stole a glance at the person before him, trying to stand upright, looking as contrite as a naughty kitten caught in the act.

“It’s alright, I just arrived. Just don’t do it next time.” Yue Wuhuan stared blankly, feeling as if he were witnessing an illusion.

Now that Song Qingshi was his teacher, Yue Wuhuan treated him with the respect due a master.

Originally, he had resolved to follow his master’s every instruction without question. However, Song Qingshi never demanded anything from others. His own routine was erratic—skipping meals and sleep was commonplace, and when inspiration struck, he would go days and nights without proper rest. He was utterly inept at daily chores: his room was a chaotic pile of books, his hair clumsily styled, and he wore the same clothes repeatedly without a care. He paid no attention to food, drink, or living conditions, and even his management of subordinates was deeply flawed—the medicine servants were disorganized, often unsure of their duties...

Why had he ever thought such a person was cruel?

Yue Wuhuan pondered in confusion...

When Song Qingshi learned of his thoughts, he felt deeply wronged. From childhood, he had focused solely on studying, never worrying about anything else. He bought clothes of the same style and color to save time, cut his hair without fuss, and ate whatever was served without complaint—everyone praised him for being easy to care for. During research, professors led the team, senior brothers managed, and he simply executed tasks and took notes—a perfectly obedient student.

Who would have thought that transmigrating into a novel would require not only saving the protagonist (submissive type) but also managing the Medicine King Valley’s operations?!

The original owner was even worse at communication—a fellow social anxiety sufferer—so his management methods were hardly worth emulating.

While reviewing the memories, Song Qingshi realized that the original owner wasn’t truly temperamental. Most of his outbursts had clear reasons—like when a medicine attendant washed a mold-covered jar that contained years of cultivated fungal medicine, then refused to admit fault. Or when someone brazenly declared that the Drunken Immortal Pill, painstakingly developed by him, was merely the “best knockout drug in the world,” equating a surgical anesthetic with the tools of petty criminals! The original owner had been so enraged he couldn’t speak, resorting to killing on the spot.

The medicine attendants also walked on eggshells. The Master’s instructions were always cryptic, leaving them to guess how to proceed. Everyone saw the Master as mice see a cat—too afraid to speak or approach.

Aware of these shortcomings, Song Qingshi resolved to reform, transforming the Medicine King Valley into a medical research institute for the immortal realm. After drafting plans, he appointed Yue Wuhuan as his chief aide, entrusting him with the crucial task of communication and daily internal management.

Sharpening the axe won’t delay the cutting of firewood.

The Medicine King Valley was reorganized, with clear duties assigned to each attendant. Those with a thirst for knowledge and ambition were even given the opportunity to study basic pharmacology, training them as future medical practitioners.

Yue Wuhuan held a token granting access to every corner of the Medicine King Valley—even the treasury—his expression complex. “Master, how can you trust others so easily?”

Song Qingshi, the hands-off manager, magnanimously replied, “I don’t trust others. I only trust you.”

The protagonist (submissive type) was system-verified as virtuous—his character was beyond reproach! Besides, keeping him busy would leave no room for gloomy thoughts.

A perfect solution all around!

Deeply moved, Yue Wuhuan diligently applied himself to his duties. Born into royalty and having spent years at the Golden Phoenix Manor, he was skilled at reading people and handling affairs with ease. He even took on miscellaneous tasks like tidying Song Qingshi’s room, managing his clothes, preparing meals, and waking him up...

He cherished this life—ordinary and mundane.

He even wished he could hypnotize himself into believing he was still a normal person.

...

Song Qingshi noticed Yue Wuhuan’s mental state improving—his smiles became more frequent, and there were no signs of self-harm. Pleased, he refocused on his research into restoring dantians and cultivation.

Spiritual roots and dantians were phenomena unknown in the modern scientific world.

Fascinated, Song Qingshi took advantage of Yue Wuhuan’s busy schedule to visit the basement-turned-dissection room. From hundreds of cadaver donors, he selected those with Wood Spiritual Roots or shattered spiritual roots, dissecting them to study the differences between immortal and mortal bodies and uncover the mysteries of spiritual roots.

In his past life, his uncoordinated body had limited him to watching seniors perform dissections—something he had envied deeply.

Now, reborn with a healthy body, he indulged in his long-held wish, dissecting with such joy that he forgot time itself.

The scalpel danced between his fingers as he worked through cadaver after cadaver, blissfully unaware of the passing hours.

After each dissection, Song Qingshi would remove his mask to take notes, snacking on refreshments and spirit tea to stay alert. One day, as he happily munched and scribbled, the basement door opened—Yue Wuhuan walked in carrying dinner, only to freeze at the sight of the room filled with corpses, sliced intestines, and scattered organs.

Yue Wuhuan asked cautiously, “Master, what is all this?”

Song Qingshi, an osmanthus cake still in his mouth, turned in horror, realizing he might have made a grave mistake.

He... had forgotten to warn Yue Wuhuan not to enter the dissection room.

In modern medicine, dissection was a crucial part of training. Watching freshmen enter the dissection room for the first time was a yearly amusement for seniors—betting on how many would vomit, faint, or last till the end. Without fail, some would be carried out every year. But with time, they’d grow accustomed—soon enough, they’d all become warriors who could dissect and then rush to the cafeteria for ribs.

But Yue Wuhuan had probably never even dissected a frog. Would this be too much for him?

Song Qingshi glanced around the room—now looking like a ghastly crime scene due to his overenthusiasm—the haphazardly placed cadavers, the nauseating stench of decay... He swallowed the osmanthus cake with difficulty and quietly pulled over a basin, ready in case Yue Wuhuan needed it...

“Let me explain—don’t panic. It’s not what you think.”