Chapter 39

Song Qingshi had never seen An Long like this before and was so frightened he didn't know what to do. After obediently removing all the toxins, he spent another half an hour acting like a stuffed teddy bear—not daring to speak or move—until he was finally released.

Hao Long had no serious injuries, just exhaustion from overexertion. Song Qingshi had the kitchen prepare a large batch of raw eggs for Hao Long and strictly forbade An Long to drink, not even medicinal wine.

By the time he returned to Fuling Palace, it was already midnight.

His newly healed body was tired, and his heart was weary.

Yue Wuhuan was sitting on the steps of Fuling Palace, waiting for him. Seeing his state, Yue Wuhuan paused for a moment but said nothing.

“Were you waiting for me?” Song Qingshi felt a spark of joy upon seeing him, but his entire body was smeared with mud from An Long, and even purification spells failed to eliminate the swamp’s stench. All he wanted was to take a bath.

Yue Wuhuan fetched him a fresh robe and brought it to the door of the bathing chamber.

Soaking in the steaming hot spring, Song Qingshi pondered An Long’s words and actions from earlier, feeling somewhat confused.

Could An Long actually like him?

He quickly dismissed the absurd thought. Though he wasn’t skilled at handling friendships, he wasn’t completely ignorant. His sister from another world had been a goddess-tier beauty with suitors lining up for blocks, each trying to win her favor in elaborate ways—some even buttering him up by gifting him books and exam papers, hoping he’d put in a good word.

None of them acted like An Long, who caused trouble and angered people at every turn.

Wasn’t this just the classic “annoying friend dynamic” everyone talked about?

Back in school, senior and junior brothers horseplayed even harder than this—hugging, shoving, cursing, giving each other nasty nicknames, drinking together, bathing together, even mocking each other mercilessly. Yet none of it stopped them from finding girlfriends, and in front of their partners, they transformed into paragons of gentleness and propriety.

Over five hundred years ago, whenever An Long dragged him out to play, he’d always be the first to spot a beauty, whistling to catch her attention and urging Song Qingshi to join in, even teaching him how to flirt. Song Qingshi had no interest in such things and refused repeatedly, but An Long persisted tirelessly in his foolish antics—pointing out demure and refined ladies, passionate and alluring types; petite and adorable, tall and elegant; foreign charms, classical grace; noble ladies, and even fallen flowers.

Thanks to An Long, he’d seen more beautiful women in that period than ever before in his life.

No one disliked beautiful things.

Song Qingshi wasn’t opposed to admiring beauty, but he insisted on doing so with respect and courtesy. He had no desire to be mistaken for a lecher by these women, nor did he want to be chased through the streets alongside An Long, bombarded with magical tools, too ashamed to fight back!

This incident remained the most humiliating moment of his life.

Beating An Long’s canine head till it swelled like a hog’s hadn’t been enough to vent his anger.

Yet An Long remained unapologetic, grinning as he asked, “If you don’t like women, do you like men instead?”

The question stunned Song Qingshi. He pondered it seriously for a long time, but immersed in cultivation and research, he had always been free of earthly attachments. He had never experienced the pangs of desire and had never considered his own orientation—how could he possibly answer? When he tried to conjure an image of someone he might like, his mind remained blank.

After a while, he realized An Long had led him astray again. He was someone destined for the Emotionless Path—why was he even thinking about such things?

An Long pressed on relentlessly, “What kind of man do you like? The men of Xilin treat their partners exceptionally well. They might seem fierce outside, but they’re actually henpecked by their partners—tell them to go east, and they won’t dare go west; tell them to kneel on a washboard, and they wouldn’t dream of kneeling on nails… Want me to find you one? I’ll pick a good one, guaranteed to be obedient.”

His expression was so maddeningly gleeful, as if waiting for a joke to unfold.

Song Qingshi disliked the topic intensely, feeling toyed with once more. Refusing to engage with this idiot who loved making inappropriate jokes, he fled back to Medicine King Valley and locked himself in his study for days, burying himself in books. Only after An Long swore on his ancestors never to bring it up again did Song Qingshi reluctantly forgive him.

