Qi Yan was stunned: “?!”
An indescribable chill surged into his heart, and he instinctively knocked the other man’s hand away, reaching for his own neck.
There was now a small, fine protrusion beside his Adam’s apple that hadn’t been there before. He quickly turned his wheelchair to face the bronze mirror, and there it was in the mirror—that small dark mole.
He had never known there was a mole on his neck.
There was no doubt—this was a Gu worm.
Qi Yan’s expression darkened, and he tried to dig the damned worm out by force, but the instant he raised his hand, the Gu worm vanished without a trace.
…Had it moved elsewhere?
“I’d advise you to give up the idea of digging the Gu worm out alive,” Miao Shuang said, arms crossed, standing in the doorway. “Not to mention that doing so would make you wish you were dead—once a Love Gu is planted, there is no second solution except the death of one of us. Before it fully matures, there’s no way you’ll be able to catch it.”
“…What counts as mature?”
Miao Shuang came up beside him, embraced him from behind, and clasped his jaw, forcing him to look into the mirror. The two of them in the mirror looked intimately close. He pressed his cheek against Qi Yan’s temple and whispered in his ear. “When it turns completely red.”
His fingertip moved downward, lightly grinding beside Qi Yan’s Adam’s apple, and the Gu worm that had already vanished reappeared once more—
“But by then, you’ll already be hopelessly in love with me. Qi Yan, I told you before—we Miao people marry only once in our lifetime. Since you’ve married me, for the rest of your life you can only belong to me.”
Rage burned in Qi Yan, his eyes nearly splitting with fury, and he glared at the person in the mirror through gritted teeth, wishing he could devour him alive. “Miao! Shuang!”
“Haha…”
The bone-chilling killing intent made the hairs on Miao Shuang’s body stand on end; the long-absent thrill made him excitedly lick the corner of his mouth.
That’s more like it.
Once a person has already resolved to die, only hatred can give him the strength to carry on.
Although these Central Plains people really were easy to deceive—he believed whatever he was told. If there really were such a useful Gu worm in this world, why hadn’t the original body simply planted it in the Emperor from the very start? Let the Emperor die for him and hand over the realm willingly—wouldn’t that have been wonderful?
Qi Yan was so angry that his qi and blood surged upward for a moment, and some color even came into his pale face; the severed meridians, unable to bear the reversed flow of qi and blood, sent a jolt of sharp pain through him. He had barely managed to endure it when he saw that Miao Shuang had already returned to the stove, continuing to decoct the medicine.
Qi Yan forcefully shut his eyes.
He hadn’t expected his earlier guess to turn out true—so it really had been this Love Gu, last night in the ancestral hall.
But he hadn’t noticed at all when exactly Miao Shuang had planted the Gu on him.
…Forget it.
If the man could really cure him, there was no harm in enduring it for now. He refused to believe that a mere Gu worm could actually control his thoughts. Once he had recovered enough, he would kill Miao Shuang and undo the Love Gu.
Sensing the cold gaze fixed on his back, Miao Shuang didn’t even need to guess that Qi Yan was contemplating how to kill him. He paid it no mind, lifting the lid of the clay pot to check how the medicine was coming along.
The air was filled with the bitter smell of medicinal herbs; even Lai Fu in the front courtyard caught the scent and came over to take a look, asking if any help was needed.
Miao Shuang politely declined his offer of help, filtered out the finished decoction, added water, and brewed two more doses.
Some of the medicinal ingredients were too precious—he doubted he could get the Emperor to grant a second bestowal of them—so although brewing extra doses would weaken the medicinal effect somewhat, it shouldn’t be a major problem.
Having put out the stove fire, Miao Shuang suddenly found himself lost in thought for a moment.
That strange sense of familiarity was rising up again.
It felt as though he had done all this countless times before, so practiced that it was carved into his bones—the steps, the timing, the control of the fire… all came to him effortlessly, never a single mistake.
Miao Shuang frowned slightly, divided the brewed medicine evenly into three portions, and poured one portion into a bowl.
