Wei Yuzhi lay on the couch, looking at him. “Thank you for your kindness, divine physician, but I don’t need it.”

Mo Sigui lit the medicinal smoke and lay among the herbs, puffing away.

The smoke became transparent as it dispersed, but Wei Yuzhi could still smell a sweet scent. His body and mind relaxed indescribably. He could imagine how comfortable it would be to inhale this medicinal power directly.

“Even medicine has its toxicity. Surely the divine physician knows this better than I. Why…” In Wei Yuzhi’s view, this seemed self-destructive.

“Medicine isn’t something you can just stop when you want to,” Mo Sigui said slowly, eyes half-closed. “I developed severe insomnia a few years ago. I’ve relied on medicinal smoke to fall asleep ever since. I used to test medicines on myself often, so I’ve built up a tolerance. Where others use one part, I need five. Over time, toxins have accumulated in my body. This ‘Immortal’s Delight’ isn’t purely for comfort – it’s also a detoxifying agent.”

He tapped the ashes from his pipe and smiled. “Maybe after using ‘Immortal’s Delight’ for a while, I’ll need another antidote. Eventually, my body won’t be able to handle these medicines. But it’s not a big deal. That day is still far off. While I can’t escape death, I should be able to live to seventy or eighty.”

Wei Yuzhi remained silent. Even living to forty seemed a luxury for him now.

“But what’s the point of living so long? It’s enough,” Mo Sigui sighed and continued, “There’s one thing in this life I’m destined never to obtain.”

From the day his insomnia began, he sank into an endless sea of medicines. For some, emotions are a driving force. For Mo Sigui, they were a massive obstacle.

“You were born with a talent for medicine beyond others, with a long lifespan. That means you’re destined to lose something elsewhere,” Wei Yuzhi said.

Mo Sigui didn’t reply. Wei Yuzhi said no more. The two fell into deep sleep amidst the fragrant room.

The next morning, except for Mei Yanran who rose early to cook, everyone else was still snug in their warm beds when Hua Rongjian arrived with his servant.

By the time Chu Dingjiang and An Jiu got up, he had been waiting in the hall for half an hour, having gone through several cups of tea.

Hua Rongjian was leaning back in a round-backed chair, swirling tea leaves, when he looked up to see An Jiu enter. He pursed his lips. “I’ve been here for half an hour! Even if you were coming from outside the city, you should have arrived by now! If I weren’t considering that you’re ill, I’d have to throw a fit.”

“Who asked you to come?” An Jiu sat opposite him with a puffy face.

“I knew nothing good would come out of that mouth of yours.” Hua Rongjian pointed to a pile of things on the table. “These are tonics for you. Have Aunt Mei make some for you to eat regularly.”

An Jiu didn’t resist food at all, accepting whatever was given. “What are these?”

“Common things like ginseng and bird’s nest,” Hua Rongjian said.

“Not tasty.” An Jiu disliked ginseng, especially after relying on ginseng soup to stay alive while unconscious. She felt like her whole body reeked of ginseng.

Hua Rongjian looked at her pale, lackluster face and suddenly said, “Stay here. At least I can ensure your safety. You won’t have to suffer like this again.”

With two people of refined spiritual power in the courtyard, nothing was secret. As soon as Hua Rongjian spoke, both listened intently.

“If I don’t court death, I won’t die. If I choose to court death, no one can protect me,” An Jiu replied. Similarly, if she wanted a peaceful life, she didn’t need others to provide it. Now she had choices.