Chapter 21

Song Qingshi rose at dawn and took Yue Wuhuan to the ancestral shrine to pay homage to his predecessor.

Unlike other sects that revered their ancestral halls, the one in the Valley of Medicine Kings was tucked away in an inconspicuous, dilapidated corner, hidden among trees. It was barely better than the herb attendants' quarters. Outside lay herb gardens, and Yue Wuhuan had passed it several times, always mistaking it for an abandoned building and paying it no mind.

Song Qingshi pushed open the talisman-sealed door.

Inside, thick layers of dust covered everything. Aside from simple tables, chairs, and an altar, there was only an old scroll.

"Honestly, there’s no need to lock it—there’s nothing valuable here," Song Qingshi explained apologetically. "I haven’t been here in years. Wait a moment, let me clean up first." He rolled up his sleeves, first using a breeze-summoning charm to sweep away the dust, then carelessly tossing cleansing charms everywhere. After setting up the incense burner on the altar and arranging fresh flowers and fruits, he finally dug out a worn-out meditation cushion, clapped the dust off his hands, and announced, pleased, "Done."

Yue Wuhuan stood nearby holding incense, bewildered. In all his life, he had never seen such a casual sect...

Song Qingshi unfurled the painting on the altar and hung it up.

The painting depicted no figures, neither colophon nor seal—only an endless sea of clouds, with a brilliant streak of light cutting through the depths, illuminating the horizon.

Song Qingshi made an effort to explain, "I chanced upon my master’s legacy in a hidden realm. He left neither name nor title, only the surname Song. At the time, I had no surname of my own, so I took his as a sign of respect..."

The immortal realm was steeped in violence, and many children lost their parents—Song Qingshi’s original body was one of them. Born with two spiritual flames and prodigious aptitude in medicine and poison, he had accidentally inherited the legacy of the Medicine King in a hidden realm, later founding the Valley of Medicine Kings. He withdrew into seclusion there, treating illnesses, concocting elixirs and venoms, occasionally venturing into hidden realms to gather rare herbs. Over time, his renown spread without him even realizing it.

"Inheritance in the immortal realm is directly imparted to the mind, so this painting is the only tangible remnant my master left behind. I assumed it held some special commemorative value, so I venerated it here—though I have no idea what it depicts. Maybe it’s just scenery..." Song Qingshi felt a little guilty about his own casual judgment and quickly moved on. "Anyway, I’ve copied all the manuscripts suitable for sect inheritance and stored them in the library. You can read them as you wish."

Having finished his explanation and confident he hadn’t missed anything, Song Qingshi gestured for Yue Wuhuan to offer the incense.

Yue Wuhuan lit the incense respectfully, but the moment he knelt, the incense extinguished.

He relit it, knelt again—and again, the incense extinguished.

Worried, Yue Wuhuan looked at Song Qingshi. "Could it be... the Grandmaster doesn’t wish to accept me as a disciple?"

"Impossible! You’re so brilliant—he’d be thrilled," Song Qingshi brushed it off, then pondered for a moment. "Come to think of it, I’ve never knelt before. Every time I come, I just clean up, offer incense, and leave—and I often forget even that... I think my master might not like being knelt to. Try just offering the incense directly."

Though doubtful, he complied, Yue Wuhuan inserted the lit incense into the burner and bowed deeply while standing.

This time, the incense burned undisturbed without extinguishing.

Yue Wuhuan couldn’t help but ask, "Isn’t this too disrespectful to the Grandmaster?"

"My master disliked such ceremonial obeisance. What he liked was..." Song Qingshi recalled the inheritance left in his original body—filled with knowledge but almost no personal traces, save for one intriguing word that seemed to be his motto: "Doubt."

Doubt authority. Doubt knowledge. Doubt everything in the world.

Questioning was the catalyst of scientific inquiry.

Song Qingshi took pains explaining his philosophy to Yue Wuhuan: "My master didn’t want us to venerate him personally. He wanted us to respect knowledge, uphold his principles, study diligently, and research earnestly. We shouldn’t refrain from questioning his teachings just because he’s the Grandmaster. Even though he was extraordinary, he still erred. It’s through identifying those errors that we find the correct answers."

Yue Wuhuan hesitated. "Correct answers?"

