Xie Guanqi spoke with a note of regret, his words filled with frustration over the failure of his mission. There was not the slightest hint that he realized how extraordinary it was that he had slain a dragon.
Lin Zhengdu said, “That dragon pearl of yours is far more valuable than a white dragon pearl. How did you even think of actually killing a dragon? Dragons hold grudges.”
More than grudges—they were famously vindictive.
“I chose carefully,” Xie Guanqi replied. “This white dragon occupied the Baltic Sea and often came ashore with the tides to devour people. It deserved to die. As for enmity, it doesn’t matter much.”
“Many seniors in the Sword Sect have slain evil dragons. Our relationship with the dragon race has always been poor.”
The water finished heating.
Their conversation paused—nothing was more important than a hot bath. Lin Zhengdu guided the steaming water into the bathing pool and tossed in chopped herbs.
Right before Xie Guanqi’s eyes, the clear, pristine water turned into an eerie dark purple after the herbs were added. Lin Zhengdu dipped her hand in to test it, nodded in satisfaction, and withdrew it. Her skin steamed from the heat, rivulets of dark medicinal liquid winding down from the back of her hand to her fingertips before dripping back into the pool.
Lin Zhengdu wasn’t particularly fastidious. After testing the medicine, she wiped her hand on her outer robe without waiting for it to dry.
“Stay in for half an hour,” she instructed, before leaving with her medicine box.
The small room soon filled with the heavy scent of boiling herbs.
As Xie Guanqi undressed, he glanced around.
Back when he lived in the courtyard, he had only ever cleaned the yard and corridors. He had never once opened the doors to the other unused rooms.
This was his first time discovering there was a bathing pool here.
The place bore clear signs of frequent use. By the wall stood a large mirror; on a wooden rack hung clean silk cloths, several colored hair ribbons, and a few woven nets filled with fragrant, soft soap-like blocks.
On the lower shelf lay combs and some dried fruit shells—whether they were discarded debris or deliberate decoration was unclear.
Xie Guanqi stepped into the pool. After only a few steps, he felt something underfoot. It seemed like stone, not very sturdy—it cracked with a light press of his foot.
After staring at the dark purple water for a moment, he held his breath and submerged himself, retrieving the object.
It turned out to be a cluster of purple glass bead ornaments—now broken into three pieces, wetly resting in his palm. The fractured edges glimmered faintly like crystalline ore.
Xie Guanqi fell silent.
…It seemed to be Physician Lin’s hairpin. He had seen her wear it before.
When Lin Zhengdu returned to the kitchen, she noticed the embers in the stove were still alive. She tossed in a few handfuls of dry leaves, then fetched sweet potatoes and potatoes from the cellar and buried them in the fire.
While waiting for the late-night snack to roast, her gaze drifted to the stove.
The radiant true dragon pearl lay quietly there. Xie Guanqi had placed it casually and left, showing no intention of taking it back.
Was he planning to give her the pearl—and even the dead dragon outside?
Thinking back, Lin Zhengdu recalled that before realizing this wasn’t the white dragon pearl she wanted, he had indeed intended just that.
Even if it wasn’t the right one, both the dragon pearl and the dragon’s corpse were immensely valuable medicinally.
The rain outside gradually softened. Lin Zhengdu pulled the roasted sweet potatoes and potatoes out, placing them on a plate to cool.
Someone approached outside.
There were no footsteps—only a shadow cast onto the window. It was large, fluffy, almost like a mass of fur. The shadow passed the window and door, revealing its owner: Xie Guanqi, his hair loose.
His hair fell in tangled waves, curling and coiling. The uneven tips made his shadow look as though it had many small claws.
Lin Zhengdu blinked in surprise. “Did you wash your hair?”
“I did.”
“…Will it not straighten again?”
Xie Guanqi frowned slightly. “I don’t know.”
He walked closer, carrying the damp scent of herbs.
