It was the start of spring. At the foot of the mountain, the creek had just thawed, fragments of ice floating along the current. Green shoots were pushing through, birds chirped intermittently through the thin, chilly mist.
This was a medicinal mountain belonging to the Northern Mountain Medicine Sect, bound by powerful formations—no flying or teleportation techniques could work here.
Lin Zhengdu carried a basket of herbs on her back, gripped a sickle in her right hand, and leaned on a jade-green staff with her left. She moved through the forest with ease.
The slopes were steep and overgrown with wild grasses, and occasional shadows of low-level spirit beasts flickered through the mist. But Lin Zhengdu was accustomed to such terrain—climbing slopes or wading streams, she moved with the agility of a deer born to the mountains.
When she reached her home, she noticed a junior disciple lingering hesitantly at her door. Lin Zhengdu paused, puzzled, and called out to him.
The young disciple jumped, eyes wide, staring at the mud-splattered, leaf-strewn Lin Zhengdu. Fresh from gathering herbs on the mountain, with her black hair tied under a scarf, she looked more like a common herbalist than a sect senior.
Lin Zhengdu set the sickle against the wall and flicked the leaves from her scarf.
The disciple regained his composure. “Senior Sister, Elder Peilan sent me to ask you to come to the Lotus Pavilion right now.”
“Now?” Lin Zhengdu asked.
He nodded, adding, “The Sword Sect sent someone over. I think they want you to check on them.”
Lin Zhengdu frowned. The Sword Sect sending someone over wasn’t unusual—they were two branches of the same Northern Mountain sect—but being summoned specifically for her seemed strange.
She only had a second-stage cultivation, while her master, Immortal Healer Peilan, was already at the sixth stage. Lin Zhengdu was not particularly skilled in healing magic; it wasn’t her responsibility to treat anyone, so why her?
She rolled up her scarf and tucked it away. “Alright. Let me put down my basket and change my clothes first.”
The junior disciple stayed put, reluctant to leave. Facing the Sword Sect cultivators alone was no small matter.
Soon, Lin Zhengdu emerged in fresh clothes—her long black hair half-up, adorned with a single flowering thorn pear hairpin, otherwise plain, like a sheet of white rice paper.
Through the teleportation formation, the two of them arrived almost instantly at the Lotus Pavilion.
The stone corridor extending from the formation was flanked by an endless expanse of water. Giant lotus leaves, taller than Lin Zhengdu herself, floated on the surface, casting shadows that submerged the walkway in quiet serenity.
Outside the pavilion, the disciple warned softly, “Those Sword Sect cultivators don’t look friendly. Be careful—they might cause trouble if they get impatient with healing.”
Lin Zhengdu raised an eyebrow but proceeded inside. Something felt off—too few people. The usual junior disciples weren’t there, nor were the “many sword cultivators” mentioned. Only her master, Peilan, sat at the main seat, with a young man in white to her left.
On the ground lay a faint, half-conscious boy on a stretcher.
Lin Zhengdu bowed to her master before moving beside her.
The room was silent, tension thick in the air. The boy on the stretcher was barely alive. The young sword cultivator in white looked cold and stiff, his face screaming, “I am in a terrible mood.”
Lin Zhengdu glanced at the floor and chairs, then, as Peilan set down her teacup, her eyes drifted to the flowing peach-red ribbons on her master’s arm.
Ah—master had changed to peach-red today. Perfect for early spring!
Peilan’s voice broke the silence. “Zhengdu—”
Lin Zhengdu responded instinctively, standing at attention.
Peilan gestured at the boy on the floor. “Go check him.”
Lin Zhengdu crouched beside the boy, scanning him from head to toe. His bones were exquisite—more symmetrical than any skeleton she had collected. Even his high cultivation left traces on his bones, subtly altered by spiritual energy.
She checked his weak pulse at the wrist. Sigh, he’s still alive… that’s unfortunate.
Pulling back her hand, she told her master, “He’s poisoned by an epidemic spirit’s toxin. It’s reached his heart veins, but his cultivation is high, so he won’t die immediately.”
“But Senior, I can’t cure epidemic spirit poison!”
Peilan shot her a glare. Lin Zhengdu wisely stayed silent.
Peilan addressed the young sword cultivator: “Even a master healer cannot completely neutralize epidemic spirit poison. I could save your disciple’s life, but whether he wakes up the same prodigy you’re proud of—that is uncertain. Zhengdu is our sect’s best at detoxification, but she’s only a second-stage healer. If you want to take a risk, use her. If you only care about keeping him alive, I will do it myself.”
