"No, no—if you need his help, then take him, Master!" The matron spoke quickly, anxiety twisting her voice.
Mu Feng gave a faint smile, his sharp eyes softening just enough to reassure her. "All right then. Hero," he said, turning to Zixiao, "from now on, you'll hand me the items from the medicine pouch whenever I ask. Understand?"
Zixiao hesitated, unsure of himself. "O-okay… I'll try," he replied quietly.
Though the poisonous mist had been absorbed by the two spheres, Mu Feng suddenly sensed the toxin stirring again in the air — faint, yet spreading fast. His expression hardened. Without delay, he seized Jie Zhaosan's frail left hand. The old man's veins bulged black beneath paper-thin skin, pulsing violently.
Mu Feng shut his eyes, concentrating on the pulse. It was wild — far too fast, the rhythm of a heart consumed by venom and rage. His brows furrowed.
So that's why the poison keeps rising… it's not just airborne — it's alive, he realized.
"Sigh…" Mu Feng exhaled deeply, running his fingers through his long white beard. "It seems this isn't an ordinary poison after all. Something he drank must've transformed into venom within his body. Most likely… a type of alcohol."
"Aiyoo, Master! Please, I beg of you—save him!" The matron collapsed to her knees, tears streaming down her cheeks as she clutched at Mu Feng's robe.
"All right, all right… I can cure him," Mu Feng said, waving his hand with a faint smile. "Just stop your wailing before you flood the room."
"Thank you… thank you, Master! Thank you!"
"Now then, hero," Mu Feng turned to Zixiao. "Inside the medicine pouch—there's a wooden case. Bring me the needle pack."
Zixiao quickly fumbled through the pouch and pulled out a slender bottle-shaped container carved from dark sandalwood. Inside, it held silver needles of varying sizes, each gleaming faintly under the lantern's dim light.
Mu Feng's eyes narrowed slightly as he took the case from the boy. "Good. Now watch carefully. Every breath and every placement matters."
Mu Feng took the smallest needle from the case, his hand steady yet gentle. With two fingers, he pierced it into Jie Zhaosan's abdomen. The old man's face twisted in agony, veins bulging around his temples.
Without hesitation, Mu Feng's hands became a blur—silver glints flashed through the air. In the span of a breath, several more needles were driven into precise points—Zhaosan's heart, both wrists, and forehead.
The speed was inhuman.
Neither Zixiao nor the matron could even comprehend what had just happened.
"Hero!" Mu Feng's tone sharpened. "Quickly—hand me the bottle labeled Golden Silver Orchid Essence!"
Zixiao, startled by the sudden urgency, dug into the medicine pouch with trembling hands. He found a small white jade bottle, faintly glowing under the light, and passed it to Mu Feng without a word.
Mu Feng uncorked it in one swift motion. A soft, sweet fragrance filled the room—warm yet strange, like a mixture of orchid and blood.
Mu Feng brought the jade bottle close to Jie Zhaosan's lips and tilted it just slightly. A single drop fell—silver with faint streaks of red, like molten metal touched by blood.
The moment it touched Zhaosan's tongue, his entire body shuddered. His pale, sickly skin flushed with sudden life. Wrinkles smoothed, his hairless scalp seemed to thicken, and the old, ragged lines of his face softened, replaced by a fleeting vitality.
Before Zhaosan could even rise, Mu Feng's hands moved with lightning speed, yanking all the needles from his body in one fluid motion.
The old man let out a piercing scream, the sound echoing through the vast mansion. Pain and shock contorted his features, yet it was nothing compared to the sudden flush of energy coursing through his veins—his body alive in a way it hadn't been for decades, yet still under Mu Feng's absolute control.
Zixiao's eyes widened, watching in awe and fear. The matron buried her face in her hands, trembling.
Mu Feng, calm as ever, glanced down at the boy. "Hero… watch carefully. What you see is the difference between strength and control."
Later that day, the sky darkened, heavy clouds rolling across the mountain peaks. Thunder rumbled in the distance, deep and foreboding, as if warning of an approaching storm.
