Chapter 11: Secrets of Medicine Valley: Pei Yue’s Sharp-Tongued Care

Shen Yan was jolted awake by a chill.

It wasn’t cold, nor was it pain—it was an indescribable “System Restart sensation,” like when a water-damaged phone dries out and the screen suddenly flashes its logo the moment it’s plugged in to Charge. His eyelids twitched, his consciousness surfacing as if from the depths of the sea. In his ears, there was the faintest clinking of metal—ding, ding, twice—like Silver Needles tapping against a porcelain plate.

Before the third sound could land, he sharply drew in a breath.

A jagged, dull pain exploded around his ribs, as if someone were drilling holes into his Meridians with an electric drill. Instinctively, he tried to raise his hand to shield his chest, but as soon as his arm moved, three major acupoints tightened simultaneously, as if locked in place by invisible clamps.

“Don’t move.” The voice was clear and light, like well water poured into a celadon bowl. “Move again, and I’ll stick a needle into the root of your tongue.”

Shen Yan squinted and saw a face leaning down over him.

Moonlight seeped through the bamboo blinds, illuminating a cinnabar dot between her brows. The woman wore a pale green silk dress, her sleeves rolled up to her forearms. In her hand, she held a Silver Needle as fine as a strand of hair, aimed precisely at the Tiantu acupoint below his Adam’s apple.

“Doctor?” His voice was as rough as sandpaper scraping a wall.

“Call me Saintess.” She withdrew the needle, wiping the tip of her finger on a handkerchief. “But looking at your sorry state, with even your basic breathing rhythm disrupted, ‘patient’ suits you better.”

Shen Yan wanted to laugh but winced as the movement tugged at his wounds. He remembered passing out in a tree hollow, a pill of unknown taste still in his mouth. Now, he lay on a hard wooden bed, covered by a simple linen sheet. The air carried the faint scent of medicine and… a barely perceptible hint of lemon?

“Does Medicine Valley use laundry detergent too?” he asked.

Pei Yue paused and looked up at him. “What did you say?”

“Oh, I thought your incense might have fabric softener added to it.” Shen Yan blinked. “It’s just too clean here—doesn’t feel like a Cultivation sect, more like a chain of traditional Chinese medicine clinics.”

Pei Yue didn’t respond, turning instead to fetch a medicine bowl. She walked lightly, her skirt barely swaying, but Shen Yan still noticed it—an almost imperceptible hesitation when her left foot landed, like an old injury.

“What’s wrong with your leg?” he blurted out.

Pei Yue’s steps faltered, and she glanced back at him. “Caring for patients is medical ethics; prying into privacy is gossip.”

“I’m just worried you might stumble and miss my vital point.”

She sneered. “If your vital point were truly that precious, you wouldn’t have been trying to write Code while someone else was suffering a Blood Pact backlash.”

Shen Yan was taken aback. “You know about that?”

“The entire Medicine Valley knows.” She returned with the medicine bowl, scraping the spoon against its rim. “A mortal implanted with a symbiotic consciousness Module by a Nine Tails fox of the Demon Clan, still trying to awaken a Terminal Interface in the middle of the night—when the night patrol Disciple reported it, the elders thought we were filming a Cultivation version of ‘The Midnight Programmer.’”

Shen Yan grinned. “How would you rate me? Passable acting?”

“Passable, my foot.” She pulled back the blanket and pressed her icy hand directly against his lower abdomen. “Your Qihai acupoint is congested, your Ren meridian is flowing backward, and you still dared to channel Spiritual Power? Are you trying to die faster, or do you just think Medicine Valley has too many empty beds?”

The chill from her palm seeped into his skin, and Shen Yan shuddered, nearly leaping up.

“Relax.” Her tone remained unchanged. “I’m going to seal three of your main Meridians. Bear with it.”

As soon as the words fell, three silver needles silently pierced his Jianjing, Shenque, and Yongquan acupoints. There was no pain, only an eerie sense of relief, as if a clogged CPU had finally been cleared of dust.

“Done,” she withdrew her hand. “Don’t use any spells for the next three days, or I can’t guarantee the next needle won’t hit your Yamen acupoint.”

Shen Yan gasped for breath. “Thanks, Saintess Pei.”

“No need,” she turned to wash the needles. “I saved you not out of pity, but because if the Demon Power inside you isn’t dealt with, it will trigger meridian self-ignition within seventy-two hours. When that happens, the entire bamboo forest will burn down with you.”

“That serious?” Shen Yan touched his chest. The fox-shaped mark was still there, but its heat had subsided considerably.

“What did you think?” she replied without turning around. “Also, that ‘System Wake-Up Protocol’ you wrote earlier—using blood as ink? How did you even come up with that? If I hadn’t sealed your spiritual node in advance, you’d be coughing up blood by now.”