The weather was too cold; after sitting for only that short while, the medicine was no longer hot. With his back to the door, he used a bone blade to cut open his fingertip and let a drop of blood fall into the medicinal broth.
His blood was highly toxic, but in small amounts it could also serve as medicine, and it had the effect of enhancing a Gu worm’s activity.
He rose and brought the bowl of medicine to Qi Yan. “Drink it while it’s hot.”
Qi Yan stared at the murky, pitch-black broth, brows knitting tightly.
He had practiced martial arts since childhood and rarely fell ill; apart from injuries sustained in battle, he never drank medicine.
But at this moment there was nothing to do but hold his breath and down it in one go. The warm broth poured into his stomach, and only once his tongue caught the taste did he nearly retch—it was unbearably foul.
Pungent, sweet, sour, astringent, fishy, and bitter all seemed mixed together in this one bowl of medicine, making him almost certain Miao Shuang had done it on purpose. He recalled the medicinal wine he’d drunk before, and couldn’t help but suspect that pot had contained half a pot’s worth of worms.
“What’s with that expression, General?” Miao Shuang raised an eyebrow. “It’s just a bowl of medicine—look how hard you’re taking it. Twice a day, morning and evening, for three months straight.”
Qi Yan: “…………”
Was this injury really something that had to be treated?
Miao Shuang then produced a slender bamboo tube and said to him, “Give me your hand.”
Qi Yan looked wary. “What are you doing?”
“Aren’t we treating your injury? We’ll start with your hand first—surely you didn’t think one bowl of medicine would knit your shattered bones and tendons back together?”
Qi Yan hesitated, then extended his hand toward him.
“Do you want the left hand treated first, or the right? I’d suggest the left—in case it’s ruined in treatment, you’ll still have the right one to use. Of course, you could do both at once, but during treatment that hand will be unusable, and I won’t be feeding you.”
Qi Yan’s brow twitched. “Do you actually know what you’re doing or not?”
“I told you already—my methods aren’t as gentle as ordinary medicine, and I was worried you couldn’t bear it. Your tendons have been severed too long; even once reconnected, their function will be far from what it was. If you want to recover fully as before, I can only use Gu worms to help repair them.”
Qi Yan looked at the hideous scar on his own wrist, half-believing. “This Gu technique of yours can restore me fully?”
Miao Shuang smiled faintly. “Drawing a bow, shooting an arrow—nothing to it.”
Qi Yan’s breath caught slightly.
He had thought Miao Shuang meant he could help him stand again, but he hadn’t expected the man to claim he could restore him to how he’d been before his injury.
He had long since given up hope regarding his injuries; if he could someday cast aside this wheelchair and walk again, that alone would already count as a miracle—he’d never dared hope he could still ride horses, practice martial arts, grip a spear, or draw a bow.
Just the thought of it alone was enough to rekindle the dead ashes in his heart, to make his cooled blood boil again.
Qi Yan’s Adam’s apple bobbed, and he extended his right hand toward the other man.
“So you do have some nerve after all,” Miao Shuang said, grasping his wrist with a smile. “Oh, I forgot to tell you—I can cure you completely, but relying on my Gu techniques comes at a price.”
Qi Yan immediately had a bad feeling.
“The Gu worms are under my control, so naturally, the tendons repaired by the Gu worms will also be under my control. In other words—” Miao Shuang pinched his wrist, “—from now on, this hand will no longer belong to you alone. If you don’t provoke me, I won’t manipulate the Gu worms inside your body. But if you do provoke me, I can’t guarantee what I might make these two hands of yours do.”
“…” Everything went dark before Qi Yan’s eyes.
No matter how you put it, wasn’t this just turning him into a human puppet?!
“And then there are these legs of yours,” Miao Shuang said, his gaze sweeping downward, sounding rather regretful. “Pity that part wasn’t severed too—why didn’t the Emperor just castrate you? Then I could have fixed that for you too.”
The veins on Qi Yan’s forehead throbbed, but in the end he didn’t pull his hand back, saying coldly, “Enough nonsense. If you really want to control me, you’ll have to cure me first.”