An Long, knowing he’d overstepped boundaries, behaved himself for a long time afterward.

Later, Song Qingshi successfully achieved Nascent Soul formation and embarked on the Emotionless Path.

The Emotionless Path didn’t hinder daily life or friendships—it simply severed romantic and carnal desires, allowing one to focus solely on the Dao. After embracing it, Song Qingshi never suffered from inner demons, advancing swiftly without bottlenecks. Clearly, his choice had been correct—this was the path best suited to his heart.

But An Long erupted in fury, hurling insults before storming off.

Song Qingshi remained angry for a long time.

Once his fury subsided, he grew slightly worried and asked Ye Lin to investigate. The report claimed An Long was out dallying with women, living it up without a care. When they eventually reconciled as pen pals, An Long even provoked female cultivators to cause trouble at Medicine King Valley’s gates, disrupting his research and nearly driving him to violence. What a heartless, typical straight guy bastard!

……

Song Qingshi rose from the hot spring, convinced he was overthinking things.

How could An Long, who adored voluptuous fairies, ever be interested in someone as unremarkable as him? He wasn’t a peerless beauty like Yue Wuhuan—had he lost his senses?

Most likely, An Long’s pride had been wounded after being bested by a Foundation Establishment Cultivator, and he was too embarrassed to admit it. That must be why he was upset.

Putting himself in An Long’s shoes, if he’d lost an exam to a younger junior, he’d have been miserable enough to cry too.

He’d be gentler with An Long for now—no casual fire spells—letting him cool off while figuring out how to resolve the Bone Poison issue.

Having straightened out his thoughts, Song Qingshi stepped out of the spring, donned the robe, and prepared to return to his chambers.

Yue Wuhuan had been waiting outside the door the entire time. After a long pause, he suddenly reached out and rubbed vigorously at the lingering bite mark on Song Qingshi’s neck, frowning. “Master marks so readily… This won’t fade quickly. If others see it, they might laugh…”

“I’ll apply medicine when I get back. It should fade by tomorrow.” Song Qingshi sighed, vowing, “That cursed mutt. Every time he’s mad, he does this. I won’t let him bite me again.”

Yue Wuhuan asked, “Venerable An enjoys biting people?”

“Yeah, but this is nothing,” Song Qingshi grumbled. “You haven’t seen him in a bloodlust, severing enemies’ necks…”

Yue Wuhuan chuckled softly in response, supporting him as they walked slowly back to the chambers. He summoned bruise ointment with the Blood King Vine and applied a thick layer over the bite mark, massaging it in until the white paste completely concealed the mark. Then, with meticulous care, he massaged Song Qingshi’s stiff limbs.

He had long removed his golden mask. His beautiful phoenix eyes shimmered with unspoken depths under the glow of the night pearls, his lips pressed tightly together. After a long hesitation, he lowered his head and murmured, “Using Bone Poison in the mist array was wrong. Knowing Venerable An was poisoned yet staying silent was wrong. Provoking his anger and troubling Master… was the most grievous fault.”

Song Qingshi immediately refuted, “This isn’t your fault.”

Though their conflict stemmed from a misunderstanding, battles in the immortal realm were mortal combats—there was no need to apologize for such things. Besides, how could Yue Wuhuan have emerged unscathed from Venerable An’s violent assault? At the time, seeing Yue Wuhuan unharmed had reassured him, so he hadn’t investigated deeper.

Realization struck. He quickly extended his Divine Sense into Yue Wuhuan’s body, uncovering numerous half-healed wounds and old scars—most notably the trail left by Venerable An’s Heart-Devouring Gu, which had burrowed into his leg, winding through his meridians toward his heart.

The Heart-Devouring Gu was tiny, moving too swiftly to track, leaving no time for anesthesia.

The moment it struck, one had to act decisively—cutting open the flesh, sifting through the meridians to extract it. Hesitation or bad luck, allowing the Gu to reach the heart, meant an even more agonizing death.

It was one of Venerable An’s cruelest Gu insects, granting only false hope of survival—few cultivators ever endured it.

