Chapter Forty-Three

The moment Xu Ziyang stepped into the room, he saw the person curled up on the bed, limbs pulled in tight, trembling all over — sweat-damp lashes cast downward, eyes half-closed, breathing rapid and uneven. The orchid fragrance permeating the air around the bed was several times stronger than usual.

Hearing the sound of the door opening, Chu Rong lifted his lashes. His eyes were veiled with a watery mist, the tails a vivid crimson — so startlingly vivid it was almost blinding.

Xu Ziyang's breath hitched. He couldn't stop himself from walking toward the bed. Before he had gone two steps, the person on the bed seemed to recognize him and shifted in a panic toward the inner edge of the bed.

Xu Ziyang's footsteps halted at once. Undisguised shock flickered across his face — Chu Rong's consciousness was still clear?!

The Spring Entanglement was heat upon heat, pain upon pain — an excruciating ordeal. No one had ever endured more than a day, yet after an entire night had passed, Chu Rong had not been fully overtaken by the drug's effects?

Xu Ziyang had not anticipated that Chu Rong's willpower would be this formidable. In extreme irritation that tipped over into a laugh, he said: "I'd like to see how long you can hold out!"

He set down the food box, flicked his sleeve, and withdrew from the room.

The moment the door had closed, a transmission talisman drifted in, and Lian Ci's authoritative voice carried a rare urgency and excitement: "Ziyang, come quickly to the foot of the mountain — the people from the immortal sects are arriving!"

Xu Ziyang collected the transmission talisman and departed in haste.

He left very quickly and did not notice Yun Zhi in the corridor. As he brushed past, Yun Zhi caught that familiar scent again. He stared in astonishment at Xu Ziyang's retreating back as a wild, absurd thought crashed into his mind.

He hurriedly dropped the wet cloth in his hand, made his way around to the front of Xu Ziyang's door, raised his hand, and knocked: "Young Master? Young Master, are you inside?"

The room was sealed under a restriction, and Chu Rong could not hear Yun Zhi's calls from outside at all. He clutched at his lower abdomen, the face beneath his mask a deathly pallor, and rivers of sweat rolled down into the mask.

The pain in his abdomen was severe, though still somewhat less agonizing than the full onset of the drug's effects — and that was precisely why he had managed to remain conscious for this long.

Even so, Chu Rong could feel his mind growing more and more hazy. He was fast approaching his limit.

Yun Zhi called out several more times and received no response. He began to doubt whether he was overthinking things and turned to leave. But as he passed the room next door, something made him stop, as though some invisible hand had stilled him.

"Young Master, I beg your pardon." Yun Zhi murmured quietly. He only meant to take a look to see whether the Young Master was inside — and if he was, he would beg the Young Master's forgiveness afterward.

Yun Zhi drew a deep breath and shoved the door open with force. The room was empty — not even a shadow of a person inside.

Yun Zhi's expression shifted. He rushed back to the outside of Xu Ziyang's room and tried the same approach, pushing hard at the door — but this time, no matter how much strength he used, the door refused to budge even slightly.

Yun Zhi had spent enough years in the outer sect that, though he knew only a little about cultivation, he had heard of restrictions. This room had clearly had a restriction placed upon it by someone.

Without spiritual energy, he had no way to open it. His face creased with anxiety as he paced back and forth in the corridor. Then, as though something suddenly occurred to him, he burst out of Wusong Residence at a run.

He ran too fast and lost his footing, hitting the ground hard — his palms and knees scraped raw, blood seeping out in thin threads. But he seemed to feel nothing at all. He scrambled to his feet and kept sprinting forward.

When Xu Ziyang arrived at the foot of the mountain, Cen Yan and Pei Zhan had already led several disciples there to wait.

The cultivators who had come from the immortal sects to provide support were all of no small level of cultivation. They had sword-ridden through the air to get here, and before long, those from the sects closest to Qingyang arrived at the base of the mountain.

Xu Ziyang raised a smile at the corner of his lips, just about to step forward in greeting, when the air around them suddenly tautened — an enormously present oppressive force came bearing down from a distance, crushing toward Qingyang Heavenly Sect in a relentless wave.

Wherever it passed, it left people cold from head to toe, trembling with dread.

Wh-what was this?

