Chapter 80: The Rouge Dragon Girl, Flayed and Drawn

Shi Qingyi’s courtyard was nestled in a secluded valley on Fuxi Mountain, surrounded by bamboo groves and babbling streams. The eastern wall was covered in Five-Leaf Earth Brocade, a lush expanse stretching to the horizon.

It was the price a little demon had paid to beg the Medical Immortal to save a life—leaving behind part of its true body, which would not wither through the seasons unless it died.

The wooden door had already swung open automatically before the Medical Immortal even pushed it. Lush medicinal herbs and flowerbeds adorned the pavilions and towers. The dragon’s body stretched over a hundred zhang long, but when shrunk, it was no bigger than a small creature. Dripping blood pattered down as the black-scaled dragon tail crushed the Medical Immortal’s most treasured flowerbed.

The fence demon waited tremblingly for the Medical Immortal’s thunderous rage, but the one who usually cherished these herbs like treasures walked past as if she had seen nothing at all.

The little demon was drenched in cold sweat. The lady’s moods were unpredictable; once that black dragon woke up, things would surely end in disaster.

“Where does Lady wish to place her?” The little demon parted the thick canopy of clouds ahead and sneaked a glance back at the white-clad immortal.

In the secluded valley, most rooms stood empty except for the true master’s quarters, filled with ancient medical texts collected by the Medical Immortal and some rare herbs.

Shi Qingyi lowered her gaze thoughtfully for a moment, then strode forward, cradling the black dragon toward a wooden hut. It was an empty courtyard where, three years ago, she had schemed meticulously to lure that black dragon here.

As they entered, the little demon felt a moment of awkwardness. The wood vine demon scratched at the small flower on its head, then dutifully closed the door.

Shi Qingyi: “…”

She almost wanted to throw dirt over her past actions and bury herself right there!

The empty courtyard was decked out with lanterns and festive decorations. Two crooked red “double happiness” characters were pasted unevenly on the weathered vine walls, but after two years, time had eroded them beyond recognition.

The clumsy black dragon only knew killing, conquest, and warfare, but her beloved was a healer who saved lives. On the eve of their wedding, she had mimicked human customs to set up a bridal chamber, hoping to prepare a better nest for her love—full of anxiety and eager anticipation.

And then, on their wedding night, her heart had been ripped out.

Staying here would surely lead to deaths. One trigger, and the enraged Dragon Clan would claw the entire mountain into a deep pit.

Shi Qingyi fell into a long silence. Her arms unconsciously tightened around the unconscious black dragon in her embrace. In the end, she merely closed her eyes, took two steps back, and turned to leave.

The baffled little demon hurried after her. The Medical Immortal, who always regarded everyone with composed amusement, walked faster and faster, as if something was chasing her from behind.

The buildings on Fuxi Mountain were extravagantly luxurious—pavilions and towers winding through hidden paths. Demons, humans, or yao who couldn’t offer treasures to move the Medical Immortal had to sell their time, serving as attendants in this secluded valley at her beck and call.

The black dragon was carried all the way into the Medical Immortal’s little tower, leaving a trail of blood snaking from the outer room and staining the exquisitely carved spirit jade.

“Prepare a medicinal bath and fetch the best spirit herbs,” the Medical Immortal commanded as she stepped through the threshold, her voice icy and devoid of warmth, yet inexplicably urgent. “Also, prepare a sharp knife.”

A sharp knife? To debone the dragon? The little demon seemed to understand and responded crisply from outside the now-closed door: “Rest assured, Lady. I’ll find a proper boning knife right away!”

Shi Qingyi: “…”

If she said she truly had no intention of stripping the dragon’s bones to stew soup, would anyone believe her?

The System fell silent for a moment before cautiously suggesting, “Or… why not ask her?”

The Medical Immortal glanced wordlessly at the dragon. Her face was snow-pale, smeared with bloodstains, and her eyelids trembled faintly in the shifting light and shadow—subtle, almost imperceptible.

Shi Qingyi paused, then placed her on her own bed. The Medical Immortal favored luxury; the bed was padded with the softest fur from a millennium-old fox demon. Sinking into it created a depression, enveloped by warm, fine fluff.

A hand, temperate and cool, brushed aside the blood-matted strands from her forehead. A trickle of warm spiritual energy slowly flowed into her body.

The Dragon Clan endured through sheer willpower and seething hatred, refusing to sleep and desperately clinging to consciousness.

The next time she awoke, some organ might be missing—or she might never wake again.

“Sleep,” the Medical Immortal said, her voice still cool, laced with a barely detectable gentle sigh. At last, Yaoluo sank into dreams, resentment filling her heart.

The spiritual power felt familiar. Shi Qingyi’s true form was Yaoxiang Grass from Fuxi Mountain. Her cultivation was not ancient—barely a century old—and her core inner dan was limited. The last time she had used it was to rescue Yaoluo from the Yao Clan beneath Buzhou Mountain.

Back then, the gravely wounded dragon had sensed the influx of spiritual power and begun greedily drawing it without restraint. The giver allowed it until Yaoluo recovered enough strength and suddenly opened her eyes. The white-clad beauty at her side had weakened to the point of barely maintaining human form, swaying unsteadily into her arms.

Yaoluo had caught the frail girl in bewilderment. The Medical Immortal was arrogant and untamed abroad, but her body was terrifyingly soft—like a delicate flower that would shatter at a touch.

No one had ever risked their life for her. By the black dragon’s ruthless nature, she should have killed her outright and devoured her soul. But Yaoluo did not. She simply held the girl at a loss, as if cradling a spring breeze that could scatter at any moment.

