A Frightening Medicinal Bath

Song Qingshi searched the storeroom all night before finally finding an old crimson magic robe made of ice silk. He removed its decorative formations and gave it to the medicine servants, telling them to alter it overnight into underclothes. Then, along with a new cotton robe, he quietly placed it beside Yue Wuhuan's bed.

The next day, Yue Wuhuan froze when he saw the ice-silk undershirt.

Song Qingshi was already urging him from outside. "Hurry up. We're going for a new treatment."

"Yes, my lord." Knowing that he had changed masters, Yue Wuhuan did not dare think too much. He hastily dressed and went out, finding his movements much more comfortable.

Song Qingshi led him through the covered corridors to the adjacent pill chamber. This had originally been Medicine King Valley's forbidden ground, where the original owner had tested every sort of medicine on animals and people alike, and it was the place the medicine servants feared most. Song Qingshi followed the Declaration of Helsinki and refused to conduct any unethical experiments on humans. Fortunately, when he took over Medicine King Valley, the original owner had left behind few test subjects. He immediately released those who could be released and helped those who needed release find peace, then turned the place into a treatment room. The remaining specimens and body donors had been moved to other rooms—treasures of medicine, all of them, to be studied properly when he had time.

On the way to the pill chamber, Yue Wuhuan noticed more than one medicine servant looking at him with sympathy, and unease crept into his heart. Once inside, he saw Song Qingshi produce a medicine vat large enough to hold a person, and his whole body tensed.

Not noticing his unease, Song Qingshi tossed the premeasured herbs into the vat, added water, and used his internal alchemical flame to control the temperature. When the water had turned a vivid red, he looked back and instructed, "Take off your clothes and get in."

Yue Wuhuan stood motionless. Even his gaze had gone rigid.

"Don't be afraid." Song Qingshi finally remembered that he had forgotten to explain. "It's a Red Herb Impurity-Cleansing Decoction—a medicinal bath. It won't hurt."

After hesitating for a moment, Yue Wuhuan reached for his sash and slowly untied it.

Song Qingshi turned around and sat with his back to him, refusing to peek while he bathed.

Yue Wuhuan let out a breath of relief, quickly removed his clothes, and stepped into the blood-red medicinal liquid. The hot, stinging medicinal liquid seeped into his skin, bringing a faint prickling pain but also an indescribable comfort. He took a deep breath and completely relaxed, then suddenly submerged himself entirely. He had not expected the overfull vat to overflow, splashing Song Qingshi's neck, ears, and hair, and blooming into pale-red flowers across his white magic robe.

To most cultivators, magic robes were important possessions; even slight damage would make their hearts ache.

Realizing something was wrong, Yue Wuhuan quietly emerged from the water and hid by the side of the vat to peek, afraid he had angered the Immortal Venerable.

Song Qingshi did not care in the least about what had happened. He stared blankly, utterly still, at the bluestone floor. Only after a long while did he secretly shake the droplets from his hair.

After thinking it over, Yue Wuhuan cautiously asked, "My lord, could you turn around? This slave will dry you off."

Song Qingshi lowered his head and stared at the bluestone even more intently. "You're bathing. I can't peek." In his worldview, it was reasonable for a doctor to examine a patient's body during treatment, but for a doctor to peek at a patient bathing was morally depraved and utterly shameless.

Yue Wuhuan considered those words for a long time, then guessed, "Does my lord think this slave's body is too dirty?"

Song Qingshi shook his head and said softly, "You don't like being looked at."

"My lord must be joking." Yue Wuhuan's eyes turned cold. After a moment of silence, he emerged from the water, his soaked hair plastered to his shoulders like a freshly surfaced merfolk's. His body was perfection itself: evenly proportioned muscle and bone, not an ounce of excess flesh. His narrow waist could be held in one hand, yet the strength hidden within it was plain to see. Leaning against the rim of the vat, he moved close to Song Qingshi's ear and gently breathed on it. His phoenix eyes were seduction itself, the red teardrop mole so dazzling it could steal every heart. His voice was like a demon's temptation. "What is there about this slave's lowly body that cannot be seen? The people who have seen it... are too numerous to count. They all said this slave's body was beautiful, wanton; that without men, this slave could not even walk, that this slave was born to be looked at..."

Song Qingshi cut him off at once, repeating, "You don't like being looked at."

After watching him for a long time, Yue Wuhuan said hoarsely, "This slave no longer cares."

Song Qingshi did not know how to explain it, but he persisted. "You don't like it."

Could one simply refuse the things one did not like?

Yue Wuhuan found that laughable. In the first years after he had been sent to entertain guests, he too had been coaxed into saying that he did not like it and did not want it. The result had only been that they discovered his weaknesses and used them for amusement.

He did not like being watched, yet again and again he had to display himself in the most degrading poses before everyone in squares and at banquets.