The people at the foot of the mountain couldn't stop their teeth from chattering. Instinctively, they looked up — and saw over a hundred people riding their swords forward in a grand, imposing formation. At the very front, an extremely tall figure — it was unmistakably the legendary Immortal Venerate Ning Yuan, who had been rumored to be in closed-door seclusion for a hundred years and cut off from the world's affairs!

How was that possible?

Qingxu Sect was the farthest of all from Qingyang Heavenly Sect — even sword-riding at top speed would take six or seven days to arrive. How had the Immortal Venerate gotten here so quickly?

The people from the several sects who had arrived at the foot of the mountain exchanged glances, every one of them reading the same shock in each other's eyes. The Immortal Venerate seemed to value Qingyang Heavenly Sect's affairs that much?

Could it be, as they had guessed, that the Immortal Venerate held Cen Yan in especially high regard?

As conjecture after conjecture rose in their minds, the all-encompassing oppressive force descended like a mountain bearing down on them, heavy and crushing. The closer the people from Qingxu Sect came, the stronger the pressure grew.

In an instant, the people from the various sects had no more room to let their thoughts wander. Their entire bodies shook, their faces twisted, the veins at their temples bulging, cold sweat pouring down like rain, and their straight spines bending downward against their will.

Even with the Mountain-Guarding Grand Formation standing around Qingyang Heavenly Sect as a defense, the three — Cen Yan, Pei Zhan, and Xu Ziyang — still felt a dense, suffocating pressure close in around them, a surge of blood rising within their chests.

As for the several disciples who had accompanied Cen Yan, all of them with very low cultivation levels, they were even less able to withstand the force of that oppression. Their complexions went ghastly, blood trickled from the corners of their mouths, and their knees buckled, sending them collapsing to the ground with a heavy thud.

"Junior Brothers!" Cen Yan's usually cool-toned voice carried a trace of alarm as he hastily channeled his spiritual energy and placed himself as a shield in front of those disciples.

The disciples looked at Cen Yan with gratitude, their voices hoarse and trembling as they said: "Many thanks, Senior Brother Cen…"

Before they could finish, an even more overwhelming oppressive force came crushing in. The breath still unspent in the disciples' throats was shoved back inside them — their five organs and six viscera felt as though they were being churned by something sharp, and they spat great mouthfuls of blood.

Cen Yan's expression changed drastically. He hurriedly raised his head to look — outside the Mountain-Guarding Grand Formation, the people from the various sects had already gone to half-kneeling on the ground, channeling their spiritual energy with all their might in desperate resistance against the oppressive force.

Not far away, over a hundred members of Qingxu Sect had descended at the foot of the mountain, the hundred disciples arranged in a neat, orderly formation. At their head was a young man dressed entirely in black — extraordinarily handsome, his bearing sharp and austere, like a unsheathed blade.

The young man's fierce brows were knitted tightly together, his face pale — he looked just as miserable as everyone else, crushed and afflicted by the overwhelming pressure.

Sensing Cen Yan's gaze, the young man lifted his eyes and looked over. His eyes swept once over Cen Yan, his chin tilted slightly upward, challenge clear in his gaze.

Nan Xingye.

Cen Yan had some knowledge of the various immortal sects, and he recognized the young man's identity quickly — the most renowned genius among the younger generation of the cultivation world. His talent was rumored to be on par with Cen Yan's own.

Cen Yan had often heard himself compared to Nan Xingye, though they had never met. Seeing him today in person, the talent was indeed outstanding — his cultivation level was nearly pressing above Cen Yan's.

Qingxu Sect had come to help, and conflict must be avoided. Cen Yan, bearing up against the oppressive force as best he could, gave Nan Xingye a brief nod in acknowledgment, then shifted his gaze toward the tall man standing ahead of Nan Xingye.

But he had not yet made out the man's features when the man glanced over, his eyes carrying sharp, severe contours — and a surge of even more forceful oppressive pressure bore straight into Cen Yan's chest. The blood and energy within Cen Yan's body seized up abruptly, and like the disciples he was protecting, he spat out a great mouthful of blood all at once.

"Junior Brother Cen!" Pei Zhan and Xu Ziyang's expressions changed in unison. But the oppressive force had them all pinned down — not one of them could move. They could only watch helplessly as Cen Yan was crushed by the pressure to the point of half-kneeling on the ground.

So this was the Great Vehicle stage?

