Chapter 259: Spring Mountain

Chapter 259: Spring Mountains

The Mana that had barely condensed at the severed meridian in his fingertip suddenly became uncontrollable, violently pulled into his *dantian* where it clashed with the remnants in his body. It was as if a bottomless vortex had formed in his core. Xiao Wu braced against the table with one hand, his arm trembling uncontrollably. The pain at the severed meridian was excruciating, like a levee bursting under floodwaters, dragging his organs into torment. Then an iron taste surged in his throat, and a crimson tide spilled from his lips.

Xie Shu shot to his feet. "Immortal Lord!"

Xiao Wu's face turned parchment-pale, his back instantly drenched in cold sweat. Pearls of sweat gathered on his brow before rolling down his jaw. His lashes fluttered as he clenched his lips, lower teeth nearly piercing through flesh to stifle the scream fighting to escape.

Xiao Wu's strength failed. As he slumped forward, Xie Shu caught him, one arm encircling his waist while the other pressed supportively between his shoulder blades, fingers soothing the nape. "Immortal Lord? Immortal Lord?"

No response came.

Xie Shu glared at 66. This deviation wasn't scripted. The game designers had likely deemed Xiao Wu's suffering sufficient—his meridian restoration should have proceeded smoothly.

66 sounded near hysterical. "How? What happened? How?"

Where panic gripped the system, Xie Shu found focus. The body in his arms quivered faintly, fingers clawing his sleeve with knuckles standing stark against bloodless skin.

For the normally unflappable Xiao Wu to reach this state—the agony must have been unimaginable.

With the situation deviated so severely, Xie Shu abandoned pretense. "Xue Sui!"

The ever-vigilant guard sprang from his post beneath the trees, clearing the wall in one bound before landing in a kneel. "Palace Lord."

"Summon the Mad Pharmacist from the Apothecary Hall, Wu Buke, and every physician versed in meridian trauma. Now!"

"At once, Palace Lord."

As Xue Sui turned, his peripheral vision caught Lord Pingwu's limp form against the Palace Lord's chest, pained whimpers escaping clenched teeth. Recognizing the severity, he channeled his qi and vanished in a blur.

Soon after, in Wuwang Palace's main hall...

Xie Shu arranged Xiao Wu atop plush bedding, tucking the covers snug before positioning one wrist on the pulse-resting pillow. Lord Pingwu lay unconscious, brows knitted, lashes fluttering barely perceptibly.

Twenty-odd apothecaries stood in disciplined rows, heads bowed. At each formation's forefront lay stretchers bearing their two chief physicians—Wu Buke and the Mad Pharmacist, barely conscious after being hauled here.

Seated bedside, Xie Shu surveyed the hall with piercingly clear eyes, his lips a razor-straight line. The smiling, deadly Palace Lord's icy demeanor now made the entire court tremble.

Even madness granted no immunity to this atmosphere.

As the physicians exchanged silent curses, that voice came: "Mad Pharmacist."

Three words—an ominous summons. The pharmacist forced a grin. "Palace Lord, this humble one is present!"

Attendants carried him forward. Struggling to sit up, he pressed fingers to Xiao Wu's wrist. Three breaths later, he blurted out: "This—this shouldn't be occurring!"

Since Xiao Wu's collapse followed his Art's application, responsibility fell squarely upon him.

Xie Shu's gaze sharpened. "Treatment. Now."

Initial suspicion had faded—too obvious a culprit, too lacking in motive. More likely, the Art itself had malfunctioned.

The Mad Pharmacist knocked his forehead twice. "Allow this humble one to reconsider!"

The attendants then carried Wu Buke forward. Wu Buke also propped himself up and carefully examined the pulse. His mind was clearly far sharper than the Mad Pharmacist's, and having previously offended Xie Chunshan, he was eager to make amends. He cupped his hands and said, "Palace Lord, there’s no need to worry. His life isn’t at risk, but there seems to be an irregularity in his meridians. I’ve reviewed the Mad Pharmacist’s method—theoretically, it should work. The problem isn’t the medicine, but rather that the Immortal Lord’s chronic ailments appear to be reacting adversely to the treatment. Allow me and the other pharmacists to examine him further before giving you a definitive answer."

Xie Shu gave a slight nod.

The attendants then moved his stretcher aside, placing it next to the Mad Pharmacist’s. The two of them, still half-reclined, began gesturing and discussing on the main hall’s floor.

Demonic cultivators were never lacking in talent, and those who served as pharmacists in Wuwang Palace under Xie Chunshan’s protection were all extraordinary in their own right. Yet, as the two rows of pharmacists took turns diagnosing, the pulse pillow was nearly flattened from use, and the palace was heavy with tension. No one dared speak up.

