Chapter 266: What

Chapter 266 What

Xiao Wu woke up aching and limp all over.

His meridians ached dully, but since the anesthetic hadn't fully worn off, the pain remained bearable.

His vision still hadn't returned, his limbs refused to obey—even lifting a finger was taxing. Yet his hearing remained, and through the haze, he sensed someone approaching.

The figure paused by his bedside, followed by the sound of a cloth being dipped in water and wrung out. Then careful hands wiped his forehead before taking his hand and wiping each finger clean.

Xie Chunshan.

Xiao Wu instinctively tried to resist, but his body was utterly drained of strength—he couldn't even raise a hand to push him away. His throat burned as if scorched, leaving him no choice but to endure as Xie Chunshan tended to his forehead, ears, jaw, and finally his neck.

Only then did Xiao Wu realize he was soaked in cold sweat.

The bedding beneath him had been changed—no longer the embroidered fine silk of Lord Wuwang's main hall, but starched-soft satin. Not as opulent as brocade, but far more comfortable. He wasn't on the carved bed of the main hall either, but a sandalwood couch. Someone must have moved him here while he was unconscious.

Before Xiao Wu could ponder further, the man asked softly, "Does the Immortal Lord feel better? I took the liberty of bringing you here. Your injuries are severe and may require careful recuperation."

The tone was completely unlike Xie Chunshan's usual manner.

Xiao Wu understood—Xie Chunshan was masquerading as the "Pharmacist."

Xiao Wu couldn't fathom what game Xie Chunshan was playing, as if he'd grown addicted to this charade. As the "Pharmacist," he was approachable and kind, yet in yesterday's gale at Baibu Pavilion, Palace Lord Xie had been vicious and capricious.

Even when Xiao Wu had pleaded prostrate on the ground, he'd refused to spare a mere servant.

With Song Xiaoyu's status and cultivation, he was no spy. When you want to condemn someone, excuses aren't hard to find—it had all rested on Xie Chunshan's whim.

He wouldn't lift a finger then, so what was this performance now?

Xiao Wu kept his eyes closed. Though paralyzed, a wave of absurd laughter surged through him, his organs twisting in agony as the hysterical impulse filled every fiber of his being—impossible to quell. Were his muscles not locked in pain, he might have pounded the bed in hysterical laughter.

Was there any farce more ridiculous than this?

What value had gentle words? What meaning in past kindness? Merely playthings for the demonic sect's amusement, while he'd foolishly believed himself privileged. Xiao Wu, you've squandered every shred of dignity befitting the Mystic Leader at Baibu Pavilion. Now paralyzed with your meridians in ruins—this is your reward for trusting Xie Chunshan.

He wondered if Lord Wuwang had enjoyed watching the immortal sects' leader grovel in the dirt.

A thousand barbs crowded his throat, but his ruined voice couldn't voice them. He could only endure as Xie Chunshan took his hand, cleaning each finger with infuriating care.

Suddenly Xiao Wu dug his fingers in with all his might, nails biting flesh—but with his meridians severed, what strength remained? His utmost effort left only four pale crescents on Xie Chunshan's palm, not even grazing the surface.

Xie Shu didn't notice the attack. Xiao Wu's hands—slender, pale-nailed, sword-calloused—were the kind that felt good to hold. Xie Shu simply thought him in pain, needing an anchor. In his past life's hospitals, clinging to each other during treatment had been commonplace. He clasped Xiao Wu's hand reassuringly. "I've prepared medicine. Would you like some porridge first to settle your stomach?"

"..."

The absurdity thickened. Xiao Wu nearly choked, his grip going slack.

Like punching a pillow. Even with his heart turned to ashes, Xie Chunshan's act kindled fresh anger. But Lord Pingwu's ravaged body permitted only one rebellion—turning his face away, eyes shut in refusal.

Xie Shu, oblivious, tucked the blankets around him. "Not hungry? Rest then. I'll reheat the medicine when you wake."

"..."

Given Xie Chunshan's temper, fury should have followed. What was this crocodile-tears performance for?

Here is the edited translation incorporating the expert suggestions:

But Xiao Wu had only just woken up and was still weak. Still groggy, he closed his eyes and fell asleep again. This time he slept who knows how long. When he hazily woke once more, Xie Chunshan was still seated at the bedside, breathing evenly as if in a light nap.

