Under night's veil, Xuekui followed Guizhong by the hand, looking up at a high stone wall he barely recognized.
That morning, Morax had flown him away—he hadn't seen the settlement's outskirts. Now returning through the main gate, he finally noticed how different it was.
He'd been gone three months.
How did a wall like this exist already? Guizhong giggled, clearly pleased.
"Surprised? Even with my guidance, this achievement was built by those little humans with their own hands."
She pointed at the stone wall.
"Now it isn't convenient to call it a village. Call it a city."
Xuekui squinted. Atop the wall was room for people to stand, and huge ballistae sat ready. He was about to ask—
When a familiar voice cried out with joy. "Xuekui?!"
"Brother Shichen!"
Seeing a familiar face, Xuekui's mood lifted. Shichen quickly gestured for silence.
"Don't ask anything yet. Come with me. I'll explain on the way. Lady Guizhong— I'm borrowing Xuekui."
Guizhong understood, and simply nodded.
Shichen dragged Xuekui through the crowd. Xuekui trusted him and didn't resist, only asking as they hurried.
"What's so urgent?"
Shichen didn't answer immediately. "Your timing is… unlucky, and lucky." "Hm?"
Shichen's expression turned solemn. "The old physician… passed away." Xuekui froze.
He hadn't known the old physician for long. Most of their time together was when patients needed help.
But in this city, the old man counted as someone he knew. Hearing he was gone, Xuekui's mind didn't turn smoothly. He felt… sad.
But not deeply.
"He went a few days ago," Shichen said. "You missed his last moments. But today is the burial. You made it back for that."
White paper shreds fluttered through the night like pale snow. Firelight lit them, making them look eerily white.
Xuekui's eyes followed the drifting paper. His face stayed blank, only the faint innocence of youth visible.
He still didn't understand parting.
The old physician was respected enough to be buried properly.
Xuekui didn't really understand what "qualified to be buried" meant. He even asked Shichen if he qualified.
It sounded like a competition, and Xuekui reflexively wanted to compare.
Shichen only patted his head and said he didn't know. And that he'd probably die first anyway—so Xuekui could decide if Shichen qualified later.
As the mourners sobbed, Xuekui's memory played fragments of the past. His brow creased with discomfort.
The old physician was a good man. A skilled man.
Not only in treating illness—he also knew how to feed a yaksha's cravings.
When there were no patients and Xuekui happened to be there, the old man would crush Sweet Flowers, boil them down with other ingredients Xuekui couldn't name, and weave the brown syrup into little animal shapes for him to eat.
It was just sweet, not extraordinary—but watching those wrinkled hands dance was strangely fascinating.
A gust of wind spun a paper shred above Xuekui's head. In that moment, it felt like a sigh whispered in his ear. "Heaven's law cannot be defied…"
Xuekui scratched his head, not understanding why his chest felt uncomfortable. From afar, Guizhong watched Xuekui's confusion and quietly relaxed.
The child was wild and reckless, but easily stained by emotion. She'd been afraid he might sink into sorrow and never rise again.
Ignorance is bliss. Ignorance is bliss…
Guizhong caught a shred of paper, smiled bitterly, then let it go. But one day, he would understand.
...
Years passed. The city thrived.
Xuekui finally conquered that cursed scroll of plants and truly defeated "illness," deepening his grasp of herbal medicine.
Which meant he now had a solution to one of Shichen's requests. But the process was… not beautiful.
"Don't pound it that hard! We need paste, not juice!"
"Can you explain how you got the order of the ingredients wrong three times in a row?!"
"That's it—that's it—wait, don't touch that part!"
Even when Morax chased him, Xuekui never looked despairing.
But when the fire in the mechanical furnace suddenly flared, Xuekui's expression turned utterly hopeless.
He stared blankly as he poured a half-liquid, slime-like mess—something that looked suspiciously like melted Pyro Slime residue—into a waste bucket.
Behind him, Shichen, who was supposed to be his dependable big brother, stood rubbing his hands with an awkward grin like a lackey.
When you need a favor, humility isn't shameful.
You might remember a girl named Shuang'er—mentioned briefly once long ago. If you don't, it doesn't matter.
All you need to know is—
She was the woman Shichen adored.
"Why don't you just pick one of those monster bone pieces in your house and give it to Shuang'er-jie?" Xuekui said, exhausted.
"No, no," Shichen said frantically. "What girl would like that kind of thing?"
In recent years, as Shichen entered adulthood and reached the age of marriage, he finally admitted he had long admired someone and wanted to offer a gift.
But he was a man. He didn't understand embroidery or music. His interests didn't overlap with Shuang'er's. He had no idea what to give.
So he latched onto Xuekui. And got an unexpected answer.
Xuekui, inspired by the old physician's Sweet Flower sugar, had begun experimenting with plants beyond medicine.
Useful new remedies emerged. But far more strange results.
Like the fragrant balm he was now trying to teach Shichen to make—using a plant called the Silk Flower.
This balm had fragrance but no medicinal property. Xuekui had labeled it trash. Until Shichen voiced his trouble.
Then Xuekui had an idea.
Shichen treated the balm like a treasure, declaring it a holy weapon that would make him unstoppable in romance.
"Why don't I just make it for you?" Xuekui muttered. "Why do you have to do it yourself?" Shichen gave him a knowing look.
"You're still young. You don't understand." He raised a finger. "A gift like this is already miraculous—but it lacks something."
He pressed a hand to his chest dramatically.
"Emotion. Only when I make it with my own hands does my sincerity seep in. Then it becomes the blade that pierces Shuang'er's heart."
He formed two fingers like a sword and slashed the air. "Stop suggesting I quit. You'll shake my resolve." Shichen's eyes turned sharp.
Sometimes, a man's stubbornness was utterly meaningless.