Chapter Thirteen: I Am Not Sick

In the stillness of the late night, a frying pan, an induction cooker, concocting some inexplicable and utterly unknown so-called elixirs—this, to any sane ear, sounded not just baffling, but outright fantastical. How could Wu Qianqian possibly understand? The thought of a lost ancient alchemical recipe was sheer madness; even Lin Yang himself felt he'd surely lost his mind—what else could drive a grown man to such actions?

“If you just tell me, won't I understand?” Wu Qianqian’s lips suddenly curved downward in a sly smile, her voice coquettish and sweet as she spoke.

To see such a tender, delicate air on a little sorceress was, perhaps, a little incongruous, but it only enhanced her charm: a slender waist, shapely hips, a petite chest as soft and alluring as a dove, and a pretty face—every glance, every gesture, could drive men wild.

Lin Yang felt his head spinning, slowly succumbing, his blood racing, his body temperature rising, eyes brightening—the classic signs of youthful desire.

A virgin’s plight is truly pitiful.

His gaze, almost involuntarily, became fixed upon her curves; at that moment, he almost wished those magnificent assets would suffocate him where he sat.

As the ancients said: “To die beneath the peony, even as a ghost one would be content.”

Lin Yang would amend: “To die beneath heavenly breasts, even a ghost would be proud.”

Don’t believe it? Try being smothered by them once.

While these thoughts ran wild in his mind, his lips remained sealed. How could he possibly explain? He barely understood it himself—he’d only tried it once and the pan had exploded.

“……………”

“Not willing to say?” she pressed.

“……………”

“So you really won’t tell me.” Wu Qianqian’s expression darkened, her voice full of plaintive grievance, like a wronged bride, a flicker of disappointment in her eyes. You won’t tell me? Fine, I won’t listen! With that, she turned as if to leave.

In this kind of setting, with this kind of tension, lingering would only make things more awkward. Besides, she was a girl, and it was the dead of night—being alone with a man would certainly invite gossip.

“It’ll take a long time to explain,” Lin Yang said at last, lowering his head, pinching his chin in thought. But seeing her about to leave, he darted forward in a flash and shamelessly grabbed Qianqian’s delicate hand. Meeting her pretty, annoyed face, Lin Yang could only offer a helpless explanation, sincerity shining in his eyes.

Explain? Could he really make her understand? His story was so wild and absurd that no matter how much he talked, even if he wore his lips out, this girl probably would never believe him.

In this day and age, the truth is not always accepted or understood.

And so it proved; after two hours, Lin Yang’s mouth was parched and his throat raw, while the girl opposite him only frowned more and more, her brows almost knotting with frustration.

“Are you out of your mind?” Wu Qianqian finally burst out after holding it in for so long, her face grave as she reached out to feel Lin Yang’s head and body, checking for injuries or signs of illness.

Lin Yang felt like his head was about to split. He grumbled inwardly: “I told you you wouldn’t understand, but you insisted on hearing it. Now I’ve told you, and you say I’m crazy? What kind of logic is that? If you don’t get it, you say others are mad?”

“I’m perfectly normal.” He seized her exploring hand, trapping it firmly in his own. He didn’t dare let her keep groping without restraint—this girl was always unpredictable, and if she kept it up, he was afraid he’d truly lose control.

If a stunningly beautiful woman, especially an innocent, fresh-faced student, started running her soft, slender hands all over you, even reaching for your trousers, and you didn’t react, well, congratulations—there really might be something wrong with you.

Lin Yang certainly didn’t think there was anything wrong with him. On the contrary, he was very much alive—his body already responding, ready and eager, just waiting for a chance to spring into action.

“…………”

“I really am completely normal,” he repeated, afraid Qianqian hadn’t heard him the first time, his tone resolute.

But it was no use; she still looked at him with suspicion, clearly unwilling to believe a word. After a moment’s hesitation, she glanced at him with a certain sharpness and said, “Fine! I admit you’re normal. In that case, let’s talk more tomorrow. I’m tired. You’d better get some sleep, too!”

The abrupt change left Lin Yang momentarily stunned. He had expected her to keep pestering, to dig for answers, but instead she just left—he couldn’t quite process it.

Bang—a heavy door slam brought him back to himself, but she was already gone, only her lingering rose scent left behind to prove she’d been there. Lin Yang shook his head ruefully, gazing at the dark remains of medicinal dregs in the trash, feeling a deep pang of regret.

Nearly ten thousand yuan—gone in a single bang. Love was like fireworks: not always beautiful, often dangerous.

Still, Lin Yang was not one to wallow. He’d promised himself he’d keep trying until he succeeded, but with the frying pan now ruined, he could no longer refine the golden silkworm powder. This forced him to once again consider searching the temples or antique shops for a proper alchemical cauldron.

