"It's from acupuncture," Song Qingshi quickly clarified, seeing Yue Wuhuan's mistaken concern about his 'injuries.' "Not bug bites. My capillaries are quite dense, so minor subcutaneous bleeding often leaves marks after needling. Don't worry—no pain or itching, and they'll fade in a few days."

Yue Wuhuan scrutinized the marks intently before slowly releasing his grip and lowering his head. "Master injured himself testing needles for me, yet I was so presumptuous..."

"How can one study medicine without practicing on oneself?" Song Qingshi said dismissively. "When you learn acupuncture, you'll have to do the same. If needed, I can even be your practice subject. In the past..." He paused, recalling something amusing—how the first step in learning acupuncture was self-practice, then mutual practice. Soon, it became routine: a few needles for acne, a few for weight loss, a few for stomachaches, a few for colds, and being covered in needles before exams was standard. He had picked up many tricks from his senior sister too, like inserting a needle at the *Baihui* point to instantly banish drowsiness during study sessions.

The original body had also practiced acupuncture on itself first, mainly to understand the sensation of needle insertion.

This was his first time trying this specific technique, so he had to master it on himself before daring to use it on others.

Yue Wuhuan turned away sullenly, seemingly displeased by Song Qingshi's injuries.

*The protagonist-bottom is truly a kind little angel.*

Song Qingshi marveled inwardly for a long while. Worried about another mishap, he lectured on medical theory while inserting needles, taking considerable time before finally turning the beauty into a needled artwork. After confirming each acupoint, he infused spiritual energy, limiting the numbing effect, then prepared the medicinal soak. He skillfully adjusted the temperature of the Six Meridians Revival Decoction and instructed Yue Wuhuan to enter.

This time, Yue Wuhuan let out a stifled moan shortly after submerging.

The potent medicinal energy infiltrated every meridian, fiercely churning and disrupting his body.

Now Yue Wuhuan understood what Song Qingshi had meant by "very painful." Even with acupuncture reducing much of the agony, he still gripped the tub’s edge, his face flushed, brow beaded with cold sweat.

"I can’t eliminate all the pain," Song Qingshi explained as he used his Divine Sense to assess his condition. "The body’s meridians are numerous. When the medicinal energy flows like a river breaching a dam, you must feel the pain of each blocked meridian being cleared so I can confirm if it’s fully cleared... If it hurts, vocalize. Just endure for about half an hour, and it’ll be over."

"Don't trouble yourself, Master," Yue Wuhuan panted. "You’ve already done so much for me. I can endure."

As each blocked meridian was forcibly opened, the medicinal energy flowed unimpeded, and the pain vanished.

Song Qingshi withdrew the appropriate gold needles one by one.

With more meridians cleared, the pain gradually lessened.

Before extracting the final needle from the crown of Yue Wuhuan’s head, Song Qingshi took out a pill and ordered, "Open your mouth."

Pain-fogged, Yue Wuhuan obeyed, only to feel a searing pill slip inside. A pair of cool fingertips accidentally brushed his lips, and he instinctively chased after them, licking at the cool relief, wishing to keep it in his mouth forever.

The burning pill dissolved instantly, sliding down his throat—then a burst of excruciating pain erupted in his *dantian*, twisting his organs.

He could no longer hold back, letting out an anguished cry as he clutched at the person beside him before collapsing weakly.

Song Qingshi caught him, supporting him gently while patting his back. "This is the Nine-Turn Blood Lotus Pill. It works fast—just endure a while longer."

The Six Meridians Revival Decoction cleared the meridians; the Nine-Turn Blood Lotus Pill rebuilt the *dantian*. Song Qingshi’s research and experiments had confirmed that the pill’s effects couldn’t be mitigated, but the pain was brief. He hadn’t mentioned it earlier to avoid needless anxiety—like an injection, it was best to get it over with quickly.

Yue Wuhuan’s lips were bitten bloody. Overwhelmed, he finally released a low, bestial snarl, clinging to the person in his arms as if trying to merge their very beings.

Had he not been a Nascent Soul Cultivator, his grip might have shattered bones.

Immobilized, Song Qingshi worried he’d bite through his lips and suggested, "If it hurts, bite something else. Here’s a towel—"

Before he could finish, Yue Wuhuan sank his teeth into the offensive red mark on his neck with such force it nearly severed the flesh, as if he meant to swallow it whole.

Knowing Yue Wuhuan had lost all rationality, Song Qingshi dispelled his protective *qi*, fearing for his teeth. He didn’t dare resist with poison techniques either, leaving deep bite marks. Tears welled from the pain, but he stifled any sound, pretending it didn’t hurt as he gasped silently.

*I told him to bite. Now I must endure it.*

Through tears, Song Qingshi endured...

After about fifteen minutes, the *dantian’s* torment faded, replaced by a trickle of spiritual energy—like a withered tree reviving under spring rain, vitality surging through his body. Exhausted, Yue Wuhuan finally released his bite, licking the bloodied wound once before collapsing into unconsciousness.

***

When Yue Wuhuan awoke, night had fallen.

He shifted slightly, feeling the long-dormant spiritual energy circulating smoothly—his aptitude now surpassed even his early cultivation days.

Then he noticed something beside him. Turning his head slowly, he saw his own hand gripping Song Qingshi’s sleeve so tightly his fingers had gone stiff and numb. It took great effort to unclench them.

Song Qingshi slept soundly nearby.

He had meant to wait and explain post-treatment care but, exhausted from the treatment, had dozed off.

Yue Wuhuan stared blankly at that guileless sleeping face, tides of nameless emotion churning within him. Seeds of desire took root; madness simmered in his mind.

Quietly, he reached out, lifting a strand of soft, silken hair to his nose, inhaling greedily the lingering medicinal scent before pressing a kiss to it.

The bite mark on Song Qingshi’s neck filled him with inexplicable satisfaction—as if he had branded this person as his own.

Even freed from the drug’s control, his craving for the man before him remained insatiable.

*Such a good person... yet I want his body, his soul, to see him succumbing to passion beneath me.*

What a despicable thought...

*"Wu Huan, you are a demon born of lust."*

Perhaps that was true.

He had long fallen into depravity, unworthy of purity.

Song Qingshi had already given him too much—debts of kindness mountain-high, impossible to repay.

He knew he shouldn’t... yet couldn’t bring himself to let go.

At the very least, he would keep his distance, sheathe his claws, never reveal his true nature—never let his filth taint him...

Resolved, Yue Wuhuan took one last breath of that cherished fragrance before reluctantly releasing the strand of hair.