"Ahh… thank you, Master Mu Feng! You are truly our benefactor," Jie Zhaosan said, clutching the old man's hands with both of his own. His wife joined, bowing slightly. "Ask for anything—anything in our house is yours."
Mu Feng's eyes flicked briefly toward Zixiao, who knelt nearby, still shackled, holding a steaming cup of medicinal tea above his head for Zhaosan. Calmly, Mu Feng spoke:
"How about… giving me this boy?"
Jie Zhaosan and his wife froze, exchanging bewildered glances.
"But Master Mu Feng," the matron protested, "this brat is weak, barely eats, and has no strength. The townsfolk even call him a demon child… he has no vitality."
Vitality—the life force that sustains living beings across every universe. For reasons unknown, Zixiao lacked it. That deficiency had made him a target his entire life. Bullied, beaten, and shunned, people whispered that he was unnatural, a demon in human form.
And yet now, under Mu Feng's gaze, the boy's fate was about to change.
"I know, I know," Mu Feng replied with a faint smile, stroking his long beard. "It's precisely because this child is unusual that he might be of use to me."
The matron hesitated, exchanging glances with her husband. Finally, she forced a smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"Umm… if it's for Master Mu Feng, then… from this moment on, he shall belong to you, Master."
Her tone trembled slightly. Though the Jie family was wealthy beyond measure, nearly all their servants had perished—some from starvation, others from the old master's drunken cruelty. Only Zixiao and a few maids remained to tend the vast, decaying mansion.
"Well then," Jie Zhaosan said, clearing his throat, "let's begin the slave contract ritual."
At his command, a nearby maid hurried off, returning moments later with a black incense burner, a scroll inscribed with crimson runes, and a small jade blade—the tools of binding. The air seemed to grow colder as she placed them on the floor.
"Oh… there's no need for a transfer," Mu Feng said, glancing at the tools the maid had brought. "Just end the contract you have with the boy."
The matron blinked, startled. "But, Master… don't you want him as your slave?"
"Yes, yes… surely that's what you meant?" Zhaosan added quickly, forcing a grin.
While the adults spoke, Zixiao stayed silent, though a cold unease filled his small chest. Even at his age, he could sense that whatever was happening would change his fate forever—one way or another.
Mu Feng shook his head lightly, waving his hand with a small smile. "No, no, no. I need him as a person, not a slave."
His calm tone carried a quiet weight that left no room for argument.
Zhaosan and his wife exchanged uneasy glances. Over the years, they had humiliated and abused Zixiao countless times. If the boy were freed, revenge would be natural—but Mu Feng's power was not something they dared to challenge.
Trapped between fear and guilt, they both nodded reluctantly.
Zhaosan picked up the jade blade, his wrinkled hand trembling slightly. With a shallow cut across his left palm, he let several drops of blood fall onto the contract scroll, its crimson runes beginning to flicker faintly in response.
The binding between master and slave began to dissolve.
Within ten seconds, the scroll suddenly burst into flames.
A sickening stench—like rotten blood mixed with burning flesh—filled the mansion.
When the last trace of the scroll turned to ash, the metal collar around Zixiao's neck released with a sharp click. It fell to the floor with a heavy clang, echoing through the silent hall.
For the first time in years, Zixiao felt air brush freely against his skin.
A faint, trembling smile crept across his face—his first since the night of the accident.
Mu Feng knelt down until his eyes met the boy's and smiled softly.
"Let's go, hero," he said, his voice warm and light as he gently ruffled Zixiao's hair.
The matron and Jie Zhaosan exchanged uneasy looks, their expressions twisted with displeasure, but neither dared to speak a word.
Mu Feng rose and took Zixiao's left hand, leading him toward the gate.
"Remember to take your medicine," he called back without looking over his shoulder. Then, after a pause, his tone shifted, carrying a faint tease:
"And don't do anything rash for your age… it's unpleasant, you know what I mean."
With a sly smirk, Mu Feng walked away slowly—his robe trailing lightly across the snowy path—as he guided Zixiao down the icy road ahead.
The faint sound of their footsteps faded into the distance, swallowed by the falling snow.