Chapter 60

Song Qingshi spent an entire night pondering, ultimately deciding to tackle the most challenging problem last and prioritize Yue Wuhuan's condition.

He mentally reviewed all relevant knowledge, from celestial psychology to modern psychology, yet still felt utterly helpless regarding Yue Wuhuan's illness.

His nascent soul throbbed intermittently, a reminder of the stirring of his heart.

Phenylethylamine levels surged, and his calm rationality began to wane.

He had already lost the qualifications to be a psychologist, so perhaps he should simply… follow his heart?

Song Qingshi prepared herbs known to soothe emotions, personally brewing a calming decoction which he offered to Yue Wuhuan. Though medicine offered limited help, Yue Wuhuan’s mind and body had long been under immense strain—overthinking, barely sleeping—conditions that would only exacerbate his illness.

Yue Wuhuan accepted the decoction with a smile, thanked him, then sniffed and took a sip. "Suchang flower, moonbright sand, harmonizing resin, cassia stone… all sedatives and sleep aids?"

Not only was he well-versed in pharmacology, but his acute senses could also discern subtle flavors, easily identifying the decoction’s purpose.

Song Qingshi dared not conceal it and nodded obediently.

Yue Wuhuan pushed the bowl back. "Master, my health is fine. I don’t need this medicine."

Song Qingshi explained, "You sleep too little. It’s not good for your body."

"I do sleep, just less. It suffices for my needs," Yue Wuhuan replied with an increasingly gentle smile, his tone sincere, betraying no hint of suffering. "I dislike sleeping—dreams are too time-consuming. Life is short, the road is long, and there’s so much I want to learn and do."

Song Qingshi held the bowl, attempting to persuade him. "But—"

Yue Wuhuan looked him in the eye with utmost seriousness. "Master, I am not ill."

Song Qingshi relented. "Alright."

He carried the decoction away, disheartened, and poured it into the drain.

Yue Wuhuan, realizing he had rebuffed his master’s kindness, felt a pang of unease. He decided to find something amusing to divert Song Qingshi’s attention and cheer him up.

Blood King Vine tendrils extended, wrapping around Song Qingshi’s waist and lightly tickling him.

Song Qingshi couldn't help but burst into laughter. "Wuhuan, that tickles!"

Yue Wuhuan emerged from the corner, smiling as he watched the entangled man. The Blood King Vine carried his Divine Sense, making it feel as intimate as holding him directly. Though he had intended to tease, Song Qingshi was too proud—laughing to tears but refusing to beg for mercy or stop him. In the end, Yue Wuhuan gave in with a laugh. "Master, didn’t you bring back many gifts? Why not hand them out? Qing Luan and the others have been waiting eagerly."

"Right!" Song Qingshi finally caught his breath, wiping away his tears as he remembered this important task. He also needed to review the children’s work and reward them accordingly. "Wuhuan, come with me. I’m not familiar with them and might say the wrong thing."

Yue Wuhuan followed. "I needed to find materials to make a kite anyway."

Schools had scholarships, and some professors gave small gifts to favored students as encouragement.

Song Qingshi had considered the futures of these mortal-born children. The celestial realm had no examination system—they came from humble origins, their physical limitations preventing them from going far on the path of cultivation. But wisdom was equitable.

Rune Formations, mechanisms, pharmacology, medicine, alchemy…

In the pursuit of knowledge, there was no distinction between mortals, immortals, or hybrids—everyone started from the same point.

Song Qingshi had once discussed this with Yue Wuhuan: "If one day, the world changes because of mortals, it would be fascinating."

Yue Wuhuan thought he was daydreaming. "What can mortals do? They’re as weak as ants, dying at the slightest mishap."

"I don’t know," Song Qingshi admitted, aware his idea was immature. But he had seen a world built by mortals—one with its own brilliance. "Wuhuan, have you heard of chaos theory? Events arise from imprecision or inaccuracy—any outcome is possible. A butterfly flapping its wings might alter air currents, triggering a chain reaction that leads to a tornado miles away. Every change in the world is influenced by unnoticed details."

Yue Wuhuan grew more confused. "How does Master know a butterfly’s wings cause tornadoes?"

Song Qingshi attempted to explain deterministic systems, random irregular motion, and nonlinear dynamics, leaving Yue Wuhuan utterly bewildered. Eventually, the conversation somehow veered into the toxicology and mechanisms of the Black Death Butterfly, shifting into a harmonious discussion of pharmacology before expanding into mechanical studies…

In short, he hoped these children would study hard, improve themselves, and become talents useful for the future!

Song Qingshi arrived at the school, where Qing Luan was guiding the children in identifying herbs and conducting experiments, laughter filling the air.