The moment Xiao Wu stirred, Xie Shu also awoke, reaching out to support him and saying, "You're finally awake. You haven't eaten in almost a day and a half. If you hadn't woken up, I would've had to force you."

Despite Palace Lord Xie's ruthless nature, his appearance and demeanor were impeccable. Now playing the part of a pharmacist, he deliberately softened his voice, his tone laced with the drowsiness of someone half-awake, like a nobleman on a leisurely outing—strangely soothing.

Xiao Wu's brow furrowed. His energy had improved slightly, and though still weak, he could lift his hand. He immediately shoved Xie Shu away and turned his face to the other side.

Xie Shu, holding a celadon soup bowl, looked startled. "Immortal Lord, don't you want to eat?"

He brought the porridge closer to Xiao Wu. "That's not acceptable. Your injuries are severe and require careful recovery."

Xiao Wu almost laughed bitterly. Who do I have to thank for these injuries? Being the one who caused them, why put on this disgusting act of concern?

But before he could speak, a spoon pried open his lips, forcing warm porridge past his lips.

It was his favorite almond and barley porridge.

Xiao Wu pressed his lips together, refusing to continue. After barely swallowing a mouthful, he said coldly, "I don't need your help. Please leave."

His voice was hoarse.

Xie Shu paused. "Hmm?"

Setting the bowl aside, he cajoled, "You shouldn't be alone in your condition. If I leave, what will you do?"

With that, he scooped more porridge, ready to feed him again.

Xiao Wu felt an even stronger urge to laugh. He wanted to ask, "Why can't I be left alone? Doesn't the Palace Lord know?" But he was too exhausted to form complete sentences, let alone deliver sarcasm. He muttered wearily, "No."

Xie Shu hesitated again. "You must be starving. You've been unconscious for two days."

"......"

Xiao Wu couldn't even muster a bitter smile. He was hungry—two days without food or water would starve even an immortal. But his body was riddled with injuries, every damaged meridian shrieking with pain. Wasn't that more pressing than hunger? Song Xiaoyu's body still lay cold at the foot of the cliff, and Xiao Wu's grief had nowhere to go, a choking knot in his throat threatening to make him retch. And now, Xie Chunshan was asking if he was hungry?

The absurdity was almost funny.

Xiao Wu looked away, his heart filled with even deeper irony. This demonic cultivator had an innocence that bordered on cruelty, committing countless atrocities yet remaining utterly oblivious to their severity. But stuck as his prisoner, resistance was futile. Xiao Wu shut his eyes tightly, refusing to engage.

"Fine." Xie Shu had no choice but to put the bowl away. Xiao Wu's behavior was odd, but not unheard of. Xie Shu, having been frequently hospitalized in his previous life due to poor health, knew many high-needs patients—like high-needs infants—were inherently sensitive, unable to bear solitude, their tempers turning erratic and tastes finicky when ill. Though it was out of character for the serene and composed Lord Pingwu to act so willfully, Xie Shu was willing to indulge him. "If you don't want barley porridge, surely you'd eat something else? The kitchen still has lotus seed porridge, shrimp and fish slice porridge, purple yam and taro porridge, or Sichuan fritillary bulb and snow pear soup. There must be something you'd like?"

"......"

He listed them off without a hint of impatience.

These were all dishes Xiao Wu had once enjoyed. But the thought of Song Xiaoyu, who often brought him such meals, made his stomach churn with acid, killing whatever appetite he had. Xie Shu's meticulous suggestions only stoked the fury burning in his chest. He wanted to grab Xie Chunshan by the collar and demand why he was putting on this act—why not just throw him off the cliff, dump him in a mass grave, or leave him to rot in some forgotten corner of the water prison?

Or was he such a precious toy that Xie Chunshan couldn't bear to break him completely?

Xiao Wu felt nauseous, the fire in his gut burning hotter, his abdominal muscles spasming. He shut his eyes, unwilling to show any discomfort in front of Xie Chunshan, his expression icy and aloof.

Then Xie Chunshan asked softly, "What's wrong? Are you in pain?"

Xiao Wu didn't realize his lips were pale, his forehead beaded with sweat—anyone could see he was suffering.

Next, a pair of hands slipped beneath the blankets, warm fingers pressing precisely against his convulsing abdomen. Xie Shu began massaging gently, kneading the sore muscles. Before each visit to Xiao Wu, Xie Shu would warm his hands by holding a heating brazier for a few minutes. As the saying goes, "long illness makes the patient a doctor." Having been sickly in his previous life, Xie Shu had picked up some acupressure techniques, which now came in handy as he worked with tender motions.

