Chapter 25

Song Qingshi and An Long delved into medical topics such as human anatomy, physiology, proctology, and lacerations, engaging in a heated academic debate that grew increasingly serious. Though neither had personal experience with men, Song Qingshi presented well-reasoned arguments based on relevant treatment cases, while An Long, unable to substantiate his theories, was steadily refuted.

An Long stubbornly resisted: "The immortal realm boasts many devoted same-sex dao companions, like Immortal Lord Wangyue and Immortal Lord Wuling—as devoted as mandarin ducks, inseparable as shadow and form. If it were truly so painful, why would Immortal Lord Wangyue willingly endure it?"

Song Qingshi countered: "Because Immortal Lord Wangyue loves Immortal Lord Wuling and wouldn't want them to suffer."

An Long sighed helplessly: "Why would you think that way?"

"That's just how I see it," Song Qingshi replied earnestly. "A mere laceration isn't unbearable. A true man should be strong for someone he loves; he shouldn't let the other person suffer, should he?"

An Long nearly burst out laughing, barely keeping his composure from revealing his true wolfish nature.

Little Qing Shi was simply too adorable. Unfortunately, two troublesome spiritual flames plagued him: the Red Lotus Mystic Fire required spiritual energy to guide and mobilize, while the Netherworld幽火 needed suppression. Sealing his spiritual power would unleash the Netherworld幽火 uncontrollably, incinerating everything in its vicinity. Without sealing, both flames would erupt, making them nearly impossible to withstand. All restraining or imprisoning artifacts and spells were ineffective against him—in battle, one could only kill, never capture, imprison, or intimidate...

What a shame. Otherwise, he would have long taken this treasure back to the Ten Thousand Poisons Sect and kept him hidden, slowly winning him over.

Suppressing his amusement, An Long said solemnly, "Our debate is getting us nowhere. Only practice can provide the answer."

Song Qingshi found this reasonable.

"Don't look at me," An Long flexed his burly frame and intimidating tattoos. "Anyone bold enough to make a move on me hasn't even been born yet. Even if I wanted to help a friend, I'm physically incapable."

Song Qingshi agreed—with the Alaskan Malamute's appearance, build, and temperament, no one would dare approach him, let alone attempt such things.

An Long sincerely suggested, "Why not try it yourself?"

Song Qingshi hesitated.

"I don't advise experimenting recklessly," An Long analyzed seriously. "If it's as painful as you theorize, your injuries could destabilize your toxic flames—extremely dangerous. You'd need someone strong enough who also understands your temperament."

Song Qingshi countered, "I have full confidence in controlling the Netherworld幽火. Even unconscious, I can suppress it as long as my spiritual energy remains."

An Long wagged his invisible wolf tail, feigning solemnity. "With the Medicine King Venerable's fearsome reputation, who would dare touch you? Do you have any close friends in the immortal realm willing to help? If not, I'll sacrifice myself—purely for medical research, of course."

Though his attitude seemed odd, his logic was sound.

After a full quarter of an hour of deliberation, Song Qingshi rejected the proposal: "No."

As a medical student, he felt no shame about such matters—they were one of humanity's three primal instincts, essential for reproduction. Nor did he find same-sex relations shameful, as nearly all animals exhibited such behaviors, even his lab mice. He could discuss it as clinically as ancient venereal diseases, obstetrical complications, or AIDS prevention—no awkwardness. Modern relationships were fluid, and premarital cohabitation common. His abstinence stemmed from medical obsession, not prudishness.

His refusal was simple: An Long was straight—no need to force a man who liked women to be with a man. Moreover, his upbringing emphasized responsibility—whether with men or women, actions demanded commitment, leading to marriage or partnership...

Thus, he absolutely refused to take responsibility for the Alaskan Malamute!

Being good friends was fine, but keeping him at home? The Medicine King Valley would be demolished!

Seeing his hesitation, An Long sensed opportunity and eagerly touted his canine hips and how he was well-endowed and skilled, his wolfish eagerness leaking through.

Song Qingshi grew suspicious: "Are you messing with me again?"

The Alaskan Malamute’s pranks were too numerous to count—trust was near zero.

An Long protested: "No!"

Song Qingshi frowned: "Your behavior reeks of mischief—like you're setting me up for laughs."

Recalling his past antics, An Long fell silent.

Realizing he might be overcomplicating things, Song Qingshi concluded the real issue wasn't pain, but doing it with someone unloved would multiply the agony. He gave up: "Forget it. This feels unreliable—I acted too rashly. Let's never mention it again."

An Long’s imagined prize vanished, leaving him sulking in a corner, frustrated.

Hao Long slithered over, ignoring his despondent master, and coiled around Song Qingshi’s waist affectionately.

Song Qingshi almost petted him, but his Divine Sense detected Yue Wuhuan waking. He hastily tossed the snake back to An Long and rushed off.

Hao Long, rejected, froze in shock.

An Long patted his head consolingly: "Don't be sad."

---

Yue Wuhuan awoke, sitting dazedly on the bed. Though his breathing had eased considerably, his mind remained in turmoil—fragmented memories and jumbled emotions swirled together. The repugnant reality clashed with the illusory happiness... His yearning for that person bordered on madness.

Trembling, he rose and approached the mirror, staring at the teardrop mole beneath his eye. A strange thought emerged:

*If this teardrop mole disappeared, would I become the version of me he loved in the illusion?*

Surveying the room, he found all potential tools for self-harm confiscated. So, he shattered a porcelain box, selected a shard, and meticulously carved at the teardrop mole beneath his left eye. His hands shook; the shard was dull—but it didn’t matter. He felt no pain, no warm blood dripping to his fingertips. Gazing into the mirror, he stabbed repeatedly until the mole was finally gouged out. He happily cradled it in his palm...

The door opened. His youth stood framed in sunlight.

With hopeful delight, he whispered: "Qing Shi, you're back?"

Song Qingshi nearly collapsed in shock at the sight of the bloodied beauty clutching a porcelain shard.

*I only touched that mole once! Was it worth gouging out?!*

He lunged forward, seizing both the weapon and the flesh, urgently treating the wounds.

Yue Wuhuan’s face was mutilated, half-ruined—yet he kept smiling gently: "Don't worry. I'm fine."

Song Qingshi’s trembling voice reassured: "Y-Yes, you're fine. Your Wood Spiritual Root will prevent scarring."

He didn't know whom he was comforting anymore.

Scars were the least concern—but his psyche had shattered? What now?

Song Qingshi felt himself nearing breaking point.

"Truly mad?" An Long surreptitiously peeked in with Hao Long, realizing he’d need to offer his most prized treasures as apology if he ever wanted re-entry to Medicine King Valley. "What's the point of tormenting someone this mentally unstable? What foolishness possessed me? Why torment him like this?"

An Long plunged into profound self-doubt...