So terrifying — with nothing more than the intimidation of his aura, a person could be rendered completely unable to resist. To take a life in the flick of a finger would be nothing at all.

Cen Yan clenched his jaw, his voice somewhat unsteady as he said: "There are many disciples within the sect who possess no cultivation at all, their constitutions no different from ordinary mortals — they cannot withstand the Immortal Venerate's aura. We humbly ask that the Immortal Venerate show mercy."

It was unclear which words in that sentence struck a chord within the man — in an instant, the oppressive force surrounding the foot of the mountain was fully reined in. Though the air was still thick with a heavy, crushing sensation, it was no longer so unbearable as before.

Everyone at the foot of the mountain finally managed to draw breath.

The people from the various sects were once again left stunned — it was well known that the Immortal Venerate had never heeded anyone's words, and no one had ever dared say a word to him about anything. Yet Cen Yan had gotten the Immortal Venerate to yield with nothing more than a single sentence?

Everyone became even more convinced that the Immortal Venerate's regard for Cen Yan was something entirely out of the ordinary. Imperceptibly, the attitudes of those from the various sects toward the Qingyang group softened quite considerably.

"The Immortal Venerate is merciful." The Qingyang group, unaware of this shift, swallowed down the metallic taste of blood in their mouths and bowed respectfully to Ning Yuan in gratitude.

Ning Yuan, however, didn't so much as glance at them. His frame was exceptionally tall. The light of the sky fell on his high, straight nose bridge, spreading a wash of light and shadow across his sharply defined face. His eyes, devoid of warmth, swept past the sects at the foot of the mountain and looked straight toward the interior of the sect — and across those eyes flashed a ripple of something difficult to catch.

The suffocating weight in the air intensified by a few more degrees. But not a single person dared speak.

In the silence, several more groups of sect members arrived at the foot of the mountain.

Cen Yan looked up. Among them, three groups at the front were the most striking. His gaze went first to the man leading the first group — a face of gentle, refined handsomeness, his bearing like ancient jade that had been long polished smooth, exuding a particular charm of mature masculinity.

Behind the man walked a dozen or so disciples dressed in yellow and white, eyes cast down in deference, their demeanor respectful.

The next group to arrive close behind was a gathering of baldheaded temple monks. The young man walking at their head wore a kasaya robe, his appearance ethereally beautiful — like a deity descended to earth. One hand held five fingers pressed together vertically before his chest, and at the notch between thumb and forefinger hung a strand of deep-brown sandalwood beads, full and round, their surface so polished smooth they caught the sunlight — clearly turned through the fingers often.

Behind the temple monks came three people: two disciples carrying long brocade cases, dressed in the attire of medicine boys, and a young man whose appearance was strikingly strange — beautiful in a way that made it difficult to tell whether he was male or female. The young man's lips were a bloodless pale, and his entire person was surrounded by an inescapable aura of gloom.

Behind these three groups came a scattering of people dispatched from other sects. As each wave drew nearer and felt the oppressive force in the air, their expressions all shifted slightly — the surprise in their eyes identical to those who had arrived before them.

How had the Immortal Venerate gotten here so quickly?

The aura emanating from Ning Yuan was so powerful it made one unable to approach. Those who had thought to make connections with Ning Yuan were forced to abandon the idea.

He Ting's deep, penetrating eyes narrowed slightly, and without drawing attention to it, he shifted his gaze to Cen Yan and walked over on his own initiative: "You must be the incomparably talented Cen Yan, Fellow Daoist Cen?"

As he spoke, the corner of his mouth curved up lightly — but the smile carried not a trace of genuine warmth: "Truly, meeting in person surpasses all one has heard. Your elegance is unrivalled by any."

"Gate Master He is too kind." Cen Yan bowed slightly and returned the courtesy, then looked past him at the two groups that had arrived together. He greeted each in turn: "Holy Son Yun, Valley Master Jing."

Yun Tan had been standing with eyes lowered. At the sound of his name, his head didn't move, but he lifted his eyelids slightly — revealing a pair of deep, still eyes like an undisturbed well. His voice resonated like a Sanskrit chant, neither sorrowful nor joyful, as he responded with the courtesy due: "Fellow Daoist Cen."

Jing Heng's skin was pale to the point of near-transparency. His gaze moved over Cen Yan's face without any attempt to conceal it, and the cold, eerie quality in his voice made one's hair stand on end: "Fellow Daoist Cen."

