Chapter 84

How should a lovely girl be portrayed?

The Divine Lord of Indestructible Peak faced an unprecedented and thorny dilemma. After much deliberation, he summoned Kong Muhua for an audience.

Kong Muhua was an anomaly within Indestructible Peak. Though a male peacock demon and a vanguard general on the battlefield, wielding two massive axes and slaughtering countless foes, he found the attire and ornaments of mortal men too drab after assuming human form. He preferred to adorn himself as a delicate maiden. Naturally beautiful, his eyes shimmered like autumn waters, his figure was graceful, and his walk as gentle as a willow swaying in the breeze, each step a delicate sway, like a narcissus admiring its reflection. He reveled in beauty contests, excelling at flaunting his allure, feigning shyness, and acting cute, so much so that few realized he was male.

For years, he had topped the list of dream lovers among male cultivators in the immortal realm and was the most reviled vixen among female cultivators.

Now, suddenly summoned by the Divine Lord, Kong Muhua felt a tremor of unease, wondering if he had committed some transgression.

The Divine Lord dismissed his attendants and approached Kong Muhua, scrutinizing him from his hairpins to his robes, from his physique to his hands and feet. He even examined his hairstyle, his painted eyebrows, listened to his voice, then bade him walk a few steps and smile… Finally, he inquired about things women liked.

The peacock was utterly dumbfounded.

He sensed that Indestructible Peak was about to welcome its mistress.

The Divine Lord possessed impeccable taste and exacting standards—just how perfect must the beauty who captured his eye be?

Kong Muhua nearly wept. Knowing he couldn’t rival the Divine Lord’s beauty, he had resorted to cross-dressing as a unique strategy to gain an advantage. Now, it seemed his beauty would be eclipsed by the future Divine Consort… His peacock pride was shattered; even fanning his tail feathers held no joy. He yearned for comfort in the embrace of a gentle, handsome man—perhaps someone like Immortal Lord Bai—to roll in the sheets and perhaps even press for marriage…

Any lingering delusions about the Divine Lord among the masses should now be abandoned.

Perhaps Immortal Lord Bai would finally agree to form a Daoist union with him?

With this thought, Kong Muhua cast off his gloom and happily scurried off to spread the news.

...

Within the layers of beaded curtains at Wutong Terrace.

The Divine Lord shed his snow-feathered cloak, bathed meticulously, and stood before a mirror, critically examining his appearance. A Soul Separation stage cultivator could easily alter their physique and features—disguise wasn’t the hard part. The challenge lay in crafting a guise that would perfectly please that particular person.

After some thought, he reverted to his fourteen-year-old self—a time when his height was just right, his features androgynously beautiful, and his waist slender and delicate, so narrow it could be spanned with one hand. By slightly narrowing his shoulders, shrinking the bones of his hands and feet, and suppressing his cultivation to the Foundation Establishment stage, he transformed into the very image of a fragile beauty.

Recalling the common traits of the targets in Zhao Ye’s memories and Kong Muhua’s flawless cross-dressing techniques, he adjusted the finer details: concealing his Adam’s apple, softening the sharp angles of his brows and eyes, transforming his fiery flamboyance into a gentle, water-like demeanor. Only the teardrop mole at the corner of his eye remained—an indelible mark of worldly charm.

After much deliberation, he decided against trying to conceal the teardrop mole.

Though most of the system's missions called for pure beauties, he knew Song Qingshi favored alluring charm. Thus, he couldn’t discard all traces of Yue Wuhuan’s essence… He attempted a smile in the mirror, allowing a flicker of desire to flow once more in his dignified phoenix eyes—a radiance reserved for one person alone.

The true art of seduction lay in the inadvertent allure beneath purity, the occasional wanton act amidst saintly detachment—precisely what could drag a man into the abyss. Just as Song Qingshi had done to him in bed… a supreme indulgence.

Even with lost memories, their pact remained unbroken.

Song Qingshi had proposed, and he had accepted. They were Dao companions in all but ceremony, with no room for regrets.

