She wished she could turn into an ostrich and bury her head in the sand.
Lin Zhengdu packed the nightmare creature’s wings into a storage pouch meant for containment materials. After labeling it, she placed it into a cabinet specifically used for storing dangerous items.
Afterward, she carefully inspected the entire pharmacy—and, as expected, found traces of scale powder in other areas.
According to the books, the scale powder from nightmare creatures induces dreams, but the content of those dreams can be controlled. It is usually influenced by the materials it’s mixed with or the condition of the nightmare creature itself. Since the pharmacy already contained many different materials, and Lin Zhengdu had never seen what the creature was like when alive, she had no way of determining what caused it to fabricate such an intimate dream.
As for why she dreamed of Xie Guanqi—Lin Zhengdu believed it was simply a matter of probability.
She had been seeing him frequently lately, so he left a strong impression on her. What one sees during the day appears in dreams at night. The fact that it turned into a romantic dream was only because of the scale powder—it had nothing to do with real feelings.
Even though she analyzed it clearly in her mind, when she ran into Xie Guanqi during a meal, Lin Zhengdu still felt an awkwardness and discomfort that came entirely from her side.
Before that dream, he had just been a patient she got along with fairly well in temperament—a handsome but untouchable skeleton in her eyes. But after that dream, she was suddenly forced to face the fact that he was a young man, and it made her feel stiff and uneasy around him.
She hurriedly finished her meal and left without saying a word, not giving Xie Guanqi any chance to speak.
But when she returned to the pharmacy, she saw the unfinished flower pot on her worktable: the polished, powder-blue bones glowed softly under the sunlight streaming in from the window.
It should have been a very beautiful piece, one she liked very much. But now, the moment she saw it, she was reminded of that hazy, intoxicating dream, and her feelings became complicated.
Even though it was just a dream…
In the dream, she really had thought Xie Guanqi looked good. And she hadn’t pushed him away.
Staring at the half-finished flower pot, Lin Zhengdu rubbed her increasingly flushed face after a long moment. In the end, she put it into a cabinet and instead took out the Qiongqi bones she hadn’t finished working on earlier, continuing to tinker with them.
Right now, she didn’t feel like making a flower pot anymore. She decided to slightly modify the existing shape of the Qiongqi bones and turn them into a flower stand instead.
The Qiongqi bones were too large to work on inside the pharmacy. But if she went to the yard to work, she was afraid of running into Xie Guanqi. After thinking it over, she carried the bones to the backyard.
Lin Zhengdu’s backyard had a pond, though it contained no living creatures—only aquatic plants. Moss covered the stone walls around it, with saxifrage and corydalis growing among them. Purple and white flowers interwove across the lush green moss.
Standing a little farther away, Lin Zhengdu gestured with her hand to measure the space. After planning where to place the finished piece, she picked up her tools and began filling and adjusting the large skeleton.
As she worked, she reached into her waist pouch for nails—but found none. She had run out.
She paused, leaning one hand against the skeleton, and fell into conflicted silence.
The backyard was far from the pharmacy. Should she go back to get more nails? She didn’t feel like walking… but if she didn’t, she couldn’t just leave the work half-finished. If she stopped now, this skeleton might not be completed until autumn…
“Need help?”
Xie Guanqi’s deep voice suddenly drifted over. Startled, Lin Zhengdu flinched and turned around, only to see that he had somehow appeared behind her and was looking up at the Qiongqi skeleton.
The lower half of the skeleton had already been assembled, supporting the massive spine upright. At a glance, it looked quite imposing.
Lin Zhengdu turned back, subtly stepping a couple of paces away to increase the distance between them. “I’ve run out of nails. Could you help me get two bags from the pharmacy?”
“They’re in the second cabinet on the left after you enter. The one labeled ‘Spirit Nails.’”
Xie Guanqi nodded and left. Once he was far enough away, Lin Zhengdu unconsciously pressed her chest and let out a sigh of relief.
But he returned not long after.
This time, Lin Zhengdu had been watching the corridor. She noticed him the moment he turned the corner. He really did walk without making a sound—but as he approached, she could faintly smell a mix of soapberry and herbal scents from him.
After staying in the courtyard for a few days, he had absorbed the scent of herbs as well.
After taking the nails, Lin Zhengdu pretended to focus on her work, but secretly glanced at him several times.
Xie Guanqi didn’t seem to be leaving. He stood leaning against the corridor railing with his arms crossed. From her angle, she could only see part of his clothes, not his face, but she could tell from his posture that he was looking in her direction.
She didn’t know if he was watching the half-finished skeleton—or watching her.
Because she didn’t know, couldn’t be sure, and couldn’t judge, she began to feel slightly irritated. A restless heat crept up her back, climbing to the back of her neck.
She freed one hand to rub her neck, pretending to stretch her shoulders, and leaned back slightly. Finally, she managed to see his face—he was looking at her.
Their eyes met briefly. Her heart jumped, and she quickly lowered her arm, straightened up, and focused back on the skeleton.
Frowning deeply, she pretended to be troubled by her work progress, touching the nails she had just hammered in, then the seams filled with glue. She had to look busy—busy enough to cover up that brief eye contact.
She even grew annoyed with herself, thinking: Why did I look away?
So what if we made eye contact? Nothing would actually happen.
Fortunately, Xie Guanqi left soon after.
The moment he left, Lin Zhengdu pressed her chest and let out a long breath—but halfway through, she froze, her eyes widening in alarm.
Why did he suddenly leave?
Did he notice something… and that’s why he left?