Song Qingshi said cheerfully. "Yes! I’ve already researched and proven several of his mistakes, then revised the answers accordingly."

His theory was nothing short of heretical in the immortal realm, where reverence for teachers was sacrosanct.

Yue Wuhuan was stunned speechless.

"Perhaps this is the very foundation of the Valley of Medicine Kings," Song Qingshi reflected nostalgically. "When I die, I hope to follow my master’s example—no disciples kowtowing in reverence, no portraits or names left for posterity to venerate. Such things are a waste of time. It’d be better to spend that effort on research, finishing the projects I couldn’t complete, correcting my mistakes, and discovering more fascinating..."

Before he could finish, Yue Wuhuan grabbed his arm tightly, interrupting his musings.

Yue Wuhuan glared at him, his expression as dark as an impending storm. Through gritted teeth, he growled, "Don’t speak such inauspicious words..."

Finally realizing the issue, Song Qingshi laughed lightly. "Don’t worry, I meant dying of old age."

As a medical practitioner, he wasn’t afraid to discuss life and death—it didn’t strike him as particularly taboo.

But Yue Wuhuan’s heart clenched in panic, and he snapped sharply, "Don’t say it!"

Seeing how genuinely upset he was, Song Qingshi considered his psychological struggles and acquiesced quietly.

Yue Wuhuan knew he should apologize, but on this matter, he refused to yield.

The two fell quiet, eventually pretending the conversation had never happened.

The ceremony concluded.

......

Song Qingshi was fond of sweets, especially for ice cakes. Yue Wuhuan, however, was extremely particular about taste and found store-bought desserts lacking—too unclean. Since the Valley of Medicine Kings lacked skilled chefs, he took it upon himself to study various dessert recipes, experimenting daily to create all kinds of sweets for Song Qingshi. They were exceptionally delicious.

When An Long discovered Song Qingshi’s private stash, he immediately began pilfering treats, even attempting to order Yue Wuhuan to cook for him as well.

Song Qingshi snapped immediately. "Is my head disciple some kind of servant?"

But the Alaskan Malamute paid no heed to reason, badgering incessantly for Yue Wuhuan’s desserts.

"Fine, he’s busy enough as it is," Song Qingshi sighed, setting down his book and rolling up his sleeves. "I’ll make some for you."

An Long’s eyes lit up with delight.

Though Song Qingshi loved sweets, he had no strong cravings—he could take them or leave them. In his previous life, he’d been a pampered young master who never lifted a finger; in this world, his original self would rather fast than bother with cooking. Thus, across two lifetimes, he had never set foot in a kitchen. His mind was a repository for thousands of medicinal herbs, but seasonings like oil, salt, vinegar, and soy sauce had no place in it...

Standing dumbfounded in the kitchen, he spent a long while figuring out the utensils. Finding no recipe and clueless about lighting a fire with ordinary firewood, he simply conjured his Inner Fire and attempted to make desserts using alchemical methods.

After much effort, he finally produced a plate of round, scorched globes—each identical in size and degree of burntness, a perfectionist’s dream.

"These are glutinous rice balls," Song Qingshi, always one to face failure cheerfully, declared. He presented the results merely to prove he’d tried, then advised, "They probably taste awful. Best to throw them away. I’ll have the kitchen make you something—anything’s fine as long as it doesn’t trouble Wuhuan."

An Long studied them for a moment, then suddenly picked one up and tossed it into his mouth.

Song Qingshi couldn’t stop the Alaskan Malamute’s reckless eating in time and worried he might get an upset stomach.

An Long chewed thoughtfully for a long while before praising, "Looks terrible, but the taste isn’t bad."

Then, with relish, he ate several more, leaving only one behind.

Song Qingshi stared in disbelief. He hadn’t dared taste them himself—could they really be edible? Summoning his courage, he ate the last dumpling.

The moment he bit down, an explosive burst of flavors assaulted his taste buds—sickeningly saccharine, mingled with bizarre spices and even a strange fishiness. It was worse than the bitterest pill, downright nauseating.

Tears welled in Song Qingshi’s eyes from the disgust, and he spat it out immediately, pointing at the Alaskan Malamute in wordless horror.

An Long slammed the table, laughing so hard he could barely straighten up.