The cultivator frowned. “No middle ground?”
Peilan shook her head. “If there were, epidemic spirits wouldn’t terrify so many cultivators.”
The cultivator’s oppressive gaze swept between master and student. Lin Zhengdu instinctively edged closer to her master.
Whispering, she asked, “Who is he?”
Peilan replied, “Elder Yun of the Sword Sect. The boy on the ground is his only disciple, Xie Guanqi.”
Lin Zhengdu’s eyes widened. “Wait… the Elder Yun who’s one step from immortality and has killed multiple immortals?!”
Peilan nodded.
Lin Zhengdu lowered her voice further. “If… I mean, if he chooses me, and I… accidentally… kill his disciple—would he chop me into pieces?”
Peilan smiled. “Not that many.”
Lin Zhengdu froze.
The young sword cultivator said flatly, “I can hear that.”
Embarrassed, she focused on the ribbons flowing on her master’s arms.
Peilan’s smile widened. “Feeling happy trash-talking me?”
Elder Yun ignored her, his gaze locked on Lin Zhengdu—but the floating ribbons shielded her from his eyes.
Peilan’s words were sharp: “I’ve warned my disciple. If you want to take the risk, take it. Don’t ask for guarantees. Even a ninety-percent success rate leaves ten percent risk. Healers do what we can; the rest is fate. We’re not goddesses who can mold clay into life.”
Elder Yun’s expression hardened, but he didn’t respond. Lin Zhengdu quietly grabbed a snack from the table—she hadn’t eaten breakfast, and climbing the mountain had left her starving.
Since the boy was Elder Yun’s only disciple, she gave up any selfish thoughts and resolved to just follow her role as healer.
Elder Yun asked, “If the poison is cured, will he return to full strength—cultivation and sword spirit intact?”
Peilan: “If we succeed, yes.”
Elder Yun bowed to Lin Zhengdu. She hurriedly swallowed the remaining snack, glancing nervously at Peilan.
Peilan smiled faintly. “Take him back to your courtyard and heal him.”
Elder Yun said solemnly, “Any herbs you need, just ask. Even the liver of an Eastern Sea dragon or the spine of a Kunshan phoenix—we’ll provide it.”
Lin Zhengdu clutched the ribbon on her master’s arm. “If… I mean, what if I really kill him… I won’t be repaying your disciple’s life.”
Elder Yun’s temple twitched, but he calmly closed his eyes. “If he dies, it’s fate. I won’t hold you responsible.”
With that guarantee, Lin Zhengdu instructed a junior to carry Xie Guanqi to her own courtyard.
The medicinal mountain was under her care alone. She set the boy in a well-ventilated side room, spreading bedding before letting him lie down.
Previously, in the Lotus Pavilion, she hadn’t considered him her responsibility. She only did a quick pulse check after identifying the epidemic spirit poison—highly contagious, nearly fatal even to a high-level Sword Sect disciple. She had no intention of catching it herself.
Now, he was her patient.
The boy’s skin was pale as mountain mist, covered in thin, black vein-like markings. Lin Zhengdu donned white silk gloves that perfectly fit her hands, insulating her from the poison while keeping tactile sensitivity.
She examined him thoroughly—his body tall, muscular, perfectly aligned with his exquisite skeleton. Some scars were visible, but his perfection made them negligible.
She pressed her palm against his chest, feeling the weak heartbeat. A fire-element single root? Not my favorite.
Using her water-wood dual-element affinity, she guided the blood back into his body. Lin Zhengdu’s natural talent made her adept at blood manipulation—she could detect, adjust, and circulate it to assess the patient’s condition.
The morning sun filtered through the window, illuminating the black markings and his fragile pulse. Seventeen years old, a prodigy of the Sword Sect.
Lin Zhengdu drew his blood into a glass vial, then returned to her dispensary. She ignited the cauldron with fire-element stones, boiling water before adding herbs. The mixture turned a deep purplish-red, exuding a sharp, gunpowder-like smell. Undeterred, she tasted it, then added the boy’s blood.
With a loud boom, the cauldron exploded. Soot coated her face. Unfazed, she cleaned up and recorded the recipe for future adjustments.
That day, explosions echoed from her courtyard, scaring nearby animals and birds alike.
Xie Guanqi stirred, eyes blurry. He could barely recognize his body, the room, or the strange scent—like herbs, yet metallic, like rusted old weapons.
He tried to move, but his body refused. Only his eyes could roam. On the bed beside him sat a young woman, resting her chin on her hand, dozing.
Confused, he stared. He was poisoned, near death—yet opening his eyes, he saw a fairy at his bedside.