Chapter 8

Rong Shang lowered his head and gazed at her in silence. After a moment, the corners of his thin lips curved into a casual smile. “Who taught you?”  

Although his face carried a smile, his voice was as cold as a thousand-year-old glacier, making Yu Zhengzheng tremble. Her teeth chattered, and her small hands shook uncontrollably, as though she had a sudden seizure.  

Who taught her…? Who was it again?  

“Protector Xiang,” she whispered.  

Rong Shang’s smile didn’t waver as he leisurely raised his hand, suspending it above her head. His voice, slow and deliberate, carried only two words: “Let go.”  

The oppressive weight of a thousand pounds suddenly bore down on her. Her heart raced as a dull pain swelled in her chest. She struggled to breathe, but no air seemed to fill her lungs.  

The crushing force vanished abruptly only when she moved her fingers away from the soft warmth beneath them.  

Rong Shang raised his hand slightly, halting his killing intent.  

She couldn’t die yet; he still needed someone to apply medicine to his back.  

His eyes lowered slightly, catching an unintentional glimpse of her arm—white and smooth like lotus root. A faint frost had started forming on her skin.  

The Luan Palace was encased in ancient black ice, colder than any mortal could endure. Even the mighty King of Shura couldn’t last an hour in such an environment, let alone a powerless cultivator like her.  

It wouldn’t be long before she turned into an ice sculpture.  

Rong Shang shrugged off his outer robe and threw it over her. “Put it on.”  

Yu Zhengzheng’s body stiffened. Her fingers had gone numb and unresponsive, and she struggled for a long time before finally managing to drape the white robe over herself.  

As soon as the robe enveloped her, a faint warmth spread through her body. It felt like a high-end heating pad, gradually thawing her frozen limbs.  

She gingerly touched the robe. The material was soft, silky, and emitted a subtle pearlescent sheen. It seemed to be made of Celestial Silkworm silk.  

The Celestial Silkworm was an ancient mythical beast. Its silk was impervious to blades, fire, and water. A bracelet made from just a few strands of Celestial Silkworm silk could significantly extend the wearer’s lifespan and rapidly enhance their cultivation.  

Unfortunately, there were only ten known Celestial Silkworms in existence, and their silk was exceedingly rare and valuable. A single strand was worth 3,000 top-grade spirit stones, yet demand far exceeded supply.  

Her scoundrel father had managed to purchase a silk bracelet made from four strands as a coming-of-age gift for Yu Jiangjiang when she turned fifteen.  

Yu Jiangjiang’s rapid advancement from the Foundation Establishment stage to the Core Formation stage before the age of eighteen was entirely thanks to that bracelet.  

Yu Zhengzheng couldn’t help but run her fingertips over the robe. If this robe were entirely made of Celestial Silkworm silk, it would be an invaluable treasure for any cultivator.  

Unfortunately, she was a wood-rooted waste. Such an extraordinary artifact was wasted on her.  

A wave of disappointment washed over her. If only… if only she could cultivate.  

Lost in thought, she didn’t notice Rong Shang undressing and stepping into the hot spring. His long arms rested on the edge of the pool as he spoke in a flat tone, “Take the red bottle from the cabinet.”  

Medicine? The kind that… restores a man’s virility?  

She blinked in confusion and instinctively glanced up at him.  

He was facing away from her, his face hidden. Through the rising steam, she could barely make out his bare back.  

Her cheeks flushed. She had lived two lifetimes and never even dated, let alone experienced something like this.  

If it weren’t for avoiding her Senior Brother, she would never have come to this cursed place, let alone end up serving the Ghost King.  

In her heart, she bitterly cursed her Senior Brother’s ancestors in the most colorful language she could summon.  

Despite her inner torment, survival was her top priority.  

Moving at a snail’s pace, she reached the rosewood cabinet and lifted her gaze, scanning for the red bottle.  

The cabinet was filled with jars and bottles of various colors—except for red. After searching for what felt like an eternity, she finally spotted the red bottle at the very top.  

She froze. The cabinet was nearly three meters tall, while she barely reached 1.7 meters even on tiptoe. Even stretching her arms, she was far from reaching the top.  

The hall was empty, without even a stool she could use to stand on. Short of sprouting wings, there was no way she could retrieve that bottle.  

A displeased voice echoed behind her. “Hurry up.”  

Yu Zhengzheng felt utterly wronged. She wanted to be quick, but her height wouldn’t cooperate!  

Reluctantly, she stood on tiptoe, reaching and jumping repeatedly. The faint thuds of her landing echoed through the hall, interspersed with the occasional soft cough from accidentally choking on her own saliva.  

Sweat trickled down her forehead as she panted, hands on her hips, her eyes rimmed with redness.  

The strain of her efforts reopened her barely-healed wound. Thick, sticky blood seeped from the gash, intensifying the pain.  

She remembered Shanshui’s warning: *“The king detests the smell of blood.”* A pang of sorrow struck her heart, and tears spilled over.  

Suddenly, a cool, faintly sweet scent approached from behind. A lean, pale hand reached over her head and effortlessly grabbed the red bottle.  

Rong Shang’s calm eyes met hers as he said blandly, “How stupid.”  

His unspoken message was clear: *How could someone so foolish still have the audacity to cry?*  

However, Yu Zhengzheng misinterpreted it as: *How could someone so foolish even deserve to live?*  

Pain from her wound and fear of an uncertain fate made her tears fall even harder.  

Even so, she dared not cry out loud, merely lowering her shoulders, which trembled slightly, with the occasional sound of sniffles breaking the silence.  

A faint scent of blood wafted to his nose. Rong Shang lowered his gaze indifferently and noticed the faint blood seeping through her loosely draped white robe.  

The Chixiao Sword he had bestowed upon Xiang carried a curse. Wounds inflicted by it would continuously bleed, swell, and fester until the flesh rotted entirely.  

So, she was crying because of the pain from her wound.  

Rong Shang’s thin lips curved into a faint smile, a chuckle escaping him.  

But whether she was in pain or not—what did that have to do with him?  

With the red bottle in hand, he turned away and returned to the hot spring.  

Yu Zhengzheng bit her lip and waited, but he made no move to help her. Only when the shadow hovering behind her receded did she realize he had left.  

Wiping away her tears and snot, she cautiously followed him.  

Without turning around, Rong Shang seemed aware of her presence. He placed the red bottle on the edge of the pool. “Apply the medicine for me.”  

Yu Zhengzheng opened her mouth, her voice still tinged with the remnants of her sobbing. “This… isn’t this for oral use?”  

She might not have used the medicine herself, but she had seen others ingest it. It was always taken internally, never applied externally.  

After a brief silence, Rong Shang asked, “Have you used this medicine before?”  

The red bottle contained Dragon Spine Marrow, extracted from over a thousand dragons of the Eastern Dragon Clan and refined into pills by medical cultivators.  

He had always suspected the cultivators had hidden some of the marrow for themselves. Could she have gotten her hands on it?  

Yu Zhengzheng shook her head. “I’ve never used it.”  

Why would a woman like her need something akin to a mystical aphrodisiac?  

Rong Shang closed his eyes, unwilling to waste more words. “I said apply it, so apply it.”  

Yu Zhengzheng dared not argue further. If he insisted it was for external use, then so be it.  

She poured a pill from the red bottle. It resembled a chocolate-covered malt ball, identical in size and color to a confectionery treat.  

With the “malt ball” in hand, she gathered her courage and looked up—only to be met with the sight of his bare back.  

Her brows furrowed slightly as she took in the sight.  

A hideous, jagged scar extended from the base of his neck down to his lower back, like a grotesque, elongated centipede burrowed into his skin. The mere sight of it was chilling.  

In addition to the scar, his waist was covered in black rune-like markings. Unlike tattoos, these markings seemed to pulse faintly with threads of crimson, as though sealing away some malevolent spirit.  

Yu Zhengzheng’s heart pounded. His entire body seemed devoid of unblemished skin, like a doll torn apart and crudely stitched back together.  

Rong Shang leaned slightly against the edge of the pool, his slender fingers tapping lightly on its edge. “What are you hesitating for?”  

Startled by his icy tone, Yu Zhengzheng snapped back to reality.  

Clutching the “malt ball” tightly, she bit her lip and extended her hand toward the pool. Slowly and hesitantly, she reached out—  

—And grasped *Little Rong Shang*.  

Rong Shang’s entire body stiffened, a sharp and icy aura radiating from him, as if threatening to slice her into pieces.  

She was supposed to apply the medicine to his *back*. What was she doing?  

Had he not explained himself clearly?  

Opening his pitch-black eyes, his voice was slightly hoarse. “I said the *back.*”  

Yu Zhengzheng froze. The *back*?  

Which *back*?  

Was he… was he a bottom?!  

Caught in her hesitation, she could feel the palpable killing intent emanating from him.  

Afraid to question further, she nervously pinched the “malt ball” and searched for a crevice, much like a dung beetle rolling its ball. Tentatively, she rolled it along the scarred surface.  

As she began the second roll, he suddenly inhaled sharply—and the “malt ball” disappeared.