After a brief exchange of pleasantries, Xu Ziyang raised his voice and moved to the point: "The purpose of Qingyang's invitation to all of you is, I believe, already well understood. The depth of our gratitude cannot be put into words. If Qingyang is fortunate enough to weather this crisis, should any of you ever have need of Qingyang in the future, every member of Qingyang will answer that call without hesitation!"

"The immortal sects of the cultivation world are of one family — there is no need for such ceremony." He Ting smiled, his eyes holding three parts distance and seven parts courtesy.

As expected of someone who dealt in information — he could say such shameless things without a flicker of discomfort, as though the scrambling and strife between the various sects over the past century had never existed at all.

Still, they were not on their own turf — best not to be too brazen. Everyone present tacitly chose not to point it out.

Xu Ziyang smiled pleasantly and accepted the words naturally: "Gate Master He is right. In that case, Qingyang has an imposition to ask. In a moment, when the Mountain-Guarding Grand Formation breaks open, the baleful energy clinging to it will have nothing to latch onto and will scatter in all directions. We humbly ask that all of you step in to contain it."

Not a single person among the gathered immortal sects responded.

The evil baleful energy could consume everything — even high-ranked treasures could not escape eventual erosion. In the cultivation world today, cultivation resources were scarce and magic artifacts were already few within each sect. Who would be willing to waste one simply for the sake of another sect?

These people claimed to have come to offer support, but in truth, very few of them had any intention of actually exerting effort.

The atmosphere at the foot of the mountain grew somewhat strained.

Cen Yan drew a deep breath, just about to plead with everyone again, when a cold, resonant voice carrying tremendous spiritual energy spoke flatly, without inflection: "Leave the baleful energy to me."

The Immortal Venerate was going to act personally?!

Everyone from the immortal sects drew in a sharp breath. Even Nan Xingye couldn't suppress his astonishment — the Immortal Venerate valued Cen Yan to this extent?

Cen Yan had no idea what the others were thinking. He bent deeply in a bow, and from across the grand formation, solemnly performed a full salute toward Ning Yuan: "Many thanks, Immortal Venerate!"

With that, Cen Yan wasted no more time. He transmitted a message to Lian Ci and He Ming, and simultaneously turned his internal spiritual energy to attack the Mountain-Guarding Grand Formation.

The Mountain-Guarding Grand Formation was an elite-grade formation that Qingyang had paid an enormous price to obtain, and forcing it open from within was no small task.

Nearly two hours passed, and the spiritual energy within Cen Yan's group was visibly nearing complete exhaustion, when the formation at last shuddered with violent tremors. Everyone heard a tremendous cracking sound — like the ice on a lake surface shattering — cracking and splitting and echoing through all of Qingyang Heavenly Sect, audible even from the foot of the mountain with perfect clarity.

The Mountain-Guarding Grand Formation had been broken.

And almost in the same instant that the formation shattered, Ning Yuan's tall figure vanished from everyone's sight — appearing at the rear mountain in a flash of lightning speed.

He stood in mid-air as though standing on solid ground, like a deity descending to the mortal world. His finely articulated hand lifted slightly, and the baleful energy that had come rushing out of the rear mountain was caught by an invisible force — no matter how it crashed and thrashed, it could not break free.

It worked.

Cen Yan, standing at the foot of the mountain, saw this from far away and released a long, heavy breath. His face was bloodless, but he maintained his composure and politely invited the immortal sects' members into the sect to discuss what to do next.

Xu Ziyang and Pei Zhan led the way ahead. Once everyone had made it up the mountain, Cen Yan helped up the several injured disciples and was just about to offer them a few reassuring words when a strong figure came stumbling and running down from the mountain toward him: "Senior Brother Cen!"

Cen Yan turned around. In his field of view appeared a dark, anxious face — Yun Zhi, his breathing ragged, both palms and both knees seeping blood.

"Yun Zhi?" A flicker of puzzlement crossed Cen Yan's eyes. "How did you get injured?"

Yun Zhi seemed not to hear Cen Yan's question. He had run all the way here, and his breath came in gasps, his words broken and halting: "Young Master Chu… Senior Brother Cen, please… please save Young Master Chu."

Chu Rong?