He did not like lewd words, yet he had to be tortured with every sort of drug and instrument until he learned to add to the revelry with his voice...

Until he gave up shame, gave up dignity, and pretended to like all those things very much.

He had long known that, in the eyes of those lofty cultivators, he was only a beautiful toy. He needed no feelings; his master could remake him into whatever shape he pleased. He often wished he could go mad, go stupid, like most slaves—lose the ability to think, live heedlessly like a dog, and obediently please his master with his body.

Unfortunately, a thread of clarity always remained in his heart, coldly examining his wretched self, then cutting him to pieces a thousand times over...

Perhaps he had already gone mad...

At some point, the furnace fire had gradually risen a little higher. The medicinal water grew hotter and hotter, and Yue Wuhuan's face burned hotter as well, yet he could not feel the scalding heat. He buried his head deep in the blood-red water until it covered his mouth and nose and he could no longer breathe. He did not want to rise again; he only hoped to sink there forever, for the boiling current to scour the filth from his body clean—better still, to dissolve even his bones.

Song Qingshi sensed that the silence behind him was wrong. Turning around, he realized that he had been distracted while speaking and had failed to control the pill fire, allowing the water temperature to rise several degrees. It was scalding, and Yue Wuhuan had vanished beneath the surface. Without a second thought, Song Qingshi leapt up, rushed over, and reached into the vat to haul him out.

The drenched beauty was dragged into his arms. His eyes were tightly shut and his limbs hung limp; curls of long hair clung tightly to his pale skin. Water dripped across the floor, making the Joyous Union Brand on his back brilliantly, painfully conspicuous. Yet Song Qingshi felt no romantic stirrings at all. He swiftly laid him flat on the ground, checked his pulse, and began cardiopulmonary resuscitation and mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

Yue Wuhuan spat out water and opened his eyes. Dazedly, he found Song Qingshi's face close at hand. In those clear, black-and-white eyes, he could even see nothing but his own reflection. The heat from the pill furnace had reddened Song Qingshi's eye rims slightly, and droplets clung to his long lashes. He looked so much like an innocent, immature youth that no one could have guessed he was a Nascent Soul patriarch who had cultivated for nearly a thousand years—his looks were deceptive enough to get someone killed.

Back by the river, he had failed to recognize the man's true identity and had even thought to pity him; had that mistake gotten him killed, he could hardly have called the death unjust.

Yue Wuhuan's thoughts grew more and more chaotic. He instinctively curled in on himself as a jumble of memories flashed before his eyes. The crushing pain in his chest and the lingering warmth on his lips made it difficult to tell what day or night this was; it felt as though he had returned to the times when he was punished.

Song the model student had nearly flunked this practical, scaring him out of his wits; that whole frantic flurry of moves had run on pure instinct. Only after Yue Wuhuan woke did he breathe a sigh of relief and realize that this cultivation world had plenty of ways to treat drowning. There had been no need at all to use modern first aid.

That was a little hard to explain...

For a medical student, providing emergency aid for drowning was routine. Whether the person before him was a beauty or an ugly brute, a child or an old man, he would have done it without hesitation. Song Qingshi was a little embarrassed that he had not chosen the cultivation world's optimal rescue method, but he would not dwell on such a small matter. He simply did not know how to explain it.

Yue Wuhuan's eyes had lost their focus. Slowly, he uncurled and stopped covering himself, like a dying fish forcibly dragged ashore and left at another's mercy.

Song Qingshi hurriedly turned away, shut his eyes, and apologized honestly. "I'm sorry. I got the water temperature wrong."

"My lord did nothing wrong." Yue Wuhuan's eyes were open, but no sight could enter his mind; his ears could hear, but no words could be understood. He repeated the standard answer, "It was my fault. My fault..."

It was a truth he had paid dearly to learn, drilled into him again and again, always reminding him how he was supposed to live.

"Wuhuan, you're so beautiful. You were born to be played with."

"Wuhuan, it's your body tempting men that got you defiled."

"Wuhuan, you look so wanton that I can't get enough of you."

"Wuhuan, you are a demon born for desire."

"Wuhuan, it's all your fault."

"Wuhuan, it's all your fault."

...

"My fault, my fault, my fault..." Yue Wuhuan kept repeating numbly. "It's all my fault."

Because his very existence in this world was a mistake.

Song Qingshi took off his magic robe and draped it over Yue Wuhuan. All at once, he realized that the person before him was in a terribly wrong state of mind, as though he had fallen into a dreadful inner demon. After thinking it over, he gritted his teeth and raised a hand to strike him, but could not bear to do it. Instead, he got up, fetched a bucket of cold water from the side, cast a freezing spell on it, and dumped it over his head. Yue Wuhuan shuddered from the cold, his mind clearing a little. Song Qingshi took the opportunity to place a Tranquil Mind and Calm Spirit Pill in his mouth.