Yet Yue Wuhuan had said nothing.

Song Qingshi almost saw red with fury. He wanted to tear that Alaskan Malamute apart. But as he stood, the memory of the even more brutal Bone Poison in Venerable An’s body brought him back to his senses. He sat back down, took deep breaths to calm himself, and forced his mind toward rationality.

Neither Bone Poison nor the Heart-Devouring Gu was forgivable—this was a mortal enmity.

Yet their conflict had arisen from a misunderstanding while trying to save him…

After tracing the chain of events, Song Qingshi realized he was the original culprit and felt a pang of guilt.

Glancing at Yue Wuhuan, then thinking of Venerable An, he found himself facing a dilemma more painful than being struck by lightning. He almost wished both poisons had struck him instead.

Yue Wuhuan’s saintly compliance tempted him to show favoritism.

But no—

If he shielded Yue Wuhuan forcefully, Venerable An’s fury would only escalate, and the matter might spiral into an inter-sect dispute over honor, far beyond right or wrong. That would only worsen Yue Wuhuan’s position. Unless absolutely necessary, he couldn’t take that route. The best solution was to appease Venerable An, convincing him to drop the matter and keep it quiet. Then, he’d separate the two and let time erode the bitterness…

But what about Yue Wuhuan’s wrongs suffered?

Yue Wuhuan noticed his distress and softly comforted him, "Don't worry, Master. Wuhuan will go and apologize to Venerable An to put this to rest."

Song Qingshi immediately refused, "No! You did nothing wrong. There's no need to apologize!"

He knew how ruthlessly An Long dealt with those he disliked. He couldn’t let his angel suffer such humiliation.

Yue Wuhuan lowered his head, tucking a loose curl behind his ear, then bent down and gently kissed the palm of his left hand, whispering reverently, "Your distress is my fault."

Song Qingshi felt his palm tickle like a feather's touch, his ears inexplicably warming. Thankfully, his long hair hid the reaction. Uneasy, he withdrew his hand, his heart fluttering as he insisted, "You did nothing wrong."

Yue Wuhuan smiled. "One can apologize even without fault. I’ve long gotten used to it."

Back at Golden Phoenix Villa, no matter what happened, he was always forced to admit fault—even when he was the victim, he still had to kneel and accept punishment.

Now, his heart could no longer distinguish between good and evil, right and wrong. Might made right; weakness meant guilt. Survival was right; death was wrong. To achieve his goals, no method was forbidden.

He could kill anyone—or apologize to anyone.

To him, there was no difference between the two...

Everyone said his mental state was abnormal, that he was insane.

So he killed all those in the Medicine King Valley who knew his secret yet couldn’t keep their mouths shut.

Hush… Best keep it hidden. Wouldn’t it be terrible if the Master discovered the truth?

He could lock away the desire-beast in his heart, suppress the madness in his mind—naturally, he could also endure that mangy wolf, smiling as he buried his killing intent in the dark, playing harmless while waiting for the perfect moment. He wanted too much, so he couldn’t rush. Slowly weaving his web, patiently setting his trap, he would never reveal his true face until his prey was utterly ensnared.

He gazed at Song Qingshi with a smile, his eyes brimming with fond indulgence...

"Wuhuan," Song Qingshi, profoundly affected by his look, hesitated before speaking, "You don’t need to do these things for me. I am your master, though... I’ve been hardly worthy of the title. Aside from medicine and research, I am useless at everything else. I’ve done nothing worthy, and I irresponsibly abandoned you for ten years, leaving you to suffer."

Yue Wuhuan immediately interrupted, "No, it was you who shielded me from the celestial tribulation—"

Song Qingshi, knowing his own clumsiness with words, feared he’d lose the argument. Instead, he stubbornly pressed his hand over Yue Wuhuan’s lips. "Protecting my disciple from a tribulation is a master’s duty! It was my fault for failing to foresee the danger of your foundation establishment, for not preparing thoroughly, for misjudging the tribulation’s intensity. My Nascent Soul wasn’t properly adjusted, and I acted in panic—that’s why I ended up severely wounded and comatose."