This was just like him—willing to suffer himself if it meant teasing Song Qingshi. Moreover, he had an uncanny sense for the limits of the original body’s temper, always dancing on the edge between mischief and genuine fury. Seeing Song Qingshi on the verge of eruption, he quickly wiped away his tears of laughter, composed himself, and added, "I won’t ask Yue Wuhuan for food anymore."

Instantly, Song Qingshi’s anger dissipated.

Grinning, An Long said, "It’s your first attempt—it’s precious. Had to try it."

Reflecting on his kitchen prowess, Song Qingshi felt a little embarrassed. Seizing the moment, An Long pressed on, "By the way, want to see the new gu I developed? They’re adorable."

Song Qingshi immediately put the dumpling incident behind him and happily dragged the other man to the research chamber.

On the way, An Long asked with a smile, "You're really protective of your precious Yue Wuhuan, huh? What ails him?"

Song Qingshi gave him a wary glance, unwilling to answer such a private question, and simply ordered, "Don’t meddle."

An Long mused thoughtfully, "How intriguing..."

The more Song Qingshi forbade him from causing trouble, the more he wanted to do just that.

After all, wasn’t mischief so entertaining?

...

Yue Wuhuan finished his sword practice and prepared to return to his room to bathe and change. As he passed through the corridor, a small paper ball struck the back of his head.

The ball rolled on the ground, seemingly containing something inside.

Since it was currently Song Qingshi’s time for alchemical research—a period not to be disturbed—he obediently crouched down, picked up the paper ball as expected, and slowly unfolded it.

Inside was a terrifying twin-headed centipede, its countless legs wriggling, hideous maws dripping with disgusting mucus, poised to lunge at him.

Yue Wuhuan thought for a moment, then wrapped it back in the paper and tossed it aside, saying with mild annoyance, "Venerable An, stop with these juvenile pranks."

"What? With Qing Shi not around, you can’t be bothered to act obedient anymore?" An Long chuckled darkly as he stepped out from behind the screen wall. With a wave of his hand, the centipede crawled out of the paper and returned to his palm. "This little thing isn’t poisonous—just raised to scare people. It always makes beauties shriek and quiver, which is especially amusing. Why aren’t you afraid at all? I’m a bit disappointed."

Yue Wuhuan replied with feigned resignation, "If Venerable An wishes, I can scream for you."

"No, no, faked performances are too insincere—I don’t like them," An Long flipped his hand, and the centipede vanished. He lazily approached, studying Yue Wuhuan up and down with curiosity before praising, "I never imagined a man could be this beautiful—even surpassing the celebrated courtesan Wan Niangzi of the Moonlight Pavilion. Knowing you only like men, I still don’t find it the least bit repulsive."

The Moonlight Pavilion was a renowned brothel in the immortal realm, and Wan Niangzi was its famously alluring reigning courtesan.

The comparison was deliberately insulting.

Yet Yue Wuhuan remained unfazed. He offered a faint smile and deflected, "I’ve long heard that Venerable An has countless conquests of the heart across the world, with immortal ladies and demonic beauties vying for your favor, even coming to blows. To receive such praise from you today is truly an honor."

"You flatter me, Young Master Wu Huan," An Long chuckled, catching the subtle barb of his promiscuity. "But my romantic partners are nowhere near as numerous as the admirers you’ve charmed into your bed. I once knew a friend—what was his name… Yu something? A paragon of righteousness. He couldn’t forget you even after you ‘reformed’ and entered the Medicine King Valley, beyond reach of dalliance. He got drunk and complained bitterly."

Yu Qing had drunkenly slandered Song Qingshi’s reputation, so Yue Wuhuan had dispatched him without ceremony and sent his corpse to the Medicine King Valley for research.

Yue Wuhuan pretended not to understand. "I don’t remember the dead."

An Long scoffed. "How cruel you are, beauty."

"Indeed. Flowers are heartless, actors are faithless." Yue Wuhuan openly acknowledged the jab. He lifted a hand to tuck a sweat-dampened strand of hair behind his ear, took a few steps, then reclined indolently against the corridor’s screen wall. Raising his eyes challengingly, he asked, "Venerable An, don’t you think the living are far more interesting?"

An Long followed, pressing a tattooed arm—covered in images of the Five Poisons—against the wall beside Yue Wuhuan’s ear. Leaning down with a wolfish grin, he bared his canines and shed all pretense. "I find you, this intriguing pretender, quite fascinating. I wonder what lies beneath this beautiful skin. Why not let me take a look?"

