Chapter 993: Medicine Immortal

In the depths of the swamp, a dilapidated thatched hut stood alone on a dry rise. Around the hut were twelve black banners, moving without wind, emitting a strange hissing sound.

As soon as Yan Xirou stepped into the area of the banners, a hoarse voice came from inside the hut:

"Get out."

The voice was not loud, yet it carried an irresistible force that made Yan Xirou's eardrums ache.

She gritted her teeth and kept moving: "Medicine Immortal, please save my companion!"

"No rescue." The voice was crisp and decisive: "Especially those brought by blood path cultivators, even less so."

Yan Xirou's heart jolted; the other party had seen through the origin of her technique at a glance. She carefully placed Han Wuxian on the cleared ground in front of the hut and knelt down herself:

"He is not a blood path cultivator; his poison is from the blood marrow centipede. If the Medicine Immortal is willing to help, the junior will pay any price."

The hut door creaked open with a "creak", and a stooped figure stepped out.

It was an ageless old man, hair sparse and gray, face riddled with wrinkles, yet his eyes shone terrifyingly bright, like two dim green lamps.

"Any price?" the Medicine Immortal grinned, revealing uneven yellow teeth: "Little girl, don't speak so confidently."

He walked to Han Wuxian's side, tapped his wrist with his toe, and sneered: "The poison has already attacked his heart; he won't live past three hours. To save him I need a 'Seven-turn Reviving Pill', what will you give in exchange?"

Yan Xirou stared into the Medicine Immortal's eyes: "What do you want?"

A flash of green light flickered in the Medicine Immortal's eyes: "I want a person willing to endure the suffering of soul stripping as a medicine conduit." He paused deliberately, "Do you know what the suffering of soul stripping is? It's like having your three souls and seven spirits torn away piece by piece while you're still alive, a hundred times more painful than lingchi."

Yan Xirou's face turned slightly pale, but her voice was steady: "I will."

The Medicine Immortal seemed a bit surprised: "For him? Is it worth it?"

"He saved me," Yan Xirou said simply: "Twice."

The Medicine Immortal let out a strange laugh: "Interesting! A blood path cultivator speaking of repaying a favor?" He turned and walked toward the hut, "Bring him in."

"What is your name?"

"My name is... Yan Xirou."

The Medicine Immortal narrowed his eyes, as if recalling something.

Inside the hut was far more spacious than it appeared outside, the four walls lined with glass jars holding bizarre specimens.

There were organs of various colors, oddly shaped Poison Insects, and even a few shrunken skulls. In the center of the room stood a boiling cauldron, its thick purple liquid churning and emitting a pungent odor.

The Medicine Immortal signaled Yan Xirou to place Han Wuxian on the grass mat in the corner, then took a small black bottle from a shelf.

"First save him, then take your soul," the Medicine Immortal poured out a golden pill, broke open Han Wuxian's mouth and forced it in: "Seven-turn Reviving Pill, can neutralize a hundred poisons and remodel the meridians."

The pill dissolved instantly; Han Wuxian's body convulsed violently, the black poisonous markings under his skin receded like the tide. The Medicine Immortal then tapped seven points on his chest, each point sending a green light seeping into his body.

"Done, he won't die now." The Medicine Immortal clapped his hands, turned to Yan Xirou: "Now it's your turn."

Yan Xirou glanced at Han Wuxian, whose breathing was steadier, inhaled deeply: "What must I do?"

The Medicine Immortal ladled a bowl of the purple liquid from the cauldron: "Drink this; it will keep you conscious, and if you black out during the soul stripping it will be useless."

The liquid entered her throat, and Yan Xirou instantly felt a chill surge from her throat to her mind, everything before her became unusually clear, even the dust floating in the air was crystal clear.

"Lie down," the Medicine Immortal pointed to another stone platform.

The stone platform was ice‑cold and bone‑piercing; as soon as Yan Xirou lay down, the Medicine Immortal drew out seven silver needles and inserted them into her crown, chest and limbs.

"First needle, extract the soul."

The moment the silver needle landed, Yan Xirou felt a pain unlike any she had ever known, not physical but a tearing of the soul itself. She arched her body sharply, her nails digging deep into the stone platform, yet she clenched her teeth hard enough not to utter a sound.

A flash of admiration crossed the Medicine Immortal's eyes, but his hand kept moving: "Second needle, extract the earth soul."

A stronger pain assaulted her; Yan Xirou's vision blackened, her body convulsed, cold sweat soaked her clothes instantly. She stared fixedly at the hut's ceiling, struggling to stay conscious.

"Third needle, extract the heaven soul."

This time, Yan Xirou finally could not hold back a mournful wail. Han Wuxian, standing beside the stone platform, twitched his fingers slightly, but no one noticed.

After the three souls were taken, Yan Xirou was barely clinging to life, yet the Medicine Immortal continued the needles, beginning to draw the seven spirits. Each needle was more painful than the last; eventually she had no strength to scream, only a weak whimper.

When the final needle was finished, the Medicine Immortal extracted a filament of translucent material from her body and dropped it into the medicine cauldron. The purple liquid instantly turned gold, emitting a strange fragrance.

"All right," the Medicine Immortal removed all the silver needles, "You are the third person I've ever seen who can stay fully conscious throughout, not bad."

Yan Xirou was so weak she could not even lift a finger, her voice as thin as a silk thread: "When... will he wake..."

"Tomorrow," the Medicine Immortal roughly dragged her onto another grass mat: "Sleep, your soul will recover slowly, but the next few days will be painful."

Yan Xirou wanted to say something else, but extreme fatigue finally overcame her, and she slipped into a deep sleep.

After an unknown amount of time, Han Wuxian struggled awake from the darkness. The excruciating pain had vanished, replaced by a strange lightness. He opened his eyes, saw the hut's ceiling, and heard the bubbling of the medicine cauldron.

Memories slowly returned—tomb, tomb‑guardian, blood marrow centipede... then Yan Xirou carrying him across the swamp...

"Xirou?" he croaked, struggling to sit up, voice hoarse.

"Awake?" the Medicine Immortal entered from outside, holding a handful of herbs, "Don't move; the meridians have just been remodeled, they're fragile."

Han Wuxian looked around: "Where is the woman who was with me?"

The Medicine Immortal pointed to the corner: "There. To save you, she suffered a great sin."

Only then did Han Wuxian notice the other grass mat where Yan Xirou lay. The woman's face was deathly pale, brows knit, restless even in sleep. He struggled to crawl over, shocked to see her wrists and ankles covered in bruised‑purple contusions, and dried blood at the corner of her mouth.

"What happened to her?"

The Medicine Immortal grinned: "She voluntarily took the suffering of soul stripping to be a medicine conduit. That taste, tsk tsk, it's more painful than death."

Han Wuxian felt as if struck by lightning, his heart clenched by an invisible hand. He trembled, reached out, and gently brushed away the sweat‑stuck hair on Yan Xirou's forehead.

"Why..." he murmured.

The Medicine Immortal, grinding the medicine, deliberately shouted: "Ask the world what love is..."

"It's not like that," Han Wuxian reflexively retorted, feeling heat at the back of his ears: "We are just... companions."

The Medicine Immortal let out a strange laugh and fell silent.