The morning after getting drunk always came with a headache.
The moment Lin Zhengdu opened her eyes, the full force of a hangover hit her. She groaned, clutched her head, and rolled across the bed.
Her bed was enormous—taking up two-thirds of the room. It could easily fit five or six people. But she always slept alone, so she could roll back and forth as much as she liked without falling off.
Today, however, she only managed two rolls before the headache forced her to stop. She flopped face-down and buried herself in the pillow, playing dead.
After lying there for a while, she lifted her head to breathe, then angrily punched the pillow twice. Even through the thick bedding, the blows made the bedframe thump loudly.
One of the perks of cultivation was increased strength. Lin Zhengdu felt like she could perform bone surgery now—no assistant required.
After venting, she dragged herself upright, head throbbing, and weakly searched for her shoes.
Her complexion was awful—not just from the hangover, but from sheer irritation.
People said you forgot what you did when drunk.
Unfortunately, Lin Zhengdu remembered everything.
She remembered undoing Xie Guanqi’s wrist guards and tying them again. She remembered touching the scar on his face. And worst of all—she remembered, in a moment of foolish drunken impulse, telling him to make a wish as his New Year’s gift.
And what had he wished for?
For her to reach the Third Realm before the end of next year?
Why didn’t he just wish for himself to ace a written exam while he was at it?!
Dragging her unsteady steps outside, Lin Zhengdu found the courtyard spotless. The snow and fallen branches had been cleared, the plants watered, the messenger bird’s cage refilled with fresh food and water.
The place looked as if a mythical house spirit had visited overnight.
Xie Guanqi sat on the steps, eating corn. The cob in his hand gave off a warm, sweet aroma.
Lin Zhengdu walked over and sat beside him. “Give me one.”
He picked up a raw ear of corn, wrapped it in fire spirit energy, and in less than a breath it turned into a lightly charred roasted cob. He handed it over. “Careful, it’s hot.”
She placed a handkerchief in her palm to hold it and blew on it.
“You look terrible,” he said.
Lin Zhengdu snapped, “How could I look good when I’m thinking about having to cultivate seriously for the entire next year?”
“Just do your best,” Xie Guanqi said. “I’ll try to help you.”
“Of course I’ll just do my best! I’m not giving up my time for medicine-making and hobbies just to cultivate!”
She had too many interests—painting, gardening, collecting bones for specimens. Add in time spent mixing medicines, patrolling the mountain, and lying on her bed doing absolutely nothing… there simply wasn’t much time left for cultivation.
Xie Guanqi didn’t object. Honestly, he was already surprised she intended to honor her drunken promise at all.
He’d met plenty of drinkers—especially among sword cultivators—and not one of them kept their drunken words. Some even challenged him to duels while drunk and denied it afterward.
After finishing her corn, Lin Zhengdu said, “Another one.”
He roasted another for her.
Then she suddenly asked, “Can you compress high temperature into a fixed space?”
Her description was vague, but he understood immediately. “Yes.”
“Sometimes, if there are too many enemies, I compress them into a space full of active fire spirit energy and deal with them all at once. Saves time.”
“…I didn’t mean something that violent!!!”
Quickly finishing her corn, Lin Zhengdu dashed off to gather ingredients—flour, eggs, sugar, oil, and some baking powder she had once painstakingly made herself.
Originally, she’d created it just because she wanted cake. But with primitive tools and no precise temperature control, making cake had been impossible. She’d given up long ago.
But now things were different.
She had a powerful fire-spirit cultivator right here.
Mixing tools were easy to find—her medicine room had everything. She poured the ingredients into a bowl, stirring them into batter, tossing in some raisins for good measure.
Meanwhile, Xie Guanqi experimented with forming the “high-temperature space” she described.
About one foot high, two feet long. Heat equivalent to the core of a flame.
Difficult—but not for him.
By the time he succeeded, Lin Zhengdu was still vigorously stirring, sleeves rolled up, hair tied back, face scrunched in effort. Some batter splattered onto her cheek, unnoticed.
At last, she handed him the bowl.
Wrapped in fire spirit energy, the batter quickly puffed up, turning golden and soft.
When he withdrew his power, a warm, sweet fragrance filled the air.
Lin Zhengdu crouched down, blew on it, then tore off a piece and held it to his mouth.
“Come on, you get the first bite—hero’s privilege!”
Her eyes sparkled like sunlight on water.
Xie Guanqi hesitated, then ate it.
It smelled sweet.
It tasted… like rust.
After a few chews, he realized there was also a bitter, medicinal undertone.
“Well? Is it good? Sweet?” she asked eagerly.
“…Hard to describe. You shouldn’t eat it.”
“…That bad? It smells fine…”
“It tastes like pear syrup mixed with cold medicine.”
As he spoke, he suddenly felt warmth in his nose.
He looked down.
Two streams of dark blood trickled out.
Not just his nose—his mouth was bleeding too. He wiped it with the back of his hand, frowning.
“I feel short of breath… and dizzy. Doctor Lin, is this a normal reaction after eating cake?”
Lin Zhengdu went pale.
She grabbed his face, inspecting him, then wiped the blood from his lips—before instinctively tasting it.
“…Don’t say things that sound so misleading,” she muttered, spitting it out. “I have professional ethics. What the—why does this cake contain traces of hallucinogenic herbs? And poison too—hemlock? Yellow Springs flower? Aconite?!”
No time to waste.
She shoved him onto a reclining chair and forced medicine into his mouth.
Luckily, she’d studied these toxins before and had antidotes ready. With his strong cultivation and body resistance, several doses later, his lips finally returned from black to pale red.
Lin Zhengdu crouched beside him, holding up three fingers.
“How many?”
“Three.”
She sagged in relief, sliding onto the floor.
“Thank goodness… at least your brain’s still working…”
Then she realized she was the culprit.
“I’m so sorry,” she said sincerely. “I checked just now… that bowl and pestle were what I used last year to grind toxic herbs.”
Xie Guanqi blinked slowly. “It’s fine. Won’t kill me. Just a minor injury.”
“…You’re the victim. You don’t need to comfort me.”
“I’m serious. I knew something was wrong the moment I bit it, but it didn’t seem fatal, so I wanted to see what it tasted like. This isn’t a serious injury.”
He suddenly sat up and pulled open his shirt.
Lin Zhengdu’s brain lagged behind his movements—by the time she reacted, she’d already seen his chest, abs, and sharp waistline—
He pointed to a scar across his torso.
“This one’s from eating swordfish sashimi. The fish stabbed me.”
“…Alive?”
“It’s said in ancient texts that it tastes best fresh. Higher cultivation, better texture. Though it fights back fiercely.”
He pointed to another scar.
“This one’s from roasted bluebird. It clawed me.”
“…Do you have any injuries from actual fights?”
He looked puzzled. “What serious injuries come from fighting? Draw sword, strike, sheathe. It’s over.”
“… ”
Such an irritating tone.
Such an irritating statement.
And yet—paired with that body—
Lin Zhengdu buried her face in her hands and lightly bumped her head against the chair arm, her cheeks burning.
This was bad.
Very bad.
Xie Guanqi patted her head, confused. “Why are you hitting the chair?”
“To apologize.”
“?”
“Apologize to me!”
“…Sorry.”
She rubbed her face, then looked up—still flushed, but composed again.
“Aren’t you leaving today? I’ll prepare some medicine for you to take on the road.”
He nodded and lay back, hands folded over his chest, still puzzled.
After a moment, he vaguely recalled her earlier panic—her pale face as she held him.
He touched his own cheek.
Doctor Lin’s hands were really cold… Did I scare her when I started bleeding?