Fresh from bathing, he wasn’t wearing wrist guards. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, revealing pale forearms marked with faint reddish-brown scars.
Lin Zhengdu stood, taking up her acupuncture kit. “It’s not convenient to use needles here with the fire. Let’s go to your old room. Are your external injuries serious?”
He shook his head. “Not serious. They’ve already scabbed.”
“Already? How long did it take you to get back?”
“About a day and a half.”
In the side room, Lin Zhengdu spread out her needle kit. The outer layer was cowhide, the inner lining fine brocade, the stitching precise and flawless.
“Take off your top,” she said.
Xie Guanqi untied his clothing and removed it. His upper body bore many scars—some old, only leaving twisted reddish marks. There were only three fresh wounds, slashing diagonally from shoulder to waist, already scabbed.
Lin Zhengdu steadied her needles and inserted them into his acupoints.
Her gaze slid from his shoulders downward, lingering briefly on his shoulder blades, shaped like butterfly wings.
As she worked, her fingers inevitably brushed his skin. Perhaps due to the bath, his skin felt smooth and warm, radiating heat naturally.
For once, Lin Zhengdu felt a flicker of unease.
She should have seen only acupoints—at most bones. Yet with Xie Guanqi, her attention kept straying beyond that… to the body itself.
His form was long and growing, balanced between slenderness and strength.
A beautiful body, she thought.
Then she wondered if he experienced growing pains.
He was clearly still developing—long-limbed and lean, bones growing faster than muscle. People like that, she had heard, often suffered when their bones grew.
She had never experienced it herself, so she kept the thought to herself.
…And then felt strangely flustered for even thinking it.
After finishing the acupuncture, Lin Zhengdu let out a quiet breath and quickly turned away, pretending to tidy her tools.
“There’s still some time needed for the needles to guide your meridians. Sit still. I’ll prepare medicine for your wounds.”
“Alright.”
She left quickly.
Outside, the rain had stopped. Only droplets fell from the eaves, tapping against the plants below. The sky in the distance lightened faintly, stars and moon fading.
The courtyard was bathed in the dim blue-gray of early dawn.
Lin Zhengdu walked faster and faster—until she was nearly running. By the time she reached the medicine room, she braced herself against the wall, breathing hard, heart pounding loudly in her ears.
After a while, she touched her cheek.
It was burning hot.
“…Maybe it’s just the heat. Or I ran too fast.”
When she returned, she removed the needles with practiced calm, deliberately avoiding looking at him.
As she applied ointment, her fingers brushed the scabs on his back.
His muscles suddenly tensed, twitching slightly.
“Did I hurt you?” she asked.
“…Not really. It’s just itchy.”
“Endure it.”
“I’m not moving…”
She quickly finished applying the medicine, pretending not to notice his reactions.
The room filled with the cool, sharp scent of ointment.
“You can put your clothes back on,” she said, turning away.
She heard the soft rustle of coarse fabric as he dressed, followed by the crisp click of his belt.
Suddenly, a long-forgotten dream surfaced vividly in her mind.
Back then, she had undressed him only to detoxify him—without a single improper thought. Because she had looked so clearly, the dream had been just as vivid.
The scars, the muscles, the warmth—
All exactly the same.
The scent of medicine approached. His shadow overlapped hers on the floor.
“I meant to bring you something to make you happy,” Xie Guanqi said apologetically. “I didn’t expect to get the wrong thing and trouble you all night… Could I borrow the book about the white dragon pearl? I want to read it carefully so I won’t make the same mistake again.”
Lin Zhengdu turned to him, meeting his sincere gaze.
While he felt guilty for failing her—
She was thinking about how… attractive his scars were.
After a moment, she looked away. “Sorry.”
He blinked. “You won’t lend it? That’s fine, no need to—”
“The book is fine,” she interrupted, touching her nose. “I’m not apologizing about that… Just—don’t ask.”
“…Alright.”