Chapter 19

On the day An Long arrived, the Valley of the Medicine King had long been prepared to receive its distinguished guest.

Song Qingshi stood before the mirror, meticulously adjusting his robes and inspecting his appearance. Turning around, he saw Yue Wuhuan dressed in a drab gray robe, looking no different from a common medicine servant. Though simple attire couldn't conceal his beauty, his temperament didn't suit such muted colors; he was better suited to flamboyant, vibrant hues.

So, the Valley of the Medicine King truly was out of money—even the phoenix had turned into a sparrow.

Song Qingshi sighed inwardly, determined to overcome his social anxiety and secure the investment from the Ten Thousand Poisons Sect.

The cry of a messenger bird echoed from the sky, and the Valley of the Medicine King opened its poisonous mist barrier in welcome.

Suddenly, a restless murmur erupted among the gatekeeping medicine servants, gradually spreading through the valley. A few timid servants even fled in panic.

Yue Wuhuan raised his head and cast a cold glance. The fleeing servants immediately halted, their faces paling as they recalled the ruthless methods of this beautiful man, who enjoyed the Master’s deep trust.

Song Qingshi was puzzled. “What’s wrong?”

Yue Wuhuan obediently lowered his head again, offering no answer.

Soon, Song Qingshi understood what had frightened the servants.

A massive white snake slithered up the steps, its tongue flickering, silver scales glistening under the sunlight, and blood-red eyes like those of a demon from purgatory.

The snake raised its head and swiftly coiled around Song Qingshi’s feet, nuzzling him affectionately and wrapping its tail around his leg.

Song Qingshi chuckled, crouching down to pat its head. “Is that you, Xiao Bai? It’s been years—how did you grow so big?”

Recognizing him, the snake flicked its tongue against him, rubbing even more joyfully.

Yue Wuhuan initially moved to intervene but stepped back upon seeing the approaching figure.

“This traitorous wretch—I knew it liked you more,” a deep voice, heavy with resignation, rumbled as a tall shadow loomed over them. “Back in the secret realm, you refused to take Hao Long as your spirit beast, so it had to make do with me. It’s held a massive grudge ever since, always wanting to return to you.”

“Don’t joke,” Song Qingshi laughed. “It doesn’t suit the Valley of the Medicine King—it’s better off in the Ten Thousand Poisons Sect.”

Five hundred years ago, Hao Long had been a young snake, injured in a fight with a larger beast. The original Song Qingshi, passing by while gathering herbs, had casually healed it. The snake stubbornly insisted on following him but was forcibly handed over to An Long. Back then, Hao Long had been no thicker than a finger's width; now, it had grown so large, its scales shimmering, clearly well cared for by the wealthy sect.

After petting the snake, Song Qingshi looked up—and froze.

The An Long in his memory had been a mischievous, youthful boy. The man before him now stood nearly two meters tall, broad-shouldered with a commanding presence, clad in black leather armor. His exposed right arm bore intricate tattoos depicting venomous creatures entwined around bones—terrifying yet mesmerizing. His short-cropped hair accentuated his sharp features: sword-like brows, a prominent nose, and narrow eyes like a predator’s. His thin lips pressed together, exuding danger.

Time had sculpted him over five centuries.

Song Qingshi stared for a long while before he could barely recognize traces of the past in that face.

An Long studied him just as intently before finally grinning, revealing a sharp canine tooth. The dangerous aura vanished, replaced by the familiar mischief of the troublemaker from years past—enough to make the Valley of the Medicine King’s female disciples blush and avert their eyes.

This familiar feeling eased Song Qingshi’s tension slightly.

An Long glanced around, then leaned in and whispered. “I thought you were still angry and never wanted to see me again.”

Song Qingshi seriously recalled the past antics. “I wasn’t angry.”

An Long seemed skeptical, slapping his shoulder as if to change the subject.

The Ten Thousand Poisons Sect specialized in body refinement, and his strength made Song Qingshi wince.

“By the way, I heard you brought back a…” An Long scanned the crowd, quickly spotting Yue Wuhuan. Unsure how to address him, he gestured vaguely. “This one here? Not what I expected—looks docile and well-behaved.”

Yue Wuhuan, accustomed to such remarks, remained expressionless, bowing politely before retreating into silence.

Song Qingshi, however, was stunned.