That thought was far more frightening than him simply standing there. Just imagining that he might have noticed something made her scalp tingle.
That dream had been too real. The Xie Guanqi in her dream was almost identical to the one in reality. Even though she knew it was just a dream, she still felt flustered facing the completely unaware Xie Guanqi in real life.
She wished she could turn into an ostrich and bury her head in the sand.
Lin Zhengdu decided she had to avoid him for a few days—just two or three days. Once she forgot about that dream, she could face him normally again.
That evening, when they had to sit together on the steps to eat a simple dinner, Lin Zhengdu opened a book on her lap.
She pretended to read seriously, using it to avoid both conversation with him and looking at him—even though she really wanted to sneak a glance at his expression.
But she held herself back.
A small lack of restraint can ruin great plans—even though she wasn’t planning anything, she still used the phrase to warn herself.
Not to mention, if he ever found out the truth, it would be utterly humiliating. And then there was his age—she really couldn’t accept it!
There was no law protecting minors in the cultivation world, but she had her own moral boundaries. She simply couldn’t bring herself to get involved with a seventeen-year-old boy. It would be like a college student dating a high schooler.
Too wrong!
The more she thought about it, the more uneasy she felt. She quickly flipped several pages of the book to calm herself down.
Xie Guanqi looked confused. “Did you even read those pages just now?”
Lin Zhengdu replied seriously, “Don’t talk while eating—it’s impolite. I read them quickly.”
Xie Guanqi said, “But your book is upside down.”
Lin Zhengdu: “…”
Xie Guanqi: “Is that a unique cultivation method of the Medicine Sect?”
He asked sincerely, clearly believing it.
With a loud snap, Lin Zhengdu closed the book and stood up. “I just remembered I need to prepare some medicine tonight. I’ll stop eating here!”
She hadn’t even finished her flatbread, but she grabbed it and hurried off. She walked faster and faster until she broke into a run, her figure quickly disappearing from Xie Guanqi’s sight.
Xie Guanqi watched the direction she left, tilting his head slightly, deep in thought.
Later, in the pharmacy, Lin Zhengdu stayed until the moon rose high. She picked up a roasted herb from the rack, examined it briefly, and put it into her mouth.
Cooked ginger grass—when roasted until slightly charred on the outside, it helps clear heat and calm the mind. It didn’t taste good, though—sour and astringent, like an unripe plum that made one feel slightly nauseous.
But Lin Zhengdu had eaten many strange things growing up, so she tolerated it well, chewing a few times before swallowing.
The chair she sat on had been modified; the backrest adjusted automatically with weight. As she leaned back completely, the backrest flattened almost entirely.
She stared at the bird specimens hanging from the ceiling beams, letting her thoughts drift, hoping to fade the memory of that dream.
A steady knock on the door interrupted her.
She sat up abruptly, the chair creaking as it snapped back. Turning her head toward the closed door, she hesitated before going to open it.
Xie Guanqi stood outside, his gaze lowered toward her. It was a clear night, and the bright moonlight resembled that ambiguous dream.
Gripping the doorframe, Lin Zhengdu avoided his eyes. “What is it?”
Xie Guanqi said, “While circulating my spiritual energy earlier, I felt some resistance. I came to have Doctor Lin take a look.”
A medical issue—she couldn’t refuse.
She let him in and took his wrist to check his pulse. His sleeve was bound by a dark wrist guard with rough embroidery.
As she checked his pulse, her fingers occasionally brushed against the embroidery. Her temples throbbed slightly, and the rough texture pricked her skin.
Both the setting and the person in front of her resembled that absurd, intimate dream too closely.
She felt as if the ginger grass she had just eaten was churning in her stomach, its sour taste rising back to her throat, making her swallow repeatedly.
“I don’t detect any problem. Perhaps your meridians haven’t fully recovered yet. As a patient, you should rest more—there’s no need to train so diligently… Are you still cultivating this late?” she said, releasing his wrist.
Xie Guanqi replied, “Not particularly diligently. I’ve already reduced my training compared to before.”
“Reduced? You still wake up early every day to practice swordsmanship.”
“A day’s plan starts in the morning. Morning practice cannot be neglected.”
As he spoke, he withdrew his hand and loosened his wrist guard slightly.
With it loosened, part of his wrist was revealed—slender, pale skin with veins visible beneath, the sharp structure of bone clearly outlined.
Lin Zhengdu’s gaze swept over it briefly before quickly looking away, raising a hand to scratch the side of her neck.
The spot should have long been cleaned of fire residue, yet she kept having the illusion that the skin would occasionally feel a burning sensation again—especially when he stood close to her. It felt like a conditioned reflex.
“I’ll prepare some medicine for you. Take it back and boil it yourself—you know how, right?”
“I do.”
Finally having something to focus on, Lin Zhengdu quickly stood and went to the medicine cabinet, taking out paper to wrap the herbs.
Although he claimed his spiritual energy wasn’t flowing smoothly, she had detected nothing unusual during the pulse check. Still, he had no reason to lie, so she prepared two packets of medicine to regulate his blood flow and nourish his meridians.
She tied them up and handed them over. “Take it twice a day, after meals. After each dose, meditate for one full cycle. See how it works—if it doesn’t help, tell me.”
Xie Guanqi reached out to take the medicine. What required both her hands to hold, he grasped easily with one. As he applied force, the bones and veins on the back of his hand became more pronounced.
Lin Zhengdu stared at his hand for a moment, distracted.
“Can I tell you anything?” he asked.
She snapped back to attention. “Of course—”
“Then why are you avoiding me?”