Shen Yan chuckled awkwardly. “I’m a programmer. I’m used to writing scripts when I’m stuck.”

“Next time you do this,” she suddenly turned, her expression serious, “I’ll really turn you into a pincushion.”

He raised both hands. “Understood, no more reckless actions.”

Pei Yue snorted and left with the medicine bowl.

After the door closed, Shen Yan slowly sat up.

His body was still weak, but much better than before. He looked down at his palm, where his fingertips felt slightly warm, as if an electric current was coursing beneath the skin. He bit his index finger and silently wrote on his palm:

Import System

Execute Wake-Up Protocol—Target: Terminal Interface

The blood characters had barely appeared before they were erased by an invisible force.

“Tranquil Spirit Barrier?” he frowned.

Medicine Valley was indeed no ordinary place. Even the nighttime Spiritual Energy was suppressed to near zero. Ordinary cultivators would struggle to perform Sword Flight here, let alone run spell programs.

But he refused to give up.

The second time, he added an anomaly capture module.

The third time, he introduced an external energy simulation—pressing his finger against a warm jade stone by the bedside, using its faint stored Spiritual Energy as a springboard.

This time, the code lasted two seconds.

Green characters flashed briefly on his skin, followed by a sudden throb in the chest mark, as if responding to something.

“Success?” Just as he was about to try again, footsteps sounded outside the door.

He quickly lay back down, pretending to be unconscious.

The door opened, and Pei Yue walked in, holding a small white porcelain bottle.

She stood by the bed, watching him for a while, confirming he was “asleep,” before sighing softly. She knelt down, unbuttoned his collar, and applied a layer of transparent ointment below his collarbone. Her movements were extremely gentle, as if afraid of waking something.

Then she took out a small bronze cauldron, lit a fuse, and dripped a single drop of liquid into it.

Instantly, a strange fragrance filled the room, like cedar mixed with stardust.

Shen Yan held his breath—he recognized this scent. The Hundred Herbs Compendium mentioned it: “Foundation Establishment Elixir,” three drops per century, capable of cleansing the marrow and refining the bones, coveted even by Nascent Soul stage elders.

“You’re insane…” he thought to himself.

But Pei Yue remained expressionless, murmuring softly, “It’s worth it.”

After she left, Shen Yan opened his eyes.

Medicinal Bath? Hah, this was no gentle meridian-nourishing treatment—it was secretly feeding him a top-tier cheat.

He tried to sit up but found his limbs growing warm, as if molten lava had been injected into his bloodstream. The Foundation Establishment Elixir was reshaping his foundation, every inch of his bones being restructured.

It hurt, but it felt incredible.

He grinned to himself, thinking: This woman talks tough, but her heart’s soft as silk.

In the dead of night, unable to bear the itching and swelling any longer, he slipped out to the bamboo grove.

Leaning against an old bamboo stalk, he bit his finger again, ready to test whether he could generate a Code Flow outside his body.

Just as he finished writing the first line, a cold snort came from behind.

“I told you not to use magic.”

Pei Yue stood three steps away, draped in an outer robe, her hair held up by a single jade hairpin—clearly having just gotten out of bed.

“Just testing it out,” Shen Yan said with a bitter smile. “If I don’t try something soon, I’m afraid I’ll turn into a useless burnout who only knows how to work 996.”

“Then right now, you’re just a burnout trying to work yourself to death.”

She stepped closer, reaching out to press his wrist.

The moment she raised her hand, her jade hairpin loosened and fell to the ground with a soft clatter.

Both of them froze.

In the next second, a silvery Code Flow suddenly overflowed from Shen Yan’s fingertip, like an obedient little snake. It coiled around the hairpin, gently lifted it, and placed it back into her hair with a precise push—

The hairpin was back in place.

The wind stopped.

Bamboo leaves hung suspended in midair.

Pei Yue stood rigid, her hand still raised, just an inch away from his wrist.

Moonlight fell on her face, and the tips of her ears slowly flushed red.

“…” It took her a long moment to squeeze out a sentence. “Don’t think this is romantic.”

“I didn’t,” Shen Yan withdrew his hand, feeling somewhat awkward. “It was just an automatic Patch, something I did without thinking.”

“Without thinking, my foot.” She turned abruptly. “If you use magic recklessly again, I’ll make you lie in bed for three months!”

She walked away quickly, her steps a little more hurried than when she arrived.

At the edge of the bamboo grove, she suddenly stopped and raised a hand to touch the jade hairpin in her hair.

She didn’t remove it.

Shen Yan leaned against the bamboo, watching her silhouette disappear into the moonlight.

He looked down at his palm, where a faint glow flickered once more.

This time, the Code didn’t fade.

Instead, it slowly extended, like a long line being Compiled, silently connecting toward an unknown distance.

(End of Chapter)