"......"

The hand's pressure was just right, effectively easing the lingering pain, yet Xiao Wu felt as if he were strapped to a torture rack. The warmth of those five fingers was more terrifying than when they'd crippled his meridians. He could no longer maintain even the facade of indifference, pushing himself away to dodge. "You—"

Xie Shu steadied him. "Careful, Immortal Lord, don't fall. If you need anything, just call for me."

After settling Xiao Wu back in the center of the bed, Xie Shu kept his hand resting on the fabric over Xiao Wu's abdomen. He sighed. "You haven't eaten in too long. Your stomach must be sour from hunger. Immortal Lord Xiao, even if you don't want to eat, you should force yourself."

The fingers on his abdomen felt unbearably intrusive. Nausea, discomfort, and creeping dread twisted inside him as his tone turned icy. "I don't want to."

Xie Shu didn't react. "Then what would you like?"

"......"

Silence stretched—Xie Chunshan clearly wouldn't leave without an answer.

Xiao Wu's expression hardened as he muttered at random, "...Egg and shredded pork congee."

He deliberately ignored Xie Chunshan's suggestions—pure defiance.

Xie Shu: "Alright."

The Demon Palace had everything—even a simple bowl of pork congee. Xie Shu lifted the curtain to order it, returning minutes later with the steaming bowl.

He brought the spoon to Xiao Wu's lips. "You'll eat it now, won't you?"

"......"

Xiao Wu wasn't the type to make things hard for others. After a long pause, finding no excuse, he opened his mouth reluctantly and accepted the congee.

But when the shredded pork touched his tongue, his face paled further.

The meat was minced to a pulp, tenderized and cooked into mush. Xiao Wu flashed back to a traveler's remark he'd once overheard about Wuwang Palace:

—"That demonic sect sits atop a sheer cliff. If someone fell, they'd be smashed to pulp, devoured by eagles—softer than this shredded pork."

Xiao Wu shoved Xie Chunshan back hard, retching violently.

His empty stomach only produced bile. Xie Chunshan dodged most of it, but some splattered on the floor and Xiao Wu's own trailing hair.

Back when he was Lord Pingwu, he'd never have allowed such wretchedness.

But now, barely alive under Xie Chunshan's thumb, death would be cleaner. Xiao Wu couldn't bother to tidy himself—especially not when Xie Chunshan recoiled. He felt a stab of grim satisfaction.

They said Lord Wuwang had a disgust for filth. Getting puked on by his pet—how disgusting was that?

Pathetic. The immortal sect's former leader, reduced to such petty revenge.

Xiao Wu's chest was hollow, like a wind tunnel. The heavier the ache, the more he wanted to laugh. The impulse gathered at his lips, forming a twisted half-sob, half-sneer.

His voice was odd. "Pharmacist, you said to call if I needed anything?"

Xie Shu: "Yeah."

Xiao Wu laughed softly, malice surging. Like a spiteful child, he wanted to tear off Xie Chunshan's mask. "Mind helping me clean up, Pharmacist? My hair's filthy, my body's drenched—it's unbearable."

—Xie Chunshan's disgust for filth was legendary. Would he still play nice?

"......"

In the wordless silence, the smile at Xiao Wu's lips grew more pronounced, yet his eyes were eerily empty. His soul seemed split by malice—half suspended in midair, barren and empty, while the other half sank deep into his flesh, seared as if in Avīci’s flames. It was as if even he himself didn’t know what kind of reaction he wanted from Xie Chunshan.

Rage would’ve sufficed, scorn would’ve sufficed, storming off in anger would’ve sufficed—even killing him would’ve sufficed.

But then, a pair of hands slipped beneath the blanket, lifting him, quilt and all.

Xiao Wu: "...?"

Still disoriented, he heard Xie Shu sigh and say, "My apologies. I was thoughtless. The Immortal Lord values cleanliness—ah, no wonder he refused to eat. I shall prepare a bath for you at once."

"..."

Swaddled like a spring roll and hoisted into the air, Xiao Wu, in his haze, could only grasp one thought:

—Xie Chunshan, what did he just say?

Author's Note:

The dazed Immortal Lord gets a dazed bath, then a dazed return to bed.