Miao Shuang raised an eyebrow.
He’d known Qi Yan would take the gamble—after all, this was his only way to recover. In the original novel, he’d made the same choice.
In fact, it was he himself who had taken the initiative to exploit the original body back then.
Except the original body hadn’t truly been of one mind with him, and hadn’t given his full effort during the treatment, which was why his injuries never fully healed.
“Go sit on the bed,” Miao Shuang said.
Qi Yan frowned but said nothing, obediently moving himself onto the bed.
Miao Shuang pushed up his right sleeve, opened the stopper on the bamboo tube, and poured its contents onto the other man’s wrist.
Qi Yan looked in confusion at the red powder, assuming it was some kind of medicinal powder, and was about to ask about it when he saw the powder slowly shifting position.
Clearly no one was touching it, and there was no wind.
Only when he looked closely did he realize it wasn’t powder at all—it was a dense, uncountable swarm of tiny Gu worms!
Qi Yan felt every hair on his body stand on end, goosebumps rising in waves, and he instinctively tried to struggle, but Miao Shuang held him down firmly and ordered coldly, “Don’t move.”
The red Gu worms quickly burrowed into his skin, bringing an indescribable itching, but that itch was soon overtaken by intense pain—it felt as though ten thousand worms were gnawing at his tendons, and perhaps that was, in fact, exactly what was happening.
Qi Yan’s face went ashen with pain. The instant Miao Shuang released him, he immediately clamped his other hand around his own wrist, his five fingers twitching and spasming uncontrollably amid the agony. He clenched his jaw, barely managing to keep himself from crying out.
The piercing pain made everything go dark before his eyes in waves. He didn’t know how long had passed before the pain finally began to ease. His forehead was covered in cold sweat, and he felt a near-collapse dizziness.
“Believe me now that I wasn’t lying to you?” Miao Shuang leaned back at his leisure, admiring the expression of a man in too much pain to speak. “There were pain-relieving ingredients in the medicine I gave you earlier, and treating just one hand already hurt you this much. I don’t think we should even bother treating your legs—wouldn’t want you to simply die of pain.”
Qi Yan, breathing slightly hard, said through clenched teeth. “I can endure it.”
Miao Shuang gave a light snort. “Tough talk.”
Qi Yan: “……”
Miao Shuang set another pot of medicine he’d brewed earlier on the table—the dregs already strained out. Since it had been kept covered the whole time, the broth still retained some warmth.
The smell of this pot seemed even more unbearable than the last one, and Qi Yan was already starting to feel nauseated. Just as he was wondering whether the cost of this treatment might be a bit too high, Miao Shuang pressed a roll of gauze down into the pot.
…So it wasn’t meant for drinking after all.
Qi Yan let out a breath of relief.
Once the gauze had fully soaked up the medicinal liquid, Miao Shuang fished it out, wrung out the excess liquid, and carefully wound it around Qi Yan’s hand, from the webbing between thumb and forefinger all the way up to the forearm.
The smell of the stuff was truly unbearable—even the snake that usually slept coiled around Qi Yan’s arm was driven off by the smell, and had to move over to coil around his other arm instead.
Once the bandage was tied, Miao Shuang took out a hand warmer, picked out a couple pieces of charcoal from the brazier and dropped them in, closed the lid, and handed it to Qi Yan. “Hold this.”
“…I’m not that cold.”
“Low temperatures affect the Gu worms’ activity. If they get too cold to work and your recovery suffers for it, don’t blame me for not warning you.”
Qi Yan had no choice but to take it.
The palm-sized hand warmer pressed against his palm, making his tendons throb with pain in waves—but unlike before, this pain was bearable, even somewhat pleasant.
Miao Shuang tilted his chin at him. “Take off your pants.”
Qi Yan looked up, startled. “It’s still broad daylight!”
“…What were you thinking?” Miao Shuang himself froze for a moment, then said testily, “I’m going to look at the wound on your leg. It’s scraped and bleeding—didn’t you even notice?”