Chapter 63

Before stepping out of the house today, Luo Han could never have imagined that within a single day, she’d travel billions of years and have her quality of life revert straight to antiquity.
She was speechless. Ling Qingxiao tried to console her: “Returning to simplicity isn’t so bad.”
“I know,” Luo Han took a deep breath. “I can adapt. I’ll go boil the medicine first.”
What else could she do if she didn’t adapt?
She grabbed the herbs and turned to leave, but Ling Qingxiao, seeing her running around like this, felt too guilty. He braced against the table, trying to get up. “Let me do it.”
Luo Han jumped, rushing over to support him. “Don’t move! You’re still injured—you can’t handle this right now. Just rest, I’ll take care of everything.”
But Ling Qingxiao was still stubborn. “But you’re just a child, only eighteen. You should be the one getting cared for. How could I let you…”
“I’m already nineteen, thank you,” Luo Han said firmly, pushing him back down. “You’ve saved me more than once. I want to do something for you too. Just rest. If you don’t listen, I’ll ignore you.”
Faced with her stern words, Ling Qingxiao was helpless. She wanted him to obey? But before he could say anything, Luo Han had already walked out with the herbs.
Realizing he couldn’t convince her—and knowing he truly was exhausted—Ling Qingxiao settled down to meditate. As he tried to circulate his inner energy through a small cycle, the door creaked open just a crack.
Ling Qingxiao opened his eyes to see Luo Han standing there, looking awkward. “Do you...know how to start a fire?”
Up until this point, Luo Han had thought Ling Qingxiao could do anything. Only now did she learn—he couldn’t start a fire, couldn’t cook, and was probably a danger in the kitchen.
Luo Han couldn’t help but ask, “Don’t you know how to forge weapons?”
“I do,” Ling Qingxiao answered, clearly puzzled too. “But forging uses special furnaces. I only need to control the flame, not create it. And if the hearth is used daily, why put the fire out?”
That was...an oddly philosophical question. Luo Han gave up on him and nodded. “I get it. Go back inside. I’ll take care of this. Honestly, it’ll probably go faster if I do it myself.”
But Ling Qingxiao, having encountered a rare moment where he was powerless, refused to budge. In the end, Luo Han half-dragged and half-coaxed him back into the room. Then she knelt by the stove, carefully gauged the ambient fire energy, and finally got the fire going again.
Thanks to her “cheat mode” from being Heaven’s Dao itself, she managed to coax the fire to life.
She boiled the medicine with extreme care, double-checking every step against the prescription. By the time the decoction was ready, the afternoon was half over. Luo Han gently pushed the door open and found that Ling Qingxiao had already fallen asleep.
He had used far too much energy—he’d passed out the moment he was still.
Luo Han stood at the threshold for a moment, then gently called out, “Ling Qingxiao? Wake up for a moment and take your medicine. You can go back to sleep afterward.”
As soon as she spoke, his eyes opened. Clearly, he hadn’t been sleeping very soundly at all. Luo Han helped him sit up, stirred the medicine carefully, then blew on it. “It’s still hot—be careful.”
She brought the spoon to his lips. Ling Qingxiao glanced at her, then at the spoon, before awkwardly bowing his head and taking a sip.
This was the first time anyone had ever done this for him. In the past, no matter how badly he was hurt, he always tended his wounds alone. He rarely even boiled medicine—let alone had someone feed it to him.
Perhaps it was because dragons were too resilient. His body had always been exceptionally strong. People never worried about him—because no matter how badly he was injured, he always healed on his own. Eventually, they just...stopped caring.
After swallowing the first spoonful, Ling Qingxiao realized she intended to feed him the entire bowl. He quickly spoke up: “Let me do it.”
He was already this old, and being spoon-fed by an eighteen—or, fine, nineteen—year-old? That was still hard to accept.
Luo Han didn’t insist. She handed the bowl of medicine to Ling Qingxiao. Just the smell of it made her cringe with how bitter it was, but Ling Qingxiao didn’t even flinch—he raised the bowl and drained it in one go.
Once he set the bowl down, Luo Han immediately took it from him, treating him like he was made of porcelain, as if a single jostle might shatter him. Ling Qingxiao wasn’t used to being handled this gently. He wasn’t that fragile, was he?
But it didn’t stop there. Luo Han carefully put the bowl away and asked with sincere concern, “Was the medicine bitter? Do you want a candied fruit or some osmanthus cake?”
Ling Qingxiao truly didn’t know how to respond. “…No, thank you.”
After a pause, he couldn’t help but add, “I’m fine. It’s just an injury—it’s not that serious.”
“Sure, not serious at all,” Luo Han humored him, clearly indulging the patient’s pride. She didn’t argue with him. Instead, she stood and helped him lie back down. “The chief said the medicine might make you sleepy. Go ahead and rest. I’ll be right here with you.”
I’ll be right here with