Song Qingshi strove to maintain his composure. He couldn't be sure about the relationship between the young man who called himself Wuhuan in the dungeon and Feng Jun, but he needed to rescue him nonetheless. As for the mission concerning Qu Yurong… After evaluating the urgency and priority of both matters, he decided to save Wuhuan first and then return for Qu Yurong.
Hearing the breathing outside the window even out, Wuhuan neither responded nor made any noise; he held no expectations. After all, he had an infamous reputation in the House of Heavenly Fragrance for his multiple escape attempts through sweet-talking, playing the victim, or seducing guests. His madam had long lost patience with him. His beauty was supposed to fetch a high price when matured, but now his face was ruined. Once this punishment was over, he'd be sold to sadistic clients.
The time was currently noon, and the dungeon was not a place where regular servants or buyers could easily access.
The person outside the window was likely a guest who had just sobered up from a hangover. Judging from changes in their breathing, they seemed interested in his battered body. Maybe they relished the idea of toying with a bruised beauty? Regardless, he couldn't simply sit and wait for doom; even the slimmest hope was worth grasping to escape the dungeon.
Wuhuan wet his red lips lightly with his tongue and twisted his body, attempting to voice more seductive words:
"People always say I'm enchantingly beautiful, born to beguile. Would you like to take a look at my waist, sir?"
"I relish pain; the more it hurts, the more I enjoy it."
"If you take me with you, I assure you a delightful experience…"
"..."
As Song Qingshi listened to these words, his heart ached. The dungeon's conditions made it apparent that Wuhuan had been confined for a long time, severely injured, and in dire circumstances. He surmised that Wuhuan was lying as a cry for help. Unable to communicate verbally, Song Qingshi could only stand and leave the dungeon to hatch a rescue plan.
After much contemplation, leveraging his prodigious memory and insect-like perception, he sketched a map of Tianxiang Tower on the sand. Based on the layout and orientation of the buildings, he identified their functions. Skillfully bypassing all magical barriers and guards, he controlled several butterflies and moths to carry sparks from a mysterious fire into the treasury through its ventilation holes, setting wooden shelves and cloth alight.
"This enigmatic fire burns more fiercely than common flames, igniting anything it touches."
Thick black smoke billowed from the treasury, triggering the alarm spells and alerting everyone in Tianxiang Tower. The madam, disheveled and frantic, shouted and cursed as she urged everyone to salvage what they could. The treasury was her life's savings, the cornerstone of Tianxiang Tower. Who would spare a thought for the disfigured captive in the dungeon?
Taking advantage of the chaos, Song Qingshi stealthily returned to the dungeon.
This mystical fire was intensely hot, its flames carrying corrosive toxins. Even the tiniest spark could serve as a welding torch. With utmost caution, he burned through the bars on the window, climbed in, and severed the chains binding Wuhuan's feet and the ropes on his hands. Then, they both climbed out through the window.
Wuhuan barely managed to crawl out of the dungeon. As he tried to stand, he collapsed. Attempting to steady himself against the wall, he found his legs shaking with each step.
Song Qingshi promptly knelt down and examined Wuhuan's leg muscles, diagnosing that extended imprisonment had caused severe muscular atrophy. The untreated past fracture only worsened his walking difficulties. Such injuries were common in the world of cultivators and could be fully healed with proper care and elixirs.
Wuhuan couldn't see, but he could feel this person manhandling his legs the moment they escaped the dungeon. Occasionally giving him a strong pinch, Song Qingshi appeared to be a lecherous scoundrel. Despite his contempt, Wuhuan knew he was still in danger. He feigned submissive compliance and suggested softly, "Thank you for saving me. Can we continue this elsewhere?"
"Alright," thought Song Qingshi. Realizing it was inappropriate to diagnose Wuhuan's condition there, he helped him walk a few steps but found it difficult. Seeing that the rooms were empty, he wrapped Wuhuan in a semi-worn teal robe, hiding the bloodstains and disfigurement. Then, he carried Wuhuan piggyback, slipping through a gap he'd identified earlier, and silently leapt over the walls.
Though he spent most of his time in remote mountains collecting herbs, Song Qingshi had surprising strength. Carrying the equally frail Wuhuan, he moved with ease. Controlling the surveillance butterflies once more, he took hidden paths, eluding prying eyes as they left Tianxiang Tower unobtrusively.
"You're not from around here, are you?" Wuhuan asked as he lay on Song Qingshi's back. Amidst the jolting, he realized Song Qingshi was merely a Qi cultivator, small and thin, and mute. Yet, he exuded a clean, medicinal aroma that felt strangely comforting and tender.
As Wuhuan inhaled the soothing fragrance, his thoughts returned to the moment when Song Qingshi had touched him inappropriately. Hardening his resolve, he feigned ignorance and sweetness, asking, "Where are you taking me?"
Song Qingshi placed Wuhuan's hand on his own throat and hummed, signaling his inability to speak.
Seizing the opportunity, Wuhuan felt for Song Qingshi's jugular, confirming its position before retracting his hand.
Now was not the time, nor did he have the right tools.
Two years ago, he had deceived a lecherous servant into aiding his escape, only to kill him with a rock and toss his body into a river when the man tried to take advantage of him. Unfortunately, his lack of experience and vision led him astray, and he was soon recaptured.
"This time, he couldn't afford to make the same mistake again."
Wuhuan lowered his head, relying on his sense of hearing and smell to navigate his surroundings. The scent of pine, locust trees, bay laurel, lingxin grass, a nearby stream, and wild ducks—each complex aroma and subtle noise was catalogued meticulously. In his mind, he sketched an approximation of the environment, remembered the paths he took, and gauged his current position, preparing for any possible escape.