He thought this girl had grown increasingly remarkable after breaking free from her shackles—possessing stunning beauty and a brilliant mind. Though she couldn’t compare to Yue Wuhuan’s exceptional brilliance, she was still first-rate. She seemed particularly fond of medicine, her eyes alight when studying lab mice, though her interest in toxicology was tepid.

Qing Luan noticed the master’s arrival and quickly signaled the children to quiet down.

Song Qingshi asked them to submit their recent assignments for review. Most had followed his previous topics, practicing with celestial cultivation medicines. Only Qing Luan had focused on mundane remedies for injuries, including an anti-inflammatory and antibacterial formula to prevent infections. Song Qingshi had considered his research thorough, yet she was still refining the recipe—even reducing efficacy in some versions, as if pursuing another goal.

Though all her attempts had failed, the effort itself intrigued him.

He summoned her to ask about her thought process.

Qing Luan hesitated, looking embarrassed. "I wanted to lower the cost and difficulty of making this medicine."

Song Qingshi was puzzled. "But doing so would reduce the Purifying Pill’s maximum efficacy."

Qing Luan glanced nervously at Yue Wuhuan, who nodded permission before she spoke. "My father was a traveling doctor—not a skilled one, just treating minor ailments in villages for paltry pay. As a child, I saw how a mere cold could kill a child, a nail through the foot could claim a blacksmith’s life, a fall could end an elder’s. They couldn’t afford such expensive medicine..."

Song Qingshi was silent—this was a realm he’d never touched.

"The Purifying Pill’s efficacy is undeniable," Qing Luan bit her lip, finally voicing her thoughts. "But many injuries, if treated early, don’t require such high-grade pills. I wanted to make it affordable, even for mortal physicians. It might be a foolish dream, but… my father died from an infected wound after being struck by falling rocks on a house call."

Yue Wuhuan frowned. "Qing Luan, enough."

"Forgive me, I spoke out of turn," Qing Luan’s eyes misted. "I just thought… if such medicine existed, if ordinary people could afford it, my father might still be alive. My family might still be whole."

After a long silence, Song Qingshi smiled. "You’re right. You have a healer’s heart."

Qing Luan looked up in surprise, tears unrestrained.

Song Qingshi reviewed her notes and suggested, "Try replacing the sparrowgrass herb in the Purifying Pill with violetgrass herb and reducing the cranecloud mineral ratio. It’s a formula I once discarded for subpar efficacy, but you might improve it. Also, research green mold—it’s cheap and suitable for mortals. I recall other low-cost antibacterial options; I’ll compile the materials for you later."

Qing Luan was elated, thanking him repeatedly.

A peculiar feeling arose in Song Qingshi’s heart. He glanced at Yue Wuhuan, who gave little thought to such trivialities, then at the cloudy sky outside—as if something was silently changing.

……

Under Qing Luan’s strict supervision, most children excelled—except He Qingyun, who had no scholarly inclination and only wanted to farm. Ming Hong, though talented, was more drawn to Yue Wuhuan’s sword technique, aspiring to become a true cultivator and protector.

Both had made their ambitions clear.

Each to their own path—no forcing paths.

Song Qingshi decided to assign specializations later, ensuring everyone pursued their passions.

Yue Wuhuan finally found suitable bamboo strips and wood for his kite. Sitting aside, he carved the bamboo into shape, assembling a large, beautiful kite skeleton. Song Qingshi watched delightedly, distributing gifts from his trip—pearl-and-gem hairpins, brocade, odd wooden carvings, and colored glass bottles.

Qing Luan, despite her protests, received the finest rewards—a pearl-and-gem-adorned gold hairpin, blue brocade, a peculiar carving, and a glass vial. She quickly deduced the elegant fabrics and jewelry were Yue Wuhuan’s picks, while the oddities were Song Qingshi’s.

Song Qingshi spent lavishly whenever he had money, mostly buying Yue Wuhuan jewels—dragon jade, mermaid pearls, moonstones—celestial gems far surpassing mortal trinkets. Yue Wuhuan’s treasure box retained only the mundane stones Song Qingshi had once gifted; the rest were replaced by rarities like golden jade and spirit-glass beads.

This time, watching Song Qingshi shop for jewelry, Yue Wuhuan had intervened when the latter, swayed by the merchant’s pitch, veered toward gaudy, oversized, unsold pieces—including a garish gemstone collar he insisted was beautiful. Though Yue Wuhuan believed he could carry such eccentric accessories, stepping outside might raise eyebrows about his taste.

Now, reflecting…

Song Qingshi’s aesthetic sense was… dubious.

Didn’t his praise for Yue Wuhuan’s beauty sound eerily similar to his admiration for that hideous collar?

Yue Wuhuan stole a glance in the mirror, suddenly doubting his own allure.