Body Donors

Studying is the right way to solve every psychological problem!

Song Qingshi was delighted to discover that the aura of despair shrouding Yue Wuhuan had dissipated. Like an emotionless porcelain doll, he had come alive; like a flower that should have withered, he was blooming with fresh vitality again.

He began taking the initiative to approach Song Qingshi, to strike up conversations, and to do things. Every morning, he waited outside the door for Song Qingshi to wake up so they could study.

Though the world had treated him cruelly, he still treated the world gently.

No wonder readers all loved the protagonist shou. Really, who in this world would not like someone like that?

Song Qingshi's social anxiety gradually eased, his nervousness fading as he revealed more and more of his true nature in front of Yue Wuhuan.

A hesitant knock sounded outside the bedchamber.

Song Qingshi groggily lifted his head from the desk and found that it was already broad daylight. He had accidentally fallen asleep while reading again last night and missed their usual study time, leaving the person outside to wait for who knew how long. He hurriedly got up, discreetly checked whether he had drooled, then ran to open the door before he could change clothes or put on shoes. Still bleary-eyed, he said, "I accidentally fell asleep at the desk again."

He yawned, rubbed at the corners of his slightly reddened eyes, and wiped away tears from not being fully awake. Remembering that he had promised to rest properly and not sleep facedown on the desk, he suddenly felt a little embarrassed. He furtively glanced at the person before him and tried to stand straight, as obedient as a kitten caught after doing something wrong.

"It's all right. I only arrived a little while ago. Don't do it again next time." Yue Wuhuan looked dazed, as though he were seeing things.

Song Qingshi had taught him, so he treated Song Qingshi with the respect due a master.

Originally, he had resolved to follow his master in all things and never disobey him. Yet Song Qingshi never asked anyone else to do anything. His own schedule was irregular; neglecting food and sleep was commonplace. When the mood took him, he would go days and nights without resting properly. He knew nothing about the trivialities of daily life. Books were piled in a chaotic mess throughout his room, he clumsily combed his hair, wore the same set of clothes over and over, and paid no heed to food, drink, lodging, or travel. He even had serious problems managing his subordinates: the medicinal servants' duties were muddled, and they often did not know what they were supposed to do...

Why had he ever thought someone like this was so vicious?

Yue Wuhuan wondered blankly...

Song Qingshi felt terribly wronged when he learned what Yue Wuhuan was thinking. Ever since childhood, he had never worried about anything except studying. He bought all his clothes in the same style and color scheme to save time choosing them, cut his hair however, never fussed over food, and ate whatever the housekeeper made. Everyone praised him for being easy to care for. In research, professors led the team and senior students handled management; he was only responsible for carrying out tasks and keeping records. He had been an especially obedient student.

Who would have thought that after transmigrating into a novel, he would have to manage Medicine King Valley as an enterprise in addition to saving the protagonist shou?!

The original owner had been an even more socially anxious person, worse at communicating than Song Qingshi was. His management methods were not worth using as a reference.

When Song Qingshi searched through his memories, he discovered that the original owner had not actually been temperamental. Most of his furious outbursts had reasons. For instance, one medicinal servant had washed out a jar covered in mold—mold that was actually a fungal medicine he had spent years cultivating, then stubbornly refused to admit fault. Or someone had loudly declared before him that the Drunken Immortal Pill he had worked so hard to develop was the finest knockout drug under heaven—equating an anesthetic developed for surgery with the knockout drugs used by petty criminals! The original owner had swollen with rage like a pufferfish, been unable to explain himself, and simply killed the person.

The medicinal servants, too, had been walking on eggshells. Every time this lord assigned a task, he used only a few words, so carrying it out depended entirely on guessing. It was not easy. Everyone who saw this lord was like a mouse spotting a cat; they did not dare speak, much less come near.