Yue Wuhuan smiled. "Does Venerable An have an interest in my true face?"

An Long gripped his chin, tilting his face upward for closer inspection, then crowded into his space menacingly. "A great deal of interest."

Yue Wuhuan studied him calmly for a moment before reminding, "The Master seems to have finished his experiments early."

An Long instantly withdrew, startled—before remembering he had shielded Song Qingshi’s Divine Sense detection. There was no way he’d been discovered.

Yue Wuhuan lowered his head, hiding a smirk.

"You dare trick me?!" An Long, realizing he’d been played, seethed with anger and nearly bared his claws at the audacious man.

In an instant, Inner Fire sprang up beneath him.

An Long sensed the danger and sprang back.

More flames forced him back three zhang.

Song Qingshi appeared behind him, Inner Fire blazing, prepared to scorch the Alaskan Malamute who dared bully his little angel the moment his back was turned. Thankfully, Yue Wuhuan had warned him to secretly scan An Long’s activities with Divine Sense these past few days—otherwise, this wretched mutt would have torn the Medicine King Valley apart! Though a Nascent Soul Cultivator could block Divine Sense, Song Qingshi had noticed An Long’s sudden disappearance from his senses and rushed over, certain he was up to no good.

An Long pointed at Yue Wuhuan, too furious to speak. "You—you—!"

Yue Wuhuan murmured innocently, "I didn’t lie."

Song Qingshi rushed to Yue Wuhuan’s side, checking for injuries. "Did he hurt you?"

He hadn’t witnessed the exchange, but between a domineering Alaskan Malamute and a fragile angel, who was at fault? Between a psychologically fragile patient and a thick-hided Immortal Lord, who was stronger? An Long could kill Yue Wuhuan a hundred times over with a finger! He had to protect his angel—even if it meant losing An Long’s investment.

Song Qingshi’s bias was blatant and unapologetic.

Behind him, An Long shot Yue Wuhuan a murderous glare.

Yue Wuhuan glanced at him, then smoothly interjected, "No, Venerable An is quite kind. He was just joking with me."

Song Qingshi turned a suspicious gaze on An Long, his Inner Fire still flickering, poised to shift into poisonous flames.

An Long instantly adopted an innocent smile. "I wouldn’t dare bully him! Merely exchanging pleasantries and jokes."

"Indeed," Yue Wuhuan continued soothingly. "Master, I rarely leave the valley, so I’m quite curious about the outside world. Venerable An, being so magnanimous, has indulged my curiosity with fascinating stories. I’ve enjoyed them greatly."

An Long threw an arm around Yue Wuhuan’s shoulders, patting his own chest heartily. "We found instant rapport! I just wanted to be friends."

Yue Wuhuan smiled in agreement. "Venerable An truly didn’t bully me."

Song Qingshi gradually let his flames die down, though still doubtful. "Is that so?"

Both nodded. "Yes."

Perplexed, Song Qingshi scratched his head. He had seen An Long blocking Yue Wuhuan in an aggressive posture and immediately assumed the worst—had he misunderstood?

"Go on ahead, I’ll catch up with you later," An Long bid Yue Wuhuan a farewell laced with warning before dragging Song Qingshi away. "Come, let’s check if there are any results from yesterday’s cultivation vessel."

"Don’t be angry. I wouldn’t dare bully your porcelain treasure."

"Article seventy-two."

"Fine, fine, I’ll stop. Have a drink with me instead."

"No."

"..."

Yue Wuhuan bowed properly, observing their departure.

The Xilin Gu King, accustomed to unquestioned authority, rarely needed intricate schemes—might made right.

Thus, his probing and intentions were plain as day.

He had likely investigated Yue Wuhuan’s unsavory history, scorned his motives, suspected ulterior motives, doubted his loyalty to the Medicine King Valley, questioned his ambitions—even his feelings for Song Qingshi. Yet without proof, he feared provoking Song Qingshi’s wrath. So instead of open confrontation, he sought excuses to pry, to uncover Yue Wuhuan’s true nature before crushing him.

This was a simple matter to handle.

If the Xilin Gu King wished to see his true face, then he would show it.

He only hoped An Long could bear witness to the truth.