An Long stroked his chin. “So beautiful. Shame he’s male.”

Even as the Ten Thousand Poisons Sect’s leader and a Nascent Soul cultivator, he was still the same crass rogue!

Song Qingshi’s expression darkened as he dragged An Long to the main hall, sending Yue Wuhuan off to feed the mice before lecturing the troublemaker. Though he sought investment, principles couldn’t be compromised. He swiftly compiled a list of prohibitions: no flirting with Yue Wuhuan, no crude language, no physical contact, no entering his quarters, no forcing him to drink—a total of 126 rules.

“By the Ancestral Gods,” An Long gaped, stunned. “Is he made of crystal?”

Song Qingshi rapped the table. “Rule 72: No odd descriptions.”

“Fine, fine.” Oddly pleased by the reprimand, An Long surrendered, promising to behave. “Then what should I call him? What’s his status here?”

Song Qingshi faltered—he realized this was a serious oversight.

Yue Wuhuan’s psychological condition required privacy. Though he acted as the Valley’s jack-of-all-trades assistant, such a position carried little status in the immortal realm. He’d neglected to assign him a proper title.

“Wait a moment,” Song Qingshi said abruptly, hurrying off to find Yue Wuhuan.

Having finished feeding the mice, Yue Wuhuan waited patiently in the corridor, reading a book.

“Wu Huan,” Song Qingshi panted, “would you like to become my disciple?”

Yue Wuhuan stared in disbelief. “Master, why this sudden…?”

“An Long made me realize you need a proper standing here. I’ve never taken a disciple—you could be my first. It’ll make things easier, socially and otherwise. But if you’d rather not, I’ll think of something else.”

“I’d be honored.” Yue Wuhuan’s voice shook slightly. “You saved my life, taught me skills—I’ve long regarded you as my teacher but didn’t dare ask.” He produced an ebony token inscribed with his name. “I secretly made this life token. Please accept it.”

Life tokens, crafted with a disciple’s heart’s blood, were essential for tracking their safety.

Yue Wuhuan added softly, “I added a minor array. If I die, it will guide you to my remains. I’d like… to be cremated and laid to rest here, near you. May I?”

Touched, Song Qingshi vowed, “I’ll protect you. Nothing will happen to you.”

As Yue Wuhuan began to kneel for the formal rites, Song Qingshi stopped him. “One request—don’t address me as ‘Shifu.’ That term reminds me of… him.” The title was too heavily burdened, tainted by Yue Wuhuan’s past trauma.

Understanding, Yue Wuhuan smiled and performed the rites using the agreed form of address.

“Later, I’ll take you to pay homage to the Grandmaster.” Song Qingshi happily returned to An Long, showing off the token proudly. “Yue Wuhuan is now my first disciple. A fitting status, no?”

An Long was speechless.

He’d seen swift adoptions—but this fast? In less than an hour, the Valley of the Medicine King had its heir.

All because he’d asked one question…

By the Ancestral Gods, had he made a mistake?

With that settled, Song Qingshi turned to securing the investment. Recalling his sister’s advice—first, wine and dine the investor—he led An Long to his lab, eagerly explaining bacterial cultivation and proposing joint experiments.

Both his original self and he had always expressed friendship this way.

Unorthodox, but heartfelt.

Ever since entering the laboratory, An Long had been staring at him blankly, equal parts shocked and delighted, as if trying to confirm something...

Song Qingshi felt a bit puzzled by the gaze and asked, "Do I have something on my face?"

An Long asked cautiously, "Qing Shi, have you truly forgiven me?"

Rebellious teenagers do plenty of foolish things; what's there to hold a grudge about? Besides, most of it was already hazy in memory.

Song Qingshi smiled and said, "I forgave you ages ago. I’ve forgotten those things."

An Long’s eyes grew slightly red as he stared at him in disbelief. "Really forgotten?"

Song Qingshi affirmed, "I hate lying."

"Right, right—you never lie." Suddenly, An Long pulled him into a hug, burying his face against his shoulder and whispering, "Thank you..."

The pretense was stripped away, revealing a warm, open heart.

Joy overwhelmed him.

Song Qingshi had initially intended to push him away, but then he felt the warmth of dampness on his shoulder. After a moment’s thought, he remained still.

An Long’s voice was rough with emotion:

"You have no idea how much I regret it..."

"So happy to see you again."