The stress of his internal crisis, compounded by his stealth flight across the sect, had left him feeling strangely depleted.

His throat was suddenly feeling incredibly dry.

The chaotic, burning heat of his suppressed desires was making him physically thirsty.

He looked at the kitchen counter.

Sitting on the edge of the stone slab, completely unattended, was a dark ceramic pot.

The lid was slightly ajar.

Elder Qin approached it.

He could smell a rich, deep, incredibly savory aroma radiating from the pot.

It smelled like high-grade bone broth, steeped with ginseng.

In the orthodox cultivation world, it was common for chefs to leave restorative broths simmering for general consumption.

’A simple broth to soothe the throat,’ Elder Qin rationalized, his judgment entirely clouded by his exhaustion and his desperate thirst. ’I will take a sip to clear my meridians first, and then I will leave here before he returns.’

He picked up a clean wooden ladle resting nearby, dipped it into the dark ceramic pot, and brought it to his lips.

He drank a generous mouthful of the broth.

It was savory and rich, with an incredibly potent, fiery kick.

Elder Qin set the ladle down, expecting the warm liquid to soothe his dry throat.

For three seconds, nothing happened.

And then, the Dragon-Bone Vitality Broth, a hyper-concentrated elixir designed to force massive, ancient spirit beasts into a violent, primal mating frenzy, hit the bloodstream of the three-hundred-year-old immortal.

The reaction was instantaneous, catastrophic, and completely overwhelming.

Elder Qin gasped, his hands flying to his chest. The porcelain mask of the Heartless Dao didn’t just crack; it violently exploded into a million pieces of burning ash.

A wave of raw, liquid fire detonated in his lower abdomen.

It wasn’t the heat of a spicy pepper.

It was the heat of a volcano.

The sheer, terrifying concentration of Abyssal Drake marrow and Blood-Lotus stamen surged through his immortal meridians, completely bypassing his spiritual defenses.

His vision blurred, tinting red at the edges.

His breathing became instantly ragged, heavy, and desperate.

His perfectly styled silver hair seemed to weigh a thousand pounds.

The aphrodisiac was so potent, so unbelievably strong, that it completely hijacked his nervous system.

"What... what is this poison?!" Elder Qin choked out, his voice a hoarse, guttural rasp.

He gripped the edge of the stone counter, his knuckles turning white as his legs threatened to buckle under the sudden, overwhelming wave of physical arousal.

He needed to purge it.

He needed to sit down and force the toxins out with his Flawless Ice Qi.

He turned, intending to stumble back out into the cool night air.

But as he turned, a figure stepped out from the darkened doorway of the storage cellar, holding a fresh jar of tea leaves.

It was Lin Ji’an.

She had finally pulled the blindfold off her eyes, feeling relatively safe in the isolated pantry.

She stopped dead in her tracks, dropping the jar of tea leaves.

It shattered on the stone floor.

"Elder Qin?!" Ji’an gasped, her eyes widening in absolute shock.

She stared at the Sovereign of the Heartless Dao Peak.

He was standing in her kitchen, cloaked in shadows.

But he didn’t look like a stoic immortal.

His face was flushed a brilliant, feverish crimson.

He was panting heavily, his chest heaving against the pristine silver silk of his robes.

Sweat beaded across his forehead.

His eyes that were usually cold, untouchable shards of ice, were wide, dilated, and burning with a dark, feral, and terrifyingly desperate hunger.

Ji’an’s brain immediately registered the dark ceramic pot sitting next to him on the counter.

The lid was off.

The ladle was wet.

The realization hit her with the force of a falling anvil.

’He drank the beast broth,’ Ji’an’s mind flatlined. ’The ancient, emotionally repressed immortal just drank a concentrated aphrodisiac meant for an Abyssal Drake! Ahh! What am I going to do with these emotionally constipated and arrogant male leads?!’

"Elder, stay right there," Ji’an panicked, taking a slow step backward, raising her hands defensively. "Do not move. You just drank a veterinary supplement. It is highly volatile. I need to brew you a neutralizing agent right away."

Elder Qin didn’t hear a word about neutralizing agents.

The moment his eyes locked onto Ji’an, the aphrodisiac found its designated target.

His suppressed, tortured obsession collided violently with the chemically induced feral lust.

The logical part of his brain, the part that knew she was a junior, the part that thought she was a boy, was entirely silenced by the screaming demands of his burning blood.

He didn’t want to purge the toxin.

He wanted the heat.

He wanted her.

Elder Qin moved with a speed that defied comprehension.

He crossed the kitchen in a single, blurred stride.

Before Ji’an could even gasp, he was there.

His large, trembling hands clamped down onto her shoulders, spinning her around and slamming her back against the solid stone wall of the pantry.

The impact wasn’t painful, but it was absolute.

Ji’an was completely pinned.

Elder Qin leaned his towering frame over her, caging her against the wall.

The physical proximity was too close.

She could feel the scorching, feverish heat radiating off his body, completely overpowering the cool mountain air.

"Elder Qin! You...!" Ji’an squeaked, her voice cracking, her heart hammering a frantic, terrified rhythm against her ribs.

She placed her hands flat against his chest, intending to shove him away.

But the moment her hands touched his chest, the memory of the bathhouse flared between them like a struck match.

Elder Qin let out a low, ragged, devastated groan.

He didn’t pull away.

Instead, he leaned closer.

His face hovered mere inches from hers.

His silver hair fell forward, creating a secluded, intimate curtain around them, blocking out the rest of the world.

The tension in the small, shadowed kitchen instantly skyrocketed past dangerous and into the realm of absolute, vulnerable agony.

These actions weren’t like the arrogant, sociopathic maneuvering of Shiru.