Song Qingshi led him up the mountain.
Nestled within weathered rock crevices was a humble thatched hut, surrounded by various herbs and a small alchemy furnace. It was Song Qingshi's dwelling. Though somewhat tattered, it was impeccably clean, fitting the standards of someone with a medical background and an inclination for cleanliness.
As Song Qingshi internally griped about the miserliness of Master Moyuan in assigning identities for his missions, he gently placed Wuhuan on a bed made of dry straw. He then examined Wuhuan's injuries and attempted to communicate a treatment plan by writing in the palm of his hand, hoping for his cooperation.
Writing in ancient characters proved to be challenging; simplifying his message took considerable effort.
"My lord, are you trying to ask me something?" Wuhuan felt the writing on his palm and hesitated before apologizing, "I'm sorry, I can't read."
Song Qingshi looked up in astonishment, feeling as if struck by lightning.
Seizing the moment, Wuhuan withdrew his hand and patiently explained, "I am but a mortal and blind from birth. I was sold to Tianxiang Tower as a child and learned to entertain and serve. No one ever taught me to read or write. After all, what use is literacy to someone who can't see and read books?"
One blind, the other mute.
Their communication reached an impasse.
Nevertheless, Wuhuan's injuries and condition still required immediate attention.
With no other choice, Song Qingshi proceeded to examine Wuhuan's facial injuries and checked his eyes against the sunlight. He discovered that Wuhuan's eyes weren't completely ruined but were clouded by the toxin of a "Youmuhua" flower, leaving him able to discern only varying degrees of light and dark and vague shapes up close.
The Youmuhua poison was difficult to cure and required a concoction of a high-grade elixir called Xuantian Taiming Pill.
The Xuantian Taiming Pill was a challenging elixir to craft, requiring primary ingredients like Lingzicao, Bodhi stones, and the inner elixir of a thousand-year-old turtle. A top-notch alchemy furnace was also a necessity to withstand the heat during the process…
Surveying his humble abode and the scant silver at hand, Song Qingshi grew even more disheartened.
Setting aside his unsolvable dilemmas for the moment, he signaled for Wuhuan to disrobe and lie face down so he could treat the whip wounds on his back. These injuries had been hastily treated with a basic antiseptic and needed proper medical attention to prevent infection or life-threatening complications.
Song Qingshi tugged gently at Wuhuan's clothing, intending to remove it.
"Could we perhaps postpone this? I'm not ready," Wuhuan clung desperately to his garment, filled with dread. He hadn't expected Song Qingshi to be so impatient, not even sparing him a moment to prepare. With no weapon at hand for self-defense, he could only plead, "My injuries are still fresh; they'll spoil your mood should you proceed…"
Frustrated, Song Qingshi gestured emphatically, attempting to convey that it was precisely because of Wuhuan's untreated back injuries that he needed to undress and lie down for treatment.
"Wuhuan had been trained for years as the top performer at Tianxiang Tower. Although his virginity had been preserved to fetch a high price, he had been educated extensively in the arts of romance and intimacy. Now, seeing Song Qingshi not only tug at his clothes but also touch his back and signal him to lie down and relax into a submissive posture, he was on high alert..."
"This man's aura feels pure and comforting, but his actions are even more base than those of the servant I killed years ago. How deceitful!"
Flustered and frustrated, Wuhuan kept retreating, adamantly refusing to undress and incessantly pleading, "The wounds on my body are very painful; could you please show me some compassion for a few more days?"
Hearing him speak of painful wounds and unable to communicate that the treatment wouldn't hurt, Song Qingshi became increasingly anxious. With the sun setting and less favorable lighting conditions for treatment, he finally hardened his resolve. Using the tactics one might employ with a stubborn child, he forcefully pushed Wuhuan down on the bed, tore off his clothing to expose a back marred with numerous scars, and held down his hands to begin treatment.
New injuries layered upon old ones; he had evidently been brutally beaten countless times.
Song Qingshi carefully examined the wounds to assess their condition.
"No, don't touch me," Wuhuan felt the slightly cold touch of fingertips on his back, and his worst fears began to materialize. Finally losing his composure, he struggled violently and cursed incessantly, "You beast! Let go of me! You shameless, unscrupulous scum! Trash! Monster! Just kill me!"
Being only a mortal who had been imprisoned for a long time without adequate food or water, Wuhuan was too exhausted to wrestle with a cultivator.
His healing wounds burst open in the struggle, fresh blood spilling once again.
Seizing an opportunity, he bit hard into Song Qingshi's hand. Taking advantage of his shock, he broke free and rolled off the bed, making his way toward the door.
Song Qingshi finally realized that a severe misunderstanding had occurred. Unsure how to navigate this complex situation, he decided actions would speak louder than words.
Drawing a golden acupuncture needle, he aimed for a pressure point associated with inducing drowsiness.
Wuhuan felt the world spin, his vision dimming. Staggering to his feet, he attempted to move further away but ultimately collapsed into arms filled with a gentle, medicinal aroma. Before losing consciousness, he clutched at Song Qingshi's clothing and made a desperate plea:
"Don't hurt me..."
Gently cradling him back onto the bed and carefully positioning him, Song Qingshi silently mouthed into his ear:
"Don't worry, I will never hurt you."
...
He wasn't sure if his message had reached Wuhuan's heart.
Yet, the young man covered in scars finally relaxed his body, sinking into a deep, dreamless slumber.