He had not told anyone about the dissolution of the engagement, and he didn't see how Chu Rong could have come to any trouble. Cen Yan didn't take Yun Zhi's words seriously: "Yun Zhi, where Chu Rong is concerned, do not come to me."

He and Chu Rong had no connection any longer. Besides, all the immortal sects had gone to the main hall — he needed to get there quickly to discuss the matter at hand.

Once things were dealt with, he would send Chu Rong out of the sect.

"Senior Brother, please, I beg you — please save Young Master Chu! The Young Master has been imprisoned in a room by Senior Brother Xu, who has also set down a restriction so that no one can get close."

Senior Brother Xu was at the Golden Core stage, and any restriction he set would require at least Golden Core cultivation to open.

Apart from Senior Brother Xu, only five other people in Qingyang Heavenly Sect were at the Golden Core stage. Neither the Sect Master, Elder He, nor Senior Brother Pei would be in a position to save Young Master Chu. Only Senior Brother Cen — as the Young Master's betrothed — could save him.

Yun Zhi thudded to his knees, seized Cen Yan's robe hem, and pleaded desperately: "Senior Brother, only you can save Young Master Chu. Please — save him!"

Senior Brother Xu had imprisoned Chu Rong?

Yun Zhi was saying something more and more absurd. Senior Brother Xu had always treated Chu Rong with courtesy and propriety — even in the past when Chu Rong repeatedly targeted Senior Brother, not once had he lost his temper over it. How could Senior Brother possibly have done anything to Chu Rong?

Cen Yan's expression darkened slightly, just about to scold Yun Zhi for his nonsense — when he inadvertently took in Yun Zhi's disheveled state, and the memory of the first time he had seen Yun Zhi surfaced. The rebuke already on his tongue came to a halt.

"Very well." Cen Yan drew his life-bound spirit sword and handed it to Yun Zhi: "I don't know what Chu Rong is up to. This is my life-bound spirit sword — it can cut through any restriction below the Nascent Soul stage in a single strike. Take it for now."

"Many thanks, Senior Brother Cen!" Yun Zhi's face broke with relief. He accepted the spirit sword with trembling hands, kowtowed twice to Cen Yan, clutched the sword tightly, and sprinted back the way he came.

Cen Yan's brow furrowed slightly, a brief flash of confusion crossing his eyes. When had Yun Zhi and Chu Rong come to be on such terms?

But the sect's matters were more pressing right now. Cen Yan set aside his thoughts and led the several disciples toward the main hall.

Wusong Residence.

Yun Zhi came to a breathless stop before Xu Ziyang's door. The inner gate was far from the foot of the mountain, and he had run all the way there and back — his chest rose and fell violently, he was soaked in sweat, and his throat was as parched as if it were about to smoke.

Regardless, he swallowed painfully, wetting his throat, and said in a low voice toward the door: "Young Master, wait for me — I'll get you out right away."

Yun Zhi drew a sharp breath, pulled the spirit sword from its scabbard, and hacked down at the door with all his strength!

Boom — !

The blade struck some invisible barrier, producing a resounding crack.

On the other side of the door, Chu Rong lay curled on the bed, barely clinging to consciousness, his entire body soaked in perspiration that had left wet patches all over his outer robe. His ink-black hair was scattered and disheveled across the bed, several strands fallen to his neck, soaked through with the sweat at his nape, trailing against his snow-white skin.

The pain within his body had grown and grown without relent, leaping through his nerves like a storm, like ten thousand fine needles driving into bone and flesh. Chu Rong's mind, tormented for a full day and night, was on the verge of collapse.

Hearing the commotion outside, Chu Rong's sweat-sheened eyelids jolted violently. In a panic he curled his limbs inward, inching toward the far edge of the bed. His jade-pale, sweat-drenched fingers trembled without cease, fingernails digging into his palms.

Who was it?

Was it Xu Ziyang?

The room was sealed under a restriction — it seemed only Xu Ziyang could enter.

Chu Rong's whole body was burning so hot it felt as though he might ignite, his mind steamed dizzy by the relentless heat, making it harder and harder to remain conscious.

No.

He could not let the drug take control!

Chu Rong hastily bit down hard on his lip, biting into the flesh until blood welled. He used the pain to shock his scrambled nerves and drag back a fragment of reason.

Get away!

His eyes were shut tight, lashes soaked through with sweat and hanging heavy. His long frame pressed against the very farthest end of the bed, with nowhere left to retreat.