Song Qingshi recognized the drawbacks and resolved to reform things, turning Medicine King Valley into the immortal realm's medical research institute. After making his plans, he appointed Yue Wuhuan as his senior secretary, entrusting him with the vital task of communication. Every day, Yue Wuhuan busily set the internal affairs in order.

Sharpening the knife does not delay cutting firewood.

Medicine King Valley was repartitioned, and the medicinal servants' duties were reassigned. Everyone had a clear understanding of their work. Some who were eager to learn and motivated even received the opportunity to study basic pharmacology, so that they could become a reserve corps of future physicians.

Holding a token that granted him access to every part of Medicine King Valley, even the treasury, Yue Wuhuan's expression was complicated. "My lord, how can you trust people so easily?"

Hands-off Boss Song Qingshi said magnanimously, "I don't trust other people. I only trust you."

The protagonist shou was a great person certified by the system. There was absolutely no way his character could be a problem! Besides, keeping him busy would keep his mind too occupied to think about anything else.

It was a wonderful solution that accomplished several things at once!

Deeply grateful for such favor, Yue Wuhuan threw himself conscientiously into the work. Born into royalty and having spent many years at Jinfeng Mountain Manor, he was skilled at reading people and had no shortage of methods. Handling these matters was effortless for him. He also took on all sorts of miscellaneous tasks for Song Qingshi: tidying his room, caring for his clothes, preparing food, waking him up...

He liked this kind of life—ordinary and full of small details.

He even wanted to hypnotize himself, to pretend that he was still a normal person.

...

Song Qingshi felt that Yue Wuhuan's mental state was getting better and better. He smiled more often and, for the time being, showed no tendency toward self-harm. Happily, Song Qingshi turned his attention back to researching how to restore his dantian and cultivation.

Spiritual roots and dantians were things unknown in the modern scientific world.

Song Qingshi was intensely curious. While Yue Wuhuan was handling internal affairs, he ran to the dissection room that had been converted from the basement. From among several hundred body donors, he selected specimens with wood spiritual roots and specimens with shattered spiritual roots. He dissected them directly, studying the differences between immortal-realm corpses and mortal corpses, and investigating exactly what kind of miraculous thing a spiritual root was.

In the past, his body had not been nimble enough. During anatomy class, he could only watch his senior students wield the scalpel, and he had envied them terribly.

Now that he had come back to life and possessed a healthy body, his long-cherished wish had been fulfilled. He dissected to his heart's content.

The scalpel danced between his fingers. He dissected one body after another, happily losing all track of time.

Each time Song Qingshi finished dissecting a body donor, he paused to remove his mask and make notes, having some pastries and spirit tea to refresh himself while he was at it. As he happily ate and recorded his observations, the basement door opened. Yue Wuhuan entered carrying dinner, then froze at the sight of the room full of corpses, severed intestines, and organs.

Yue Wuhuan cautiously asked, "My lord, what are these?"

With a piece of osmanthus cake held in his mouth, Song Qingshi turned around in alarm. He thought this might be bad.

He... seemed to have forgotten to tell Yue Wuhuan not to enter the dissection room.

In modern medicine, anatomy was an extremely important discipline. Every year, watching new students enter the dissection room for the first time was a source of amusement for the upperclassmen. They would secretly bet on how many would vomit, how many would faint, and how many would last to the end. In any case, every year there were freshmen who had to be carried out. After vomiting enough, they got used to it. Within a few years, every one of them would become a warrior who, after a dissection, rushed to the cafeteria to gnaw on ribs.

But Yue Wuhuan had probably never even dissected a frog, right? Would this be too much stimulation for him?

Song Qingshi looked at the dissection room, which in his excessive delight he had turned into something not far from a murder scene; then he looked at the body donors scattered around the room, along with the nauseating stench of decay... He forcefully swallowed the osmanthus cake in his mouth and quietly dragged over a basin, preparing it for Yue Wuhuan to use in a moment...

"Listen to my explanation. Don't panic. It's not what you think."