When he woke up occasionally in bed and was fed with soup, pills and herbal soup, Shen Qingxuan tried to cooperate with them one by one. Doctors came in an endless stream and went away in an endless stream.
On the crooked path outside the villa, horses and sedan arrived in sucession again.
Master Shen had questioned the servant boys about the causes of his illness again but the servant boys only looked at each other. Nobody dared to step out and receive the punishment of drinking until the third shift of the night and having the young master take a cold bath. They all shook their heads.
Shen Qingxuan raised his hand laboriously, not letting anyone pursue this matter anymore. After all, he was the one that wanted the banquet.
The illness continued day after day. Shen Qingxuan knew in his heart that the ferocity of his illness was beyond the control of ordinary drugs.
The decoction's dregs in the courtyard had piled up into a small mound, but he had not improved in the slightest.
His body would alternate between coldness and hotness. When Shen Qingxuan was burning, he really wanted to call someone to bring him an egg and cracked it on his body to see if it could be cooked. When he was feeling cold, he felt like he had gone back to his childhood, back to the moment when he fell into the ice cave and was extremely distraught.
The times when Shen Qingxuan was feeling so unbearably terrible that he could not even turn in his bed, he wasn't not loathing.
He hated himself for being too indulgent and drank that drink; he hated that the servant didn't do his duty and told him to take a cold bath after drinking; he also hated the servant boys and the mid-autumn night, how they narrated the stories of those foxes, immortals, demons, and ghosts so exceeding touching that he had a spring dream in the cold bathtub.
It should be borned in their minds that his body was weak, he drank hot wine but was also immersed in cold water. The hot air in his body was stimulated by the cold water; wasn't that a reason to get sick? What's more, he did that and harmed his essence, making things graver in a bad situation.
And he hated how he had lived to this day but still did not have a person who would be willing to think and care about him.
After feeling a bout of anger inwardly, he gradually felt tired. The hatred in his heart soon faded and he only thought of how he should just die sooner so that he could save himself from suffering.
When he was waiting for his death, Shen Qingxuan often thought of Yimo.
He even thought of his dream in the cold water that night. He couldn't recall the woman's face in the dream, but only remembered that it was soft and beautiful.
What was more profound in his memories was the sensation of a sudden cold body wrapping around him. He knew that this dream emerged because he was submerged in cold water, but it just wouldn't go away.
And the voice he had only heard once but never forgotten, the whisper in his ear- "…."
It was unquestionably Yimo's voice.
Every time he thought of this, he couldn't help shivering and dare not further his thoughts.
He instinctively felt that it was dangerous and he was instinctively avoiding danger.
It was another day of drinking decoction and having his stomach filled fully with it. He felt that the taste of the medicine was extremely disgusting, but he still tried to swallow it. At night, his stomach began twisting and turning. From time to time, the bitter medicine soup would rush to his throat but Shen Qingxuan persistently repressed it down. At last, he could no longer endure and opened his mouth, a heap of medicine soup shot up like an arrow. The beds, bedclothes, and pillows were all drenched.
Shen Qingxuan vomited mouthful by mouthful. The pills in his stomach that had yet to break down were also vomited out.
The flustered maidservant handed a bowl of water and busied herself.
Shen Qingxuan could no longer consume the medicine.
Just by the smell of it would make him regurgitate his stomach juice out.
After enduring for another three days, Shen Qingxuan lay in bed. His complexion was as white as paper and his breathing was feeble. Occasionally he would open his eyes to and looked at the blue and white ceiling, constantly thinking of Yimo.
Thinking of the bite he received from him at the beginning. Thinking of the neat words he wrote while concealing himself. Thinking of him how he was going down the mountain because he needed to find his skin… Thinking until laughter burst in his heart and yet he instantly felt gloomy after laughing. He promised to protect him from his heavenly tribulations, but now he's afraid he wouldn't be able to survive until that time.
Yimo, why aren't you back yet?
With this in mind, he felt inexplicably wronged. The corner of his eyes started to grow sore. After a while, he couldn't help thinking ruthlessly: You this big, hornless and legless worm is really useless. You even got your skin stolen. These thousand of years you have cultivated are all in vain. Why didn't anyone catch you, skin you, debone you and make you into a snake soup?
He thought as he cursed, yet he was also smiling.
Little did he know that the sight of him lying down in bed with closed eyes and weak breaths while his expression jumped abruptly from being angry to smilling faintly and finally weeping had startled those guarding over him.
There was a rumor circulating quietly in the villa that night. The young master might have been haunted by something, perhaps he had made contact with some evil influences.
The servant boys and girls who got together in that night quietly gathered. After discussing for a moment, they all took out some silver money and pooled a sum of money. They secretly went down the mountain and bought some paper money, incense candles, and other articles. They asked the older kitchen maid about the practice and then hid to worship. They begged for those demons and ghosts to let their young master go.
When Yimo returned, he happened to come across this dark mountain that was lit up with dots of lights and fluttering ashes. This scene just looked like there were demons lurking around.
At this time, Shen Qingxuan's mind was drifting away. He didn't know that Yimo had came back. He was in a trance as he thought of the woman in his previous dream. She said he spilled wine on her body. Shen Qingxuan inwardly questioned, “I just spilled a cup of tea on Yimo, what would I spill wine on you for no reason?” After a while, it came to his mind that it was only a dream. He then thought again; maybe because I've spilled a cup of tea on Yimo, made acquaintance with him and then had such a dream, this therefore created a scenorio of spilling to and fro to make acquaintances?
And so his thoughts ran fantastically, Shen Qingxuan evidently felt a hand pressing on his forehead, a cold steam of air entered from his forehead to his brain before spreading to his limbs. Shen Qingxuan was awakened by this icy cold sensation.
Instantly, he could smell the cold and fresh air. It was quite different from the medicines that had surrounded him all day long.
Shen Qingxuan opened his eyes and stared at the person in front of him. He opened his mouth and silently said: You are back… I thought I wouldn't be able to wait for you to come back.
Unexpectedly, Yimo took back his palm, swept his eyed at him from top to bottom, before indifferently told him, “You… smell terrible."
Shen Qingxuan's breaths that had just came back was halted again by that sentence.
It was night, all the people at the villa had fallen asleep on the ground.
A black gale suddenly blew past them, vaguely showing a figure wrapped in the black wind.
They headed straight to the hot spring at the top of the mountain.
Yimo said that sort of sentence; Shen Qingxuan had recovered and was unwilling to let him go. He also refused to ask the servant to boil water for him to bathe. Afterall, it was that bucket of cold water that made him suffered so much the other day. So even if he was dying, he did not want to go into the bucket at this moment. He could only tug at Yimo and asked him to take himself to the hot spring at the summit of the mountain.
Yimo took the person to the hot spring. With a slight movement of his fingers, Shen Qingxuan's clothes immediately separated and fell like dead leaves in the wind.