Chapter 61

Song Qingshi brought out the gifts for everyone to choose from.

Many trinkets, almost worthless in the immortal realm, were precious treasures in the mortal world, like longevity pills and various gemstones.

The Medicine King Sage had been in "seclusion" for ten years, leaving the Medicine King Valley sealed off. Qing Luan dared not let these beautiful mortal children roam freely, so they were all confined within the valley, dedicating their days to study and cultivation. Back at the Yanshan Sect, Xie Que had never shown them true immortal treasures, only amusing them with worthless baubles. Upon arriving at the Medicine King Valley, Song Qingshi did not prioritize luxury; besides rare medicinal herbs and books, the valley offered nothing else.

The heaps of glittering gemstones and jewelry brought back from South Sea City dazzled the children.

Looking at Song Qingshi, they saw a figure as lavish as an emperor, radiating golden light.

Was this what an immortal cultivator was like?

Rong Ye was utterly stunned. He stole a glance at Song Qingshi, his throat dry as he swallowed hard. After much polite deferral, they decided to let the younger ones pick first. Ming Hong, who had always cared little for such things, found nothing related to martial arts among the gifts. He casually selected a set of inkstones and brushes, along with a pair of teal earrings, then stepped aside.

Sister Qing Luan loved calligraphy, painting, and teal gemstones.

Everyone knew his little affection but smiled, keeping silent.

Rong Ye, the same age as Ming Hong, was sweet-tongued and favored. After thanking his older brothers and sisters, he happily stepped forward, widening his beautiful peach-blossom eyes to examine the gemstones on the table again and again. His mind whirled with indecision—everything looked so beautiful that he wished he could take it all. Suddenly, he noticed a small black wooden box in the corner, its material clearly extraordinary.

Song Qingshi followed his gaze and apologized, "My mistake—this one doesn’t belong here."

It was something he had bought for Yue Wuhuan but had accidentally mixed in with the other gifts due to the sheer quantity.

Song Qingshi picked up the black wooden box and handed it to Yue Wuhuan. "This is for you."

Rong Ye curiously leaned in, playfully pouting, "Master, what is it?"

He stood a little too close, his collar slightly open, faintly revealing his elegant collarbone. His clothes carried the scent of incense he had blended himself—he had deft hands and loved experimenting with fragrances, creating an elegant aroma that was subtle at first, then unfolding into an elusive sweetness, irresistibly alluring.

Song Qingshi stiffened at the proximity, but he forced himself to remain composed, unwilling to appear weak in front of his students.

Yue Wuhuan took the box, glanced at Rong Ye, and couldn’t help but smile.

Qing Luan was an excellent subordinate, but her heart was too soft—especially toward these children who had suffered similar misfortunes. She pitied them for their youth, for nearly being sold, and wanted them to have happy lives and grow up healthy, shielding them from any darkness.

She believed that since she had endured suffering, there was no need for the children to suffer as well.

Yue Wuhuan found this behavior naive, but as he reorganized the Medicine King Valley, his focus was on eliminating dissenters and spies, keeping the servants under control. He paid no attention to these mortal children without backing, letting Qing Luan handle them as long as they didn’t cause trouble. Qing Luan, afraid Yue Wuhuan’s actions would taint the children’s hearts, never spoke of frightening things, only painting a bright future where they studied hard to repay the Master’s kindness.

Unfortunately, children grew up, and with growth came ambition—something she could no longer fully control.

Yue Wuhuan smiled faintly and opened the box, revealing its contents to everyone.

Inside lay an exquisitely perfect golden nacre pearl, about the size of a thumb joint, radiant and dazzling, casting a glow that made all the other gemstones on the table dim in comparison.

The children gasped in wonder, their eyes filled with admiration.

Rong Ye was utterly entranced. When he looked back at the other gifts, they seemed dull, and his earlier excitement faded entirely.

Yue Wuhuan slowly closed the box and smiled. "It’s perfect."

Hearing this, Song Qingshi lit up. "It’s nothing. They said purple nacre pearls are even more beautiful, but they’re too rare. I couldn’t find one this time, but I’ll buy you more in the future—lots of them."

Yue Wuhuan smiled. "Alright."

Having followed Yue Wuhuan for years, Qing Luan immediately sensed danger in this unusual gesture—it was the first step in setting a trap. She quickly noticed Rong Ye’s inappropriate behavior and realized his foolish thoughts. Seething with worry, she bowed slightly to Yue Wuhuan, her eyes pleading, signaling that she would deal with this.