Though he wouldn’t force such acts upon the other, he had no intention of playing the gentleman with an amnesiac. Every trick in the book would be employed.

He refused to dwell on whether those methods were madness or sickness—his emotions had long spiraled beyond control.

During treatment, Song Qingshi had once said: Desire is no shameful thing. Suppressing one’s instincts is unnecessary—indulgence aids recovery.

He hoped Song Qingshi would practice what he preached, sparing no effort in his… treatment.

...

Mr. Yue kept constant vigil over Song Qingshi, attending to him day and night, never leaving his side, feeding him countless miraculous elixirs.

Song Qingshi’s wounds healed swiftly, though he slept restlessly. Each morning, he found himself lying on Mr. Yue’s lap, his lips slightly swollen and chapped. Two doses of heat-clearing herbal brew proved ineffective—likely due to the arid climate and his weakened constitution.

Deeming the medicine too bitter, Mr. Yue urged him to drink more honey instead, claiming it tasted better.

Song Qingshi was endlessly grateful, scraping the bottom of his vocabulary to praise Mr. Yue’s kindness.

Song Jincheng observed this and grew increasingly convinced their relationship was far from a simple friendship across ages. Even his own father wouldn’t dote on him so tenderly when ill, much less hand out unlimited spending money! Thus… Song Qingshi had to be the Patriarch’s illegitimate son! Kept secret for unknown reasons.

Last time, when the Patriarch tasked him with purchases, he’d failed to complete them by midnight, returning in tears to wall-gazing in repentance.

This time, he’d seize the chance to serve diligently and earn the Patriarch’s favor—lest he end up like his senior brothers. Though they’d regrown their hair with tonic, they’d become laughingstocks in the valley, still single to this day.

With grand ambitions, Song Jincheng ran errands everywhere, procuring travel supplies for Song Qingshi.

At last, everything was ready.

Mr. Yue claimed he had matters to attend to and needed to leave. Before departing, he presented a wide-sleeved, snow-white robe—a parting gift hastily commissioned from Qiaoyi Workshop.

Song Qingshi’s old robe was ruined, and he adored this new one, a robe that suited his taste perfectly, changing into it immediately with profuse thanks.

Mr. Yue smiled, tidying his disheveled hair before taking his leave.

As Song Qingshi packed his bags, preparing to depart, he realized he’d forgotten to arrange transportation. Song Jincheng, having sneaked away from school, dared not use the Divine Beast Gate’s magic boats or mounts. The remote town they were in saw few traveling cultivators—lacking both a Divine Beast Gate branch and high-grade magic boats.

Standing in the street, the two exchanged helpless glances. After much searching, they settled for two swift spirit horses. Consulting a map, they planned to ride for three days to Ruinan City, where they could rent a magic boat from the Divine Beast Gate.

Mounting their steeds, they kicked up dust as they rode off.

From the moment they left the city, Song Qingshi sensed eyes upon him. Glancing around, he spotted the same beautiful red immortal bird from days prior, trailing them once more.

He beckoned.

The bird alighted on his shoulder, nuzzling his ear affectionately as if acting coquettishly.

"Such a pretty bird," Song Jincheng remarked, amused by their interaction. He produced sunflower seeds, coaxing, "Come here, let big brother touch your tail."

The red bird slowly turned its head, staring coldly at him before suddenly spewing a burst of flames at his face. Song Jincheng’s clothes and hair caught fire, sending him into a panic as he flailed wildly, scattering embers everywhere—even igniting his horse’s tail. The terrified steed bucked, charging forward with a howling Song Jincheng clinging for dear life.

Song Qingshi stared dumbfounded before warily eyeing the unknown avian predator on his shoulder.

The bird rubbed against his cheek again, then demurely preened its feathers, feigning innocence.

Song Jincheng’s screams escalated: "Qing Shi, help!"

His pitch wobbled hysterically on the last syllable.

Alarmed, Song Qingshi urged his horse forward—only to find a red-clad maiden lying injured and unconscious by the cliffside, as if she’d tumbled down the slope. Two gashes bled profusely from her forehead, her limbs were scraped raw, and her ankle appeared twisted.

Exquisitely beautiful, her honeyed skin and delicate features were flawless—long lashes fluttering like butterfly wings, a tiny crimson teardrop mole beneath her left eye adding an ineffable allure. Her red ice-silk dress was torn in places from the fall, the collar slightly open to reveal a slender neck and collarbone. Her disheveled ink-black hair, slightly curled at the ends, fanned across the grass…

Song Qingshi’s heart skipped: "I feel like I’ve seen her somewhere before."

Song Jincheng nodded sagely: "Every pretty girl gives me déjà vu too."

Song Qingshi choked, belatedly realizing how improper he sounded—like some lecher. Shaking off the strange sensations, he knelt to examine her injuries.

"The head wounds are serious—possible minor concussion. Needs immediate treatment to prevent worsening." Producing golden needles, Song Qingshi swiftly administered acupuncture, guiding the stagnant blood outward with spiritual energy before dissolving a Clear Mind Pill in water to feed her.

"Are you sure you know what you’re doing?" Song Jincheng fretted, unnerved by the unfamiliar needle techniques. Worried Song Qingshi was bluffing his way through and might turn the beauty into a fool, he pleaded, "Let’s just take her to a proper physician!"

Finished bandaging, Song Qingshi blinked in confusion: "Why find a physician? I am one."

Song Jincheng pointed out seriously, "You don't seem very trustworthy."

Song Qingshi, once again having his expertise questioned, felt somewhat frustrated. "I'm actually really good at medicine."

Song Jincheng asked earnestly, "Do you know the Yellow Sparrow Suture Technique? The Dongniang Eighteen Needles? The Huang Family Bone-Setting Method? These techniques have been passed down for nearly a thousand years—every physician knows them."

Song Qingshi was still confused…

Song Jincheng sighed and shook his head.

Realizing his image was fast becoming a quack, Song Qingshi hurriedly argued, "I know the Eighty-Eight Ghost Needles."

"Eighty-Eight Ghost Needles? The legendary, unfathomable number one needle technique in the world?" Song Jincheng almost burst out laughing. "Brother, that thing is from myths and legends. Even the Medicine King Valley has no records of it. Where did you learn it?"

"I can't remember." Song Qingshi gently pressed his forehead. The technique felt ingrained in his mind, something he could wield effortlessly, as if he had used it often. "But I really do know it…"

He just couldn't recall how he had learned it…

After thinking for a long time, Song Qingshi remained convinced he wasn't a quack. Seeing that Song Jincheng had no proper treatment plan, he crouched down and continued using golden needles to adjust the patient's energy flow, aiding her recovery.

As the stagnant blood dispersed, the red-clad girl gradually regained consciousness. Her phoenix eyes still hazy, she gently adjusted her loosened collar and subtly hid the torn parts of her skirt. Then she looked at the two of them, her gaze lingering on Song Qingshi for a long time before she whispered, "Did you save me?"

"We happened to be passing by," Song Qingshi said quickly, afraid of being mistaken for a villain. He introduced himself and Song Jincheng as pharmacists before adding, "What is your name, miss? What school are you from? We can escort you back."

The red-clad girl thought for a long time before shaking her head sorrowfully. "I don't know."

Song Jincheng blurted out, "You've lost your memory too?"

He turned to look at Song Qingshi, his eyes full of accusation, suspecting the golden needles had damaged her brain.

"Short-term memory loss from a concussion is common. This young lady's condition is more severe than expected—it's best to keep her under observation," Song Qingshi said, feeling uncomfortable under his stare. To prove his medical skills weren't at fault, he decided to take the girl in for observation. He took out a notebook to record her condition but realized he couldn't write a medical record without knowing her name. After some thought, he decided to give her a temporary name. "Let's just call you Little…"

The red-clad girl, catching on, quickly replied, "I think my name is Feng Jun."

Song Qingshi hesitated before crossing out the name he had started writing in the medical record. He had been about to call her "Little Red."