Now that everything was out in the open, he actually felt relieved—no more need for secrecy and sneaking around. But whether he should keep experimenting in his bedroom was another matter; if a fire broke out, he’d be in real trouble.

He shuffled back to the kitchen in his slippers, returning the induction cooker and broken pan, dumping the dregs in the trash, turning on the exhaust fan until the air was fresh and earthy again, and then finally crawled into bed.

Yet lying there, Lin Yang found himself wide awake, more alert than ever, his mind replaying the scene of refining the herbs.

Seven qian of roasted licorice, three liang of bitter aloeswood, golden silkworm powder... That was the recipe.

The first two herbs had been fine, the golden silkworm powder as well, up to the second addition—the powder looked normal.

It seemed, yes, it seemed, the third addition was when something changed. That moment was frozen in his mind, impossible to erase.

Replaying it again and again, Lin Yang finally noticed something odd: cold wind gusting in, air currents swirling, affecting the pan’s temperature.

Cold wind, yes—wind! Lin Yang shot upright, a manic grin spreading across his face. Anyone seeing him just then would have thought he’d lost his mind.

The cold wind had caused the powder’s temperature to fluctuate, the swirling air mixing with the powder, triggering the mutation. That was the conclusion he’d reached after much reflection. But only another test would prove it.

Meanwhile, Wu Qianqian had all but fled to her own room, her cheeks burning, her heart racing like a startled deer. In a moment of madness, she’d actually tried to pull at Lin Yang’s pants—just thinking about it made her wish she could crawl into a mouse hole.

“I must have been out of my mind,” she murmured, patting her chest as her heartbeat finally began to slow.

She climbed into bed, kicked off her slippers, and burrowed under the covers. But sleep would not come; she could only lie there on her side, gazing out the window, her eyes reflecting a mix of joy and sorrow.

The chill autumn wind still howled outside, and the sky showed no sign of clearing, just as the forecast had promised—clouds turning now to rain.

A flash of lightning tore through the darkness, followed by thunder that made her ears ring.

Just as the saying goes, “Where there’s wind, there’s rain”—a torrential downpour soon followed, weaving shimmering curtains in the flickering lightning, beautiful but shrouded in mystery.

“It’s raining again,” Tang Yixue murmured on another street as she gazed out her window, lost in thought. It seemed sleep would elude her tonight. The events of the afternoon replayed in her mind like a film—the reckless provocation outside the Dynasty Bar. Without real strength, no one would dare such a thing. With news traveling fast in the underworld, she feared someone might target Lin Yang, since it was her own beauty that had drawn trouble upon him.

“It’s raining again.” After Wu Qianqian left and the frying pan was ruined, with no way to continue his alchemical work and no sleep in sight, Lin Yang also leaned by the window, gazing through the glass at the falling rain, his thoughts drifting far away like Tang Yixue’s.

Once upon a time, two drenched figures had run together through the night rain, laughing and chasing each other, so happy they forgot the world.

But time had swept that memory away. In this fast-paced life, all he saw now were hurried footsteps rushing ahead.

Who would pause and look back upon the past?

Who would slow down and wait for their beloved?

Who would take their lover’s hand and grow old together?

Who would...

So, two insomniacs sat alone at their bedsides, watching the rain, their thoughts diverging—an image worthy of a painting.

Lin Yang kept the afternoon’s events in mind. These days, petty men who nursed grudges were everywhere—especially in the underworld, where vengeance was almost a disease. He wasn’t naive enough to think a single harsh word would end it; he was grateful Tang Yixue had chosen wisely, or keeping a low profile would have been impossible.

Unaware of the depth of the night or the violence of the storm, Lin Yang had no idea that the little thug Leopard, his attempt at revenge foiled, was now in a mood as wild as the tempest outside. A man who never let a slight go, he certainly wouldn’t let this go. News of his humiliation had spread like wildfire through every corner of the district, turning his once-glorious reputation into a joke. He was determined to restore his honor, mobilizing all his contacts in search of that good-looking, knife-wielding kid.

Lying in bed, Lin Yang naturally had no idea someone was driven half-mad, murderous, because of him. Just as he was about to pull the covers up and try for sleep, his phone rang on the desk. He picked it up—an incoming call from Tiger. That gave him pause. What could Tiger want at this hour?

Could it be about his old injury? Lin Yang remembered that Tiger’s wounds used to flare up whenever it rained, but he’d already treated them. He trusted his own medical skill. Hesitating only a moment, he answered the call.

“Yang, are you asleep?” Tiger’s urgent, excited voice came through as soon as he picked up.