A half-immortal flower had saved a dragon, and later, that dragon had nurtured a flower with utmost care.

Yaoxiang Grass was precious. Without cultivation, it couldn’t take human form and lay crooked amid layers of gauzy curtains, its elegant brows furrowed slightly in discomfort. One glance, and Yaoluo’s heart softened.

The Demon Clan’s most bloodthirsty vanguard, the iron-hearted Demon Dragon of legend, had ultimately melted into pliancy.

She had knelt by the soft couch, grasping the Medical Immortal’s pale, cold fingers—daring only to hold one—and poured three centuries of her inner force into her without reserve.

The Medical Immortal had struggled weakly, her voice faint: “Don’t…”

The tongue-tied dragon refused to let go, mumbling after a long pause, “I do it willingly.”

She had played pitiful once and effortlessly claimed the Demon Dragon’s hard-earned cultivation of several years.

Through countless seasons of harvest and hardship, battles and slaughters, none withstood a single furrow of her brow.

Shi Qingyi had played her cards masterfully—a century of cultivation traded for three. Who knew what she wanted this time?

As Yaoluo drifted into sleep, she thought with bitter sarcasm. Shi Qingyi had best kill her now. Otherwise, once she revived without the Immortal Binding Lock’s restraints, she would repay every torment inflicted upon her a hundred—no, a thousandfold.

Only after confirming the black dragon had fully fallen asleep did Shi Qingyi dare to peel back her clothes. One glance made her eyelids twitch.

The Dragon Clan’s self-healing was the strongest in the Three Realms, yet even that couldn’t conceal her wounds. Below her collarbone gaped two rust-stained holes crusted with blood. She was too weak to maintain human form; beneath her slender, fragile waist trailed a section of dragon tail.

The once glossy black scales were now dull. The lower half of the tail was horrific—half its flesh flayed away, leaving only a grim white skeleton.

Suddenly, Shi Qingyi remembered: it wasn’t just this once. Thanks to the Dragon Clan’s superior regeneration, she had periodically sliced off chunks of flesh for drug testing, waiting for it to regrow before cutting again.

Day after day, year after year.

…If this wasn’t twisted, it would be an insult to her past efforts completing tasks.

She sighed and, at last, gently wiped Yaoluo’s face clean with a brocade handkerchief, bit by bit.

Yaoluo was actually quite beautiful—not fragile in appearance, just excessively emaciated, giving her a cold, stern edge. A layer of ferocity gathered between her brows, the look of deep-seated resentment and hatred.

Shi Qingyi gazed for a long while before finally reaching out to smooth the furrow between her brows.

—

Yaoluo awoke at dusk. Fuxi Mountain lay near Fusang; the sunset painted vast swaths across Blackwater River, bathing the entire mountain in a layer of warm twilight glow.

White gauzy curtains overlapped in hazy layers. Outside, the white-clad immortal held a scroll, gazing down at the kneeling little thorn demon.

Everyone knew the Fuxi Medical Immortal had a capricious temperament. No one knew what fate awaited this time. The little thorn demon’s leaves curled in fear, its flower already wilted.

“I told you to stop. Why did you deliver a second lash?”

Her voice held no inflection, clear and cool as spring water, yet it inexplicably stirred the heart.

The little thorn demon clutched its head and mumbled, “I-I thought you wanted to skin her, so—”

So, beat her into submission.

“It’s always been like that before…”

Shi Qingyi’s eyelid twitched. She couldn’t help lighting a stick of incense for the little demon in her heart.

Later, when Yaoluo finally escaped and rampaged wildly, her mind twisted, she razed the entire Fuxi Mountain. Every spirit on it suffered extreme tortures: scalding, dripping, eye-gouging, heart-carving…

Shi Qingyi slammed the medical book onto the table, her voice icy: “In the future, without my express order, not a single lash without permission.”

“Go receive your punishment yourself—two hundred lashes, not one less.”

The little thorn demon, spared worse, scrambled out on all fours. The Medical Immortal lifted the gauze curtain and entered the inner chamber. Yaoluo lay with eyes closed, feigning sleep, hearing only the approaching footsteps. A glint of sharp knife-light flashed before her eyes.

The dragon couldn’t help clenching her fists tightly. So it had come at last? Flaying or boning? She knew Shi Qingyi couldn’t possibly have saved her from the depths of Grand Abyss out of kindness!

Trapped by the Immortal Binding Lock too long, her vitality was greatly damaged; only a sliver of spiritual power remained. Yaoluo’s lips pressed into a tight line. Fight to mutual destruction, or endure the excruciating pain for now?

After a long moment, she clenched her fist in grim endurance.

As long as she lived, there was still a chance—a chance to turn defeat into victory.

She resigned herself to the pain descending on her battered body. Her heart had sunk to the ocean floor; her pain-wracked form trembled instinctively.

Shi Qingyi probably guessed at her wild imaginings. The black dragon lay flat on the bed, already in a heroic martyr’s tragic pose.

Wordless for a moment, she finally reached out and pulled open the thin garment she had just draped over her. Her tone remained mildly cold, but a close listen revealed gentle reassurance as she explained, “I’m just trimming the necrotic flesh from your body. It won’t hurt.”

The black dragon’s eyelashes quivered. Just as a mocking sneer was about to curl her lips, the outer curtain was yanked open. A thirteen- or fourteen-year-old girl in white burst in, fluffy white ears atop her head, her eyes pure and innocent.

“Qingyi, sleepy… want to sleep…”