Yue Wuhuan didn’t even glance at her, continuing to work on the kite.

Rong Ye regained his composure, his sweet smile returning as he casually picked a few masculine pieces of jewelry and gemstones from the pile before stepping back. Once the others had chosen their gifts, they gathered to admire each other’s selections, complimenting one another’s taste. On the surface, everything seemed normal—except for the occasional sidelong glances Rong Ye cast toward Song Qingshi and Yue Wuhuan, betraying his hidden thoughts.

Yue Wuhuan cared deeply about maintaining his image in front of the Master and would never allow his secrets to be exposed.

Thus, the mutilated remains in the Medicine King Valley’s dungeons and the fools tortured into madness were absolutely forbidden topics.

Qing Luan bit her nails, consumed by anxiety. She feared Rong Ye would do something stupid.

Yue Wuhuan shot her another warning glance.

Immediately, Qing Luan dropped her hands and forced a smile, careful not to reveal anything.

As soon as evening classes ended, she dragged Rong Ye aside, reiterating the Master’s life-debt and the importance of Brother Wu Huan to him, sternly warning him never to entertain presumptuous ideas—or face the consequences.

"Sister Qing Luan, you’ve misunderstood. I haven’t," Rong Ye denied, then coaxed, "I just think the Master is kind and gentle. I admire him and want to get closer, to learn more from him."

The ghostfire consumed—where it touched, skin split, bones melted, and agony was inescapable until nothing but black ash remained.

The Medicine King Sage’s fearsome reputation and the servants’ terror stemmed largely from the horror of those flames.

Qing Luan had witnessed Xie Que’s death. No matter how gentle Song Qingshi usually was, she still feared him and kept her distance.

A good-tempered tiger was still a tiger—just because it didn’t want to eat people didn’t mean it wouldn’t.

A gentle tiger was best left to someone as fearless as Brother Wu Huan…

Never provoke it.

Qing Luan wished she could split Rong Ye’s skull open and pour in every warning she could, making him understand this life-or-death truth.

"I understand," Rong Ye said impatiently, then couldn’t resist asking, "Is serving an immortal cultivator really that terrifying?"

Qing Luan thought the boy was naive, unaware of the world’s cruelty. She remembered how, after Xie Que’s crimes came to light, Rong Ye—the same age as Ming Hong—had neither cried nor panicked. Instead, he had soothed the shaken elders in a soft voice. Though he might not have fully grasped the depravity of the situation, his bravery had given them all strength…

Everyone enjoyed Rong Ye’s company—even the increasingly withdrawn Ming Hong would laugh a little in his presence.

Over the years, the older siblings had catered to his every fancy, spoiling him rotten. Especially He Qingyun, who was utterly wound around his little finger—obeying his every word, spoiling him beyond reason, peeling grapes and removing seeds as if he were a spoiled heir.

Qing Luan felt a pang of frustration…

She forced Rong Ye to promise never to approach the Master again and to stay away from Brother Wu Huan.

Rong Ye assented airily, then asked offhandedly, "Just how beautiful was Brother Wu Huan before? Even marred, the Master keeps him close to his heart?"

When they first arrived at the Medicine King Valley, Rong Ye had been too young and sleepy to join the others in paying homage. Later, hearing everyone discuss Yue Wuhuan’s beauty, he grew curious but never got a chance to see him—Yue Wuhuan was always busy, and Qing Luan kept them confined to the courtyard.

By the time he finally saw Yue Wuhuan, his face was already marred by the venomous serpent’s curse—monstrous and chilling.

Rong Ye had never seen anything so horrifying. The sight gave him nightmares for days, and he avoided Yue Wuhuan ever since.

Later, when Yue Wuhuan began wearing a mask, Rong Ye felt slightly more at ease.

Now that the Master had ended his seclusion, Yue Wuhuan wore an exquisite gilded mask, exuding elegance. Yet Rong Ye still recoiled at the memory of what lay beneath. The more Qing Luan emphasized the bond between the Master and Brother Wu Huan, the more he saw the Master as ruthless—to cherish someone so disfigured…

He thought serving an immortal cultivator might not be so bad. Even the crumbs from their table could bring mortals endless benefits.

