It was like being hooked by an underworld officer and flung back onto solid ground — a cold sweat broke out across Chen Baoxiang’s back.

She looked up at Sun Sihuai in disbelief. His gaze remained entirely unfamiliar — yet he nodded at her to come forward.

She caught on instantly. Chen Baoxiang threw herself forward, voice breaking: “Master!”

“Useless girl — how did you manage to get yourself injured too.” Sun Sihuai looked at her bandaged shoulder, his white eyebrows furrowed into a knot. “Go sit down over there.”

Chen Baoxiang answered at once and dragged her unsteady legs to a chair nearby.

The maid who had brought her was quite flustered, and leaned over to whisper urgently to the steward: “Since when did the Physician God take on a female disciple?”

“The affairs of great men are not something you bandy about in the hall,” the steward warned her with a look, then turned to Chen Baoxiang and offered tea with respectful care.

Chen Baoxiang drank her tea to calm her racing heart and puzzled inwardly.

Why had the Physician God helped her?

Could it be that she had some extraordinary natural aptitude for medicine that stirred his desire to nurture talent? Or did she happen to resemble one of his actual disciples closely enough that the old man, with his aging eyes, had genuinely confused them?

She was still turning it over when she heard a familiar voice, low and weak, grumbling at her: What nonsense are you talking!

The voice was deep and subdued — and somehow, just the sound of it made everything feel right again.

Great Immortal!

Chen Baoxiang was so relieved she nearly cried: You’re alive!

I was never dead to begin with.

Zhang Zhixu grimaced against the throbbing in her shoulder, and said with deep discomfort: I’m telling you, we really should have had the Drifting Horse Herb —

Great Immortal! Great Immortal!

She was bursting with excitement: You absolutely cannot imagine what just happened — it was nothing short of earth-shaking and ghost-rattling —

I was the one who had him acknowledge you.

Zhang Zhixu cut her off before she could begin her tale, and said with a dismissive sound: Otherwise you would have been done for.

Chen Baoxiang’s mouth fell open wide enough to fit a whole egg.

You — you actually used your divine arts on Physician God Sun?

Something like that.

Zhang Zhixu’s feelings were complicated.

After being shot at the Burning Tail Banquet, Zhang Zhixu’s mortal body had lain unconscious the entire time. His soul had attached itself to Chen Baoxiang’s body and drifted along with her through every twist and turn, unable to break free.

He had thought this would be his existence forever — but the moment they passed through Xuanwumen just now, he had suddenly felt the world spin.

When he closed his eyes and opened them again, he found himself looking at his own familiar bedchamber.

“You’ve come back to us.” Sun Sihuai sat at the bedside with his silver needles, exhaling in relief the moment he saw Zhang Zhixu’s eyes open.

“My lord.” Jiuquan called out, taut with anxiety.

It was the Stabilizing Origin Needling Technique that had called his soul home.

Zhang Zhixu understood at once. He gripped their sleeves — there was so much he wanted to say — but his head was spinning violently, his body so light it felt like it might dissolve at any moment, as though he could slip away again at any second.

“There’s no time.” He spoke quickly: “There is someone in Shangjing named Chen Baoxiang. If you encounter her, you must help her — she is very important to me. If she cannot survive, then I… will not survive either.”

“Young master?”

“My lord!”

…

He had managed only that single sentence before a long darkness swallowed him, and then he was back inside Chen Baoxiang’s body.

Zhang Zhixu felt the loss of it. There was even something close to resentment toward heaven’s cruel joke.

But then he heard Chen Baoxiang’s wildly exaggerated exclamation: “Great Immortal, you are truly something else — you really are all-knowing and all-capable!”

“No bodhisattva has your divine power, no buddha your deep compassion — you are truly the finest immortal beneath all the heavens!”

“What did I do to deserve your protection? I am entirely unworthy — when we get back, I’ll build you a proper shrine, with characters rendered in gold leaf, and offer up mountains of incense, waaah.”

Zhang Zhixu was almost amused: “Not gold lacquer this time — gold leaf, is it?”

“Great Immortal, rest assured.” Chen Baoxiang made a fist with conviction. “I have a feeling — this time, we’re definitely going to strike it rich.”