"My lord?" Yue Wuhuan had regained consciousness, but he looked a little bewildered.

"It's nothing." Song Qingshi took out the towels and clothes he had prepared beforehand and wrapped him layer upon layer, like a zongzi, then offered a reasonable explanation. "You were hallucinating because you nearly drowned."

Yue Wuhuan nodded blankly.

Once Song Qingshi had confirmed that the zongzi was wrapped up tightly and securely, he stopped with satisfaction and instructed, "Wear more clothes from now on."

Yue Wuhuan looked at him and asked uneasily, "This slave may wear more?"

Song Qingshi lectured him solemnly, "Autumn is coming. The weather is getting cold. You must wear more, so you don't catch a chill."

"Thank you for your compassion, my lord." Once Yue Wuhuan was sure he did not seem to be lying, he answered softly. He clutched the clothes around himself tightly. For some reason, he suddenly remembered entering Jinfeng Mountain Manor and stripping off every piece of clothing, one by one, as he became a plaything.

Now, this man who seemed so deceptive had personally dressed him piece by piece, as if tempting him to hope for something...

The medicinal bath had been interrupted before its effects could fully take hold.

Song Qingshi busied himself adding water and medicine to the vat, readjusting the temperature.

Yue Wuhuan sat quietly on the floor and watched him busy himself on his behalf, thinking of many things. Then, belatedly, he realized that the stubborn burning sensation within his body had weakened considerably. He moved slightly and was astonished to find that the sensitivity caused by the drugs had also diminished; the friction of fabric no longer hurt.

He guessed for a long time without understanding. Finally, he gathered his courage and asked, "My lord, the Red Herb Impurity-Cleansing Decoction... what is it for?"

"Ah?" Song Qingshi paused, slightly stunned. He realized that he had fallen into the bad habit of a top student again: his thoughts leaped ahead too quickly, and he always assumed that people would understand as soon as he gave a name or term, without considering whether they could keep up with his train of thought.

Song Qingshi was a good top student who corrected his mistakes. He reorganized his words in his mind several times and chose the simplest way to put it. "Your body has been eroded by many kinds of drugs, so you feel very unwell. The Red Herb Impurity-Cleansing Decoction can clear the medicinal residue from your body. You need this medicinal bath five times. For the last two, we will also add Flesh-Regrowing Flowers and Snow Toad Paste to help repair your old injuries. It will hurt and itch then, and anesthetics will not be suitable. Don't worry. You only need to endure that stage, and your body will return to how it was before..."

There was much more Song Qingshi could not bear to say: those people had not cared at all whether Yue Wuhuan lived or died. They had used every kind of aphrodisiac on him without restraint, causing the effects of different drugs inside his body to conflict and leaving excessive residue behind. If the drugs continued, he would not live more than a few years.

"Overmedicated... it's because they thought I was no fun." Yue Wuhuan tightened the clothes around himself, unable to bear letting them go. After hesitating for a long time, he decided to suppress the overwhelming reluctance in his heart and explain something that would sooner or later be discovered. He spoke in complete confusion, once again forgetting the self-reference he ought to use. "My lord, without the drugs, my body won't react to men, and you won't be able to get pleasure from me. I-I'm not suited for those things. Only with drugs can I..."

Song Qingshi cut off his incoherent words. "Don't do things you aren't suited for."

"You don't need to be kind to me." The more Yue Wuhuan laid bare his heart, the more frightened he became. Like a lost child, he said in despair, "I have nothing. The only thing I can give you is this body..."

Song Qingshi realized that something was wrong with his emotions and turned back. He knew he ought to provide psychological intervention now, but the words spun through his heart countless times and vanished the moment they reached his tongue. He could not produce any beautiful words of comfort. Though he was devastated, in the end he could only distill it into two words: "You do."

The Yue Wuhuan in his heart was the child who diligently practiced swordsmanship beneath the peach blossoms, the youth who dreamed of becoming a Sword Venerable in a mortal body.

The Yue Wuhuan he saw was a phoenix soaring through the nine heavens, the brightest star in the night—only with his wings broken and dust covering him.

Song Qingshi walked toward him step by step, every step unwavering.

Yue Wuhuan tried to force himself to remain calm, but his body would not stop trembling slightly as he tried to retreat.

Song Qingshi crouched half-kneeling before him and looked earnestly into his eyes.

Yue Wuhuan felt that there was nowhere left to retreat.

Song Qingshi promised, word by word, "Everything that was once yours, I will help you reclaim. Everything you want, I will give you all of it."

Yue Wuhuan's breathing quickened. He could not yet understand what that promise meant, but he understood the sincerity and resolve in Song Qingshi's eyes. Carefully, he asked, "What do you need me to do?"

Song Qingshi asked, "Don't try to kill yourself again, all right?"

After thinking for a long time, Yue Wuhuan finally nodded.