Rong Ye had looked in the mirror—everyone agreed he was beautiful, matched only by Ming Hong. But Ming Hong’s personality was dour, single-minded in cultivation. Everyone knew he secretly adored Qing Luan but didn’t dare confess, aping Brother Wu Huan’s mannerisms in a laughable attempt to catch her attention.

Just how beautiful was Yue Wuhuan? What made him so captivating?

Rong Ye listened to Qing Luan's incessant nagging, growing increasingly resentful.

He coaxed her repeatedly, finally managing to send her away, and couldn’t help but laugh.

Back in the Yanshan Sect, Xie Que, to give his "merchandise" higher status, had claimed under the pretense of doing him a favor that Rong Ye was the child of a scholarly family. Because he knew a bit of poetry, music, chess, and proper manners, everyone—including Qing Luan—believed the lie, and he played the part.

In truth, he was born in the red-light district. His mother was a popular courtesan, and his father was some anonymous client. This age-old profession belonged to the lowest caste, often passed down through generations. The only ways out were three: encountering a generous and affectionate patron, retiring to a nunnery after losing one’s beauty, or being carried out in a cheap coffin.

Growing up in such a place, Rong Ye had witnessed endless cycles of arrivals and departures, tragedies and comedies.

He was born to be a rent boy—what innocence did he have? What was there he didn’t understand?

His mother’s temper was unpredictable. When she had generous and gentle patrons, she would be in high spirits, singing and playing games with him. But when faced with difficult clients, she would grow irritable and anxious, then curse him: "Why did I give birth to such a wretched thing?"

She drilled into him how to please, to read expressions, to master music, chess, calligraphy, and painting—to accept his fate.

At first, he was terrified. Later, he stopped being afraid.

He was sweet-tongued, and the older courtesans would share their generous tips with him to buy snacks. Life wasn't bad.

Everyone praised his beauty and cleverness, saying he was destined to be the top-tier rent boy when he grew up.

His mother, however, would only curse him more fiercely: "Wretched thing!"

Later, Xie Que accidentally discovered his beauty, revealed his identity as a cultivator, and offered to buy him, claiming he would take him back as a disciple.

His mother, street-smart, seemed to realize something—but she sold him anyway.

He couldn’t bear to leave her, throwing a crying fit.

His mother slapped him mercilessly, forcing him to stop his tears, then dolled him up beautifully, like a young master from a respectable family, and handed him over to Xie Que. Xie Que, with a benevolent smile, said that immortals and mortals lived in different worlds, and they might never meet again—so they should exchange parting words.

Rong Ye would never forget his mother’s expression then. There was no sorrow of farewell, no grief of separation. She was like a ferocious tigress, driving her child step by step to the edge of a cliff, hissing: "With your worthless life, what do you have left to fear?! No matter how dangerous, you must gamble!"

Shaking, he clung to her, wanting to cry.

"Get out!" She shoved him violently out the door. "Live or die—just don't come back!"

So he followed Xie Que, leaving behind the world he knew. As the magic boat soared into the sky, he couldn’t help but glance back.

His mother stood by the window, tears streaming as she cursed softly: "Wretched thing..."

...

Rong Ye looked at his reflection in the mirror. The youth in the glass had slightly reddened eyes, marring his peach-blossom charm.

Displeased, he rubbed them, planning to use warm stones later to fix them.

When Xie Que’s crimes were exposed, everyone was terrified—but not him. Even if he were sold as a slave to serve men, it'd just be back to the same old life.

When Qing Luan arranged for the medicine servants to send everyone home, he made an excuse to follow, then snuck off along the way. Using the minor spells he’d learned, he disguised himself and detoured to the red-light district, meaning to give his mother the longevity pill—only to learn she had died of illness the year after he left.

A mortal’s life was dirt-cheap. How laughable...

Rong Ye didn’t cry. He stuck to the plan, telling the medicine servant he’d forgotten his family’s address and had nowhere to go, smoothly returning to the Medicine King’s Valley.

Serving immortal cultivators or mortal patrons—what was the difference?

If Brother Wu Huan could do it, why couldn’t others?

His aptitude was inferior to Ming Hong’s, his cultivation stalled, and reaching Foundation Establishment seemed hopeless. But if he could successfully curry the Master's favor, perhaps he could obtain precious pills, achieve Foundation Establishment, and become a true cultivator?

Though Qing Luan had said many frightening things...

With a wretched life like his, what did he have to lose?