Sealed by the Sealed-Voice Incantation, unable to speak, the lips beneath his mask could only open and close soundlessly, over and over.

Get away from me!

Don't touch me!

"Young Master?!" The sound of the door swinging open, and Yun Zhi stepped into the room. Catching sight of the disheveled figure on the bed, his expression changed dramatically — he flung the sword in his hand aside and rushed toward the bed in alarm.

That voice… it was not Xu Ziyang.

Chu Rong startled faintly. His long, dense lashes slowly lifted, and with great effort he raised his eyes — filled with watery mist, the tails red as crushed flower pigment, his gaze languid and soul-stirring.

Yun Zhi's breath seized abruptly. His footsteps halted. He stood there in a daze, his heartbeat accelerating so violently it seemed about to leap from his chest, his own breathing growing more rapid.

Chu Rong's pupils were unfocused, the scene before him a blur — he couldn't see Yun Zhi's abnormality at all. He looked hazily at the person standing before the bed, and only after a long moment managed to recognize the familiar face.

It was Yun Zhi.

The tension strung through Chu Rong's nerves eased ever so slightly. He reached instinctively toward Yun Zhi, and the pale, lustrous surface of his palm was covered in densely packed crescent-moon wounds gouged by his own nails — a sight that chilled the heart.

Yun Zhi snapped back to himself and stumbled forward to the bedside: "Young Master, your hand…"

What on earth had Senior Brother Xu done to the Young Master — how could there be so many wounds on his hands?

Chu Rong's mind was a muddled mess, and he couldn't make out what Yun Zhi was saying. The will to survive drove him — he seized Yun Zhi's sleeve and kept pointing toward the door.

Yun Zhi followed his pointing and understood: "Young Master wants to go outside?"

Chu Rong could not speak. He used the last remaining sliver of his lucidity to give a faint nod.

Chu Rong's state was clearly very wrong. Yun Zhi didn't dare delay. He said quietly in Chu Rong's ear, "Forgive me," then clenched his fists, stretched open his sweat-dampened bronze arms, and lifted Chu Rong from the bed.

Chu Rong instinctively struggled, his body resisting anyone drawing near. His supple, burning-hot arms brushed against Yun Zhi's firm chest, dispersing a waft of orchid fragrance tinged with the heat of his fever.

"Young Master." Yun Zhi's strong frame went rigid as a stone. Fine beads of sweat broke out across his palms, and the arms holding Chu Rong went taut with the strain — the veins standing out vividly — yet he didn't apply so much pressure as to hurt the person in his arms.

His throat moved, his voice roughened until he could barely speak, each sentence requiring several pauses, his tongue turning clumsy in his mouth: "I only want… to take you out of here. I won't hurt you."

Chu Rong heard something of this through the haze, pressed his nails into his palms once more — leaving several more bloodied crescent marks — and went limp against Yun Zhi's chest, no longer struggling.

Cloud-like strands of hair fell across the front of his robe, and his long robes trailed down — like a night-blooming cereus in full bloom.

Yun Zhi didn't dare look further. He forcibly suppressed the inexplicable restlessness rising within him, held the person in his arms steadily, and ran out of Wusong Residence: "Young Master, do you want to go find Senior Brother Cen? I know where he is…"

A gentle tug came from his sleeve. Yun Zhi looked down — and saw Chu Rong give an almost imperceptible shake of his head, pointing in the direction opposite to the main hall — toward the rear mountain.

Over the course of nearly a day and night, though Chu Rong hadn't been entirely lucid, it had been enough for him to recall, piece by piece, certain details from the original text.

The Record of Celestial Freedom was written in the satisfying, power-fantasy style, its story centered mainly on Cen Yan's career and romantic plotlines running in parallel. The drugs mentioned within it were few — and combining that with the symptoms now manifesting in his body, Chu Rong quickly deduced which drug Xu Ziyang had used on him.

The Spring Entanglement.

An aphrodisiac belonging to the Harmonious Union Sect. Its effect was extremely potent — and if it was left to fester without being relieved, the pain in the abdomen would become unbearable.

Unlike ordinary aphrodisiacs, the Spring Entanglement could not be soothed with cold water — cold water would only strengthen its potency. Instead, the opposite must be done: soaking in hot water could suppress and ease the drug's effects.

And in the rear mountain, there was a hot spring.