Yue Wuhuan froze, lips brushing against the warm palm, a secret delight stirring inside.

Seeing him silenced, Song Qingshi smiled in satisfaction. "Wuhuan, let me handle this matter."

It was time for him to climb out of his academic bubble and learn how to navigate complex relationships.

Yue Wuhuan considered him carefully for a long moment before answering hoarsely, "Alright."

He lowered the emerald silk bed drapes for Song Qingshi, dimmed the glow-pearls, donned his mask again, and rose to take his leave.

From within the dark curtains, a voice tinged with shyness emerged from under the blankets:

"Wuhuan, don’t be afraid. I... will protect you with everything I have..."

He knew freeing Yue Wuhuan from the shackles of his past and bringing him happiness would be difficult—but he would strive for it, step by step.

He wasn’t exceptionally clever, nor did he possess high emotional intelligence. His conversation still faltered...

But no matter how difficult the problem, he would never give up. Even if he failed a thousand, ten thousand times, he would find the right answer.

Yue Wuhuan gazed at the silhouette behind the curtains. Years of day-and-night companionship, changing bandages, cleansing wounds—every curve of that form, every inch of its skin, was etched into his mind. Even without seeing, he could imagine how enticing the figure behind the curtain must look now. Suppressing the raging hunger burning within him with Emotion Lock, his voice remained gentle and calm. "I know."

A long scarlet vine slowly extended into the bed, coiling lightly around a pale ankle like a loosely tied rope.

"Goodnight. Let it keep you company. Since you’re still recovering your mobility, just tug if you need to call for me." Yue Wuhuan allowed himself a brief moment of greed. This was his most treasured jewel—pure, flawless. He would guard it fiercely, ensuring no one could ever snatch it from his grasp.

Author's Note:

Due to significant debate over the characters, I’d like to clarify a few things.

First, don’t assume the author doesn’t understand Wuhuan’s character. His psychological issues are extremely complex—hyperthymestic syndrome, intelligence, sensitivity, pride, perfectionism, strong control tendencies, severe germaphobia—all contributing to multiple severe mental disorders (which also form his charm). If my understanding and control had deviated even slightly, the Wuhuan you see and love wouldn’t be the same.

For ordinary psychological trauma, romantic sweetness alone could bring redemption.

But not for Wuhuan. The illusion chapter already gave the answer. Indulging in sweetness now would only deepen his pain upon clarity. The love Song Qingshi offers would only fuel his inferiority, trapping him in the Medicine King Valley’s cage, pretending to heal while carefully playing the role of happiness everyone expects. (When a mentally ill person hides all symptoms, it signifies refusal of treatment.)

The first volume’s title is "First Encounter," merely the initial step in healing his body and giving him a reason to stop self-destruction.

The second volume’s title is "Madness," where all psychological issues must be amplified to their extremes, hidden problems exposed, and everything detonated.

Only after the rivers of blood and mountains of corpses unfolds, after Wuhuan’s hatred is fully unleashed and his mindset shifts, can true redemption begin. (That version of Wuhuan is adored by all early readers who’ve seen the outline, and the plot gradually sweetens.)

Song Qingshi’s psychological issues will also be unveiled in the second volume.

An Long is a crucial catalyst. His feelings are not merely designed for some shallow love triangle or harem trope—I dislike meaningless setups. Every step is carefully planned for future developments (though the writing is slow). (Despite his unrequited love being tragic, there’s no possibility of multi-angle romance.) (An Long’s eventual ending is still decent, so no need to worry too much.)

In all psychological healing, the doctor is merely an aid. The patient must ultimately seek treatment and stand up on their own.

Thus, the story must reach its conclusion before all issues can be resolved.

If this truly bothers you, you may choose to stop reading or wait until it’s complete to see the final answer.

PS: When I decided to write this story, which goes against mainstream trends, I was already prepared to fail spectacularly without regret. I won’t compromise for commercial reasons, nor will I alter the outline due to anyone’s disapproval.