In the end, it was a pharmacist skilled in formation arts who tremblingly stepped forward. "Palace Lord, I also believe the issue does not lie with the Mad Pharmacist’s Art."

The Mad Pharmacist gave him a grateful look. Seeing no objection from the Palace Lord, the pharmacist continued hesitantly, "Rather, it seems Lord Pingwu’s original cultivation method was flawed."

Xie Shu’s brow twitched. "What do you mean?"

Lord Pingwu’s original Art was none other than the inner sect cultivation method of the world’s foremost immortal sect, Shangling Sect.

The pharmacist hesitated for a moment before bowing. "Palace Lord, might I discuss this further with Pharmacist Wu and the Mad Pharmacist?"

Xie Shu replied, "Granted."

One man and two stretchers gathered together.

Meridian theory and medicine were outside Xie Shu’s expertise, so he paid no attention. He had Xue Sui set up a screen, dividing the hall into inner and outer spaces. Outside, the pharmacists whispered their discussions, while Xie Shu sat on the edge of the bed, putting away the pulse pillow and gently tucking Xiao Wu’s hand under the covers, carefully smoothing them.

He lowered his gaze, quietly observing Lord Pingwu’s face.

Xie Shu still remembered when the draft of the game’s plot was being discussed, and he had participated in the writing team’s brainstorming.

The lead designer had said, "We need a reclusive master to guide the player into the immortal sect."

Designer A added, "This master should have an air of mystery, a backstory that makes players curious at first glance."

Designer B suggested, "How about this—we create a celestial immortal who has fallen from grace, yet practices demonic cultivation?"

In the end, Xie Shu had finalized the decision. "A man who keeps his purity even in the mud, bears suffering yet remains kind, cultivates demonic arts yet embodies an immortal’s grace—secluded beneath Mount Zhongnan, self-restrained and luminous as the moon after rain. Such a character is perfect."

And so, the writers worked overtime, the artists rushed out drafts overnight, and Lord Pingwu was born.

But back then, they had merely sketched a game character. Now, it was Lord Pingwu’s real and unending life.

Under the warm glow of candlelight, Xie Shu traced Xiao Wu’s features. The faint shadows cast by the flickering flames deepened the contours of his brows, making his expression even more profound and elusive. The fine hairs on his skin were barely visible. His sleep was troubled, his brows often furrowed, his fingers trembling occasionally—even in unconsciousness, he must still be in pain.

Xie Shu thought, if Xiao Wu ever learned the true origin of this suffering, he would surely loathe Xie Shu utterly.

After what seemed an eternity, the pharmacists’ murmurs outside slowly died down, as if they had reached a consensus. They nominated Wu Buke, the most articulate among them, to report to the Palace Lord. His stretcher was carried before the screen, and Wu Buke straightened up. "Palace Lord, this humble servant begs to report."

He watched as someone inside the screen stood, their shadow stretching long under the candlelight. Then, a pale, slender hand rested on the edge of the red-lacquered screen frame, and Xie Chunshan emerged, his robes trailing behind him.

Xie Shu stopped before Wu Buke. "Speak."

Wu Buke saluted. "Palace Lord, after our discussions, we’ve concluded that Shangling Sect’s cultivation method... is flawed."

The hall was so silent one could hear a pin drop.

Xie Shu commanded, "Continue."

Wu Buke explained, "As the Palace Lord knows, if one suffers a qi deviation or a cultivation mishap leading to severed meridians, the breakpoints are usually continuous and irregular—like floodwaters breaching a dam and destroying a village. The low-lying areas suffer the most, but which houses collapse and which remain standing is unpredictable. Yet, Lord Pingwu’s severed meridians are not like that."

The physician skilled in formations handed over a diagram, pointing with the tip of his brush. "Palace Lord, please see here."

Wu Buke: "The arrangement of these points isn't random—it seems deliberately designed. When the cultivation method reaches a certain stage, these severed channels would naturally form."

Xie Shu's eyebrow twitched.

He suddenly remembered Xiao Wu once telling "Song Xiaoyu" that if he managed to escape and see his senior brother Xiao Lian, he should say: "Hold off on breaking through to Nascent Soul."

Xie Shu: "...What's the purpose of this weird cultivation method?"

Wu Buke: "We think it's like a transfer."

"Transfer?"

Wu Buke: "Transfer, or maybe relocation—as if moving the Immortal Lord's spiritual energy and life force somewhere else."

Xie Shu lightly rubbed his fingertips.

Wu Buke couldn't precisely explain the method's function, but as someone from the 21st century, Xie Shu had read enough wuxia novels by Jin Yong, Gu Long, Liang Yusheng, and Wen Rui'an to recognize a famously similar technique:

—The Divine Garment Art.

Using oneself as a vessel, making one's cultivation into a wedding gift.

Xie Shu understood.

Why Lord Pingwu, the top cultivator among immortals, had inexplicably ruined his channels. Why the Shangling Sect's rules were so strict. Why the Mad Pharmacist's method, which worked in how it was supposed to go, now failed.

Originally, Xiao Wu had severed all his remaining channels to plead for Song Xiaoyu, breaking the cultivation method within him and allowing new cultivation. But now, his channels remained intact—still serving as another's "wedding gift." The remaining channels conflicted with the Mad Pharmacist's method, causing him to vomit blood and lose consciousness.

Xie Shu had wanted to spare him pain, but trying to help only made things worse.

Wu Buke added cautiously: "Palace Lord, this is what we've figured out. If you want the Immortal Lord to regain his cultivation, his remaining channels must be severed first."

Xie Shu closed his eyes briefly.

After a long pause, he said quietly: "I see."

Xie Shu waved his hand: "You can go now."

The Pharmacists bowed and left the hall one by one. Wu Buke wrote two soothing and restorative prescriptions, instructing attendants to prepare the medicine.

Xie Shu stayed in the chamber, observing Xiao Wu's condition.

Lord Pingwu remained unconscious until the middle of the night, only waking weakly in the early morning.

His body felt heavy, as if pulled from deep water, every bone aching terribly. Xiao Wu barely moved a finger, brushing against warm skin.

"Warm" wasn't quite right—compared to normal body temperature, this person's was noticeably colder.

The person sat beside him, seeming to be waiting for him to wake. At Xiao Wu's movement, he straightened naturally and felt Xiao Wu's forehead.

Xiao Wu tried to speak, but his throat was too raw to make any sound. His fingertips barely brushed against the other's hand before going limp.

His hand was caught.

The man held his hand, supported his back, and helped him sit up, putting a soft pillow behind his back. Then footsteps sounded as the person appeared to leave.

Only then did Xiao Wu find the strength to barely open his eyes.

His breath caught.

His vision swam with blurry patches of color that brightened momentarily before dimming again. Xiao Wu blinked, tears spilling from the corners of his eyes. Amidst the trembling of his eyelids, the colors occasionally surfaced hazily before vanishing once more, plunging him back into darkness.

His mana surged erratically, briefly jolting his meridians and allowing his eyes a fleeting glimpse of sight.

The severed meridians at his fingertips held little residual energy. Xiao Wu estimated that in about the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, this fragile clarity would fade.

He inhaled softly.

Only the blind truly understood the value of sight. Many would trade their lives just to see the world again—green trees, red flowers, all its colors. Though the shapes before him were indistinct and anything beyond arm’s length blurred into nothingness, Xiao Wu still devoured every blurred shape he could make out.

He lay in a lavishly decorated room. Silk curtains draped the bed, and a mother-of-pearl inlaid folding screen stood nearby. On an incense table sat a Boshan bronze censer, carved with intricate peaks and swirling mist, fragrant smoke coiling upward.

...This wasn’t the Siyou Pavilion. Where was he?

Before Xiao Wu could ponder further, footsteps sounded again—whoever it was had returned.

The beaded curtain swayed slightly, and a figure emerged from behind the screen. The man moved with deliberate care, leading Xiao Wu to assume he was the benefactor who had taken him from the pavilion. He lifted his gaze, trying to memorize the man’s face.

But when the benefactor’s features came into view, Xiao Wu’s pupils contracted.

The man was strikingly handsome—a high-bridged nose, thin lips, his long hair loosely tied back with a narrow golden hairpin. He wore a floor-length black robe edged in gold, radiating an unshakable presence.

This face was one Xiao Wu knew well.

—The most powerful figure in the demonic sects, Lord Wuwang, Xie Chunshan.

Why was it Xie Chunshan?

Before Xiao Wu could scrutinize further, his fleeting vision faded again. Then, he heard the Pharmacist’s low voice: "The Immortal Lord is awake. You fainted earlier, and the Siyou Pavilion was too drafty for recovery, so I took the liberty of bringing you here."

Xiao Wu’s lips parted slightly, but before he could speak, a spoon pressed against them.

The bitter tang of medicine filled his senses.

Xie Chunshan said softly, "The Immortal Lord is gravely injured. I brewed a restorative tonic—drink up."

Author’s Note:

Xie Chunshan: If you’re willing to strip away my layers one by one~ you’ll find yet another layer underneath~