The gloom in him lightened somewhat. He said, not unkindly: “You have nothing in your head but money.”

Across the room, Sun Sihuai was already hauling Physician Wang toward the door.

“Since you’re here, come and take a look at the Zhang Family’s patient first — his pulse readings are too erratic, I can’t get a clear picture.”

“But senior martial brother — my side is urgent too.”

“Urgent this, urgent that — look first, then go.”

Chen Baoxiang instinctively rose to follow. Pei Ruheng stepped forward as well.

The steward moved to intercept him: “The inner courtyard is crowded and unsettled — we wouldn’t want to trouble the young master. Please, remain here and enjoy some tea.”

Pei Ruheng frowned, somewhat concerned that Chen Baoxiang would commit a social blunder in front of the elders without him there — but the Zhang Family’s rules were strict, and it was not his place to push back. He stayed where he was.

Chen Baoxiang caught Pei Ruheng’s deep, lingering gaze and was thoroughly baffled.

What does that mean?

She asked the Great Immortal: Why is he glaring at me?

Zhang Zhixu nearly choked.

At the Full Moon Banquet, when Pei Ruheng had shown such poor regard for her, she’d convinced herself he was interested in her. And now, when the man was nearly brimming with concern and care in his eyes, she thought he was glaring.

With a head like that, never mind climbing to higher branches — even if someone hung her on a high branch, she’d shake herself right back down.

“Go and check on Zhang Zhixu’s condition first,” he said, patience thin. “And ask the Physician God for Drifting Horse Herb while we’re there. Your wound is causing an unbearable amount of pain.”

“Oh. Alright.”

Chen Baoxiang gave Pei Ruheng a nod, then followed Sun Sihuai onward, a flicker of excitement rising in her chest.

The Zhang Family was a household of towering wealth and standing. That legendarily lavish second young master of the Zhang Family — surely his bed was at least partly made of gold?

Full of anticipation, she passed through the covered walkway and under the moon gate, already planning exactly how she would brag about this to people later.

Then she walked into the room — and her face fell immediately.

Great Immortal, why is his bedchamber so small? I was expecting it to take up a whole quarter-mile.

And it’s so bare in here — there’s one narrow long table, one slender vase, one branch of flowers.

Even the bed hangings are so plain — not a single thread of gold.

And the bed itself — it’s just wood. Not a trace of gold anywhere.

She looked all around and shook her head repeatedly. It seems everything people say about the Zhang Family is just rumor. This young master of theirs doesn’t live much better than I do.

Zhang Zhixu nearly lost consciousness again from the sheer aggravation.

A bedchamber is meant to gather and hold vital energy — she wanted something big, did she? She could go sleep in the privy. And as for the bed hangings — those were Wanbao Pavilion treasures, woven with techniques that had no fixed price and could have served as imperial tribute. And his bed — crafted from the finest rosewood, a full two thousand catties, hewn from a single great slab with meticulous carving, worth far more than any amount of gold.

He had always had exacting taste, and no shortage of the great houses in Shangjing quietly sent people to find out what he favored so they could follow suit — and here she was, unable to see value in anything that wasn’t literally gold.

No, wait — there was one thing she saw.

Zhang Zhixu followed Chen Baoxiang’s gaze to his own body lying on the bed.

He’s so beautiful.

Chen Baoxiang murmured quietly.

The tightness coiled in his chest dissolved at once. Zhang Zhixu gave a soft, composed cough and said, with just a hint of upward curve at his lips: He’s alright, I suppose.

What do you mean, “alright.”

Chen Baoxiang leaned in closer, eyes brightening: Same two eyes, one nose, one mouth as anyone else — and yet he looks like this. He’s like that jade-carved bodhisattva kept as the centerpiece at Wanbao Pavilion — pure white and utterly serene.

She’s quite good at giving compliments.

Zhang Zhixu gave a quiet, satisfied sound. And how does he compare to your Young Master Pei?

Honestly? Better looking than Young Master Pei by quite a margin.

Chen Baoxiang was nothing if not clear-headed about such things. But someone like him is beyond my reach. Young Master Pei is a better fit for where I stand.