Chapter 15

Song Qingshi had a sweet tooth.

Noticing the weather growing warmer, he led Yue Wuhuan to a riverside tea stall specializing in chilled desserts. He ordered two large bowls of "sushan" (frosted pastry) and lotus-flavored drinks.

"By the way," Song Qingshi suddenly recalled a puzzling entry in Yue Wuhuan’s medical records and asked directly, "Your eyes don't produce tears, yet your tear secretion system is perfectly normal. How is that possible? Was it congenital?"

Yue Wuhuan had little interest in sweets and was merely idly sharing the ice with him. At the question, he paused, then carefully began, "Not congenital... I used to cry as a child, but I didn't like being seen, so I always hid to cry. Later, after being sold to the manor, I realized that crying during those... degrading acts only excited those people more. I didn't want to give them that satisfaction, so I learned to hold back my tears... After holding back for so long, I simply stopped crying."

Human emotions could indeed be stripped away. Unethical psychological experiments had proven this point.

Yue Wuhuan, once caged, had been forcibly deprived of his ability to cry through brutal conditioning and psychological manipulation.

Suddenly, the chilled dessert in Song Qingshi's hands no longer tasted sweet.

"It's not a bad thing. Tears aren't a necessity," Yue Wuhuan smiled faintly, attempting to reassure him. "I'm quite pleased to have at least one thing the Pleasure Seal cannot control. So, Immortal Lord, you needn't concern yourself with it."

"How can I not?" Song Qingshi gently lifted Yue Wuhuan's veil, studying his beautiful eyes once more with a serious expression. "Laughing when happy, crying when sad—these are human instincts. Don't worry, I'll find a way to make you cry!"

As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized how inappropriate they sounded. What kind of person deliberately sought to make another cry from sorrow?

Embarrassed, Song Qingshi shrank back into his seat, quickly trying to salvage the situation: "It doesn't have to be sadness; I sometimes cry when I'm excited too..."

"Oh? So Immortal Lord cries when excited?" Yue Wuhuan was instantly reminded of the dream where Song Qingshi had wept beneath him from overwhelming passion, a strange thrill igniting in his chest. Leaning slightly closer, his gaze shielded by the veil, he allowed his desire to show, licking his parched lips before teasing in an alluring voice, "Then I look forward to Immortal Lord making Wuhuan cry..."

Relieved that the conversation hadn't gone awry, Song Qingshi patted his chest confidently. "Leave it to me!"

He would go back and thoroughly research psychotherapy!

For some reason, Yue Wuhuan seemed rather pleased.

Suddenly, laughter and chatter drifted from the neighboring booth, interspersed with mentions of the Golden Phoenix Manor.

Song Qingshi immediately extended his divine sense to eavesdrop.

Two rogue cultivators—one a Sword Cultivator, the other a demonic practitioner—sat there. Neither was unattractive, but they spoke without restraint, discussing recent major events in the immortal realm:

"Mad Daoist and the Golden Phoenix Manor are truly at each other's throats. Just days ago, he severely injured Manor Lord Jin."

"Thirty years ago, Mad Daoist's only son, True One Lieyun, vanished, and their sect's most precious treasure was lost. He offered a hefty reward and pursued the culprit for years, finally discovering the Heartguard Platform in Manor Lord Jin's possession. Of course, he'd demand justice."

"I never thought Manor Lord Jin would be a murderer and treasure thief."

"That's the Heartguard Platform—the finest tribulation-transcending artifact in existence. Who wouldn't be tempted?"

"Still, Manor Lord Jin picked the wrong fight. Mad Daoist is infamously protective of his own, a true lunatic..."

"Now Manor Lord Jin denies killing True One Lieyun. This dispute is far from over..."

"..."

"Evil deeds always backfire," Song Qingshi muttered under his breath, despising Jin Feiren's character and muttering "scum" a few times. He then quietly instructed Yue Wuhuan, "If Golden Phoenix Manor ever comes seeking medical aid, tell them I'm unavailable—in seclusion, gathering herbs, whatever good reason you can concoct. Have the medicine attendants handle it. Don't let those bastards near us..."

Yue Wuhuan obediently agreed.

Song Qingshi couldn't help but ask, "Did you know about the Heartguard Platform?"

"True One Lieyun's disappearance was thirty years ago. I only entered Golden Phoenix Manor a decade ago," Yue Wuhuan explained with a smile. "Jin Feiren is cautious by nature. Slaves' status is lowly, and with the Pleasure Seal controlling our words and actions, we couldn't access any hidden information..."

In truth, he had spent years piecing together fragmented clues to deduce the Heartguard Platform's whereabouts. Then, through subtle hints, he had led the fortune-telling rogue cultivator, Copper Trigram Immortal, to notice that Jin Feiren's Nascent Soul formation thirty years prior had some suspicious aspects. Copper Trigram, a mercenary rogue with a hidden grudge against Jin Feiren, uncovered the evidence and sold it to Mad Daoist for a hefty price, showing no mercy to Golden Phoenix Manor.

Only after confirming Copper Trigram Immortal was investigating the Heartguard Platform did he confidently plan his own "death."

He had even endured two additional years of torment just to orchestrate this satisfying scheme.

Jin Feiren would likely never imagine that a slave, whose words and actions were not his own, could stab him so deeply.

Yet, Mad Daoist had failed to kill that beast.

What a pity...

Yue Wuhuan suppressed his regret, stealing a glance at Song Qingshi, afraid that his true nature—vicious and calculating—would displease him. So, he donned his gentle, benevolent facade once more and quietly resumed eating his ice.

Next door, the two rogue cultivators' conversation veered off course, unexpectedly touching upon Medicine King Valley:

"They say Medicine King Immortal Lord is the most ascetic patriarch outside Buddhist sects. Who knew he'd turn out to be a fool?"

"Medicine King Valley's old house is on fire, and it's burning fast."

"..."

Puzzled, Song Qingshi looked at Yue Wuhuan; he didn't recall any fires in Medicine King Valley.

Unwilling to let such vile words reach his ears, Yue Wuhuan rose. "Immortal Lord, I don't want to stay here."

Song Qingshi hesitated but stood to settle the bill.

Then, the Sword Cultivator's voice carried over: "Everyone knows Young Master Wuhuan's beauty is unparalleled, his allure innate. He's utterly bewitched Medicine King Immortal Lord."

The demonic cultivator chuckled maliciously: "Anyone who's been to Golden Phoenix Manor has had a turn with that slut. No matter how beautiful, he's just Jin Feiren's discarded plaything. Immortal Lord Song, being reclusive, wouldn't know these things—he took that whore as his private possession, treating him like a treasure. I hear Young Master Wuhuan's skills in the bedchamber are unique, enough to make men lose their souls. Immortal Lord Song, never having tasted such pleasures, must be helplessly enthralled."

"Hahaha, I'd love to see it myself..."

Song Qingshi's face turned ashen with fury. He regretted not leaving sooner. He nervously glanced at Wuhuan, unable to discern his expression beneath the veil. After a moment's thought, he decided he couldn't flee; he had to do what a proper man should. So, he rolled up his robe sleeves and went to defend Yue Wuhuan's honor.

Yue Wuhuan couldn't stop him and could only let him go.

Puffing himself up, Song Qingshi strode to the two men, suppressing his social anxiety, and slammed his hand heavily on their table, mentally scrambling for insults.

The Sword Cultivator and demonic practitioner looked up to see a small beauty in white, as pure as snow, standing before them, visibly nervous yet feigning composure. He kept glancing at them, his pink lips parting as if to speak, yet holding back a thousand words.

What was this situation?

Could it be that he was smitten with their dashing looks and was offering himself?

"I—I..." Song Qingshi stammered, realizing he was truly terrible at cursing. What would be the fiercest insult?

Most cultivators were uninhibited in their dalliances and cared little for gender. The Sword Cultivator and demonic cultivator grew increasingly delighted by the pure beauty, finding him uniquely charming. They quickly urged, "Don't rush, speak slowly. Brother will wait for you."

"Alright, no rush," Song Qingshi took a deep breath, composed himself, and asked sternly, "Do you know who I am?"

The Sword Cultivator smiled, reaching for his hand: "No idea. May we know your esteemed name, fair one?"

Song Qingshi seized his restless wrist tightly and declared loudly, "Song Qingshi. Of Medicine King Valley."

The Sword Cultivator's expression froze.

Song Qingshi's grip tightened, and he said earnestly, "I am the very fool whose house you just said was on fire."

The Sword Cultivator's wrist snapped with an audible crack.

The demonic cultivator realized the situation was dire and turned to flee.

Song Qingshi shot out several poisoned needles, causing various strange rashes to erupt on both men's bodies. They were agonizingly painful and unbearably itchy, tears streaming down their faces as they wished they could peel off their own skin. They tried to scream, but a pill was forced into their mouths, leaving their throats hoarse and completely voiceless.

"Defaming Medicine King Valley: punishment—seven days of pain and itching. Speaking disrespectfully: punishment—ten years of silence!"

After coldly delivering his judgment, Song Qingshi left the two vile wretches writhing on the ground and returned to Yue Wuhuan's side, feeling utterly manly and proud of his performance, eager for praise.

Yue Wuhuan instantly realized the indecent thoughts those men had harbored toward Song Qingshi and couldn't tolerate it. In a sudden, uncontrolled movement, he grabbed the hand Song Qingshi had used to touch the Sword Cultivator and dragged him to the well, scrubbing it relentlessly with disinfectant soap. "Don't touch such filthy things. They're unclean..."

Song Qingshi was bewildered by the impromptu scrubbing.

Once Yue Wuhuan had thoroughly cleaned his hand, he finally realized his own outburst. After a moment's thought, he lifted the veil of his hat, revealing a gentle smile: "Later, we're having hand-torn lamb at Tianxiang Tower. Your hand touched poison and then people—it's safer to wash it thoroughly."

Song Qingshi instantly understood.

So Yue Wuhuan had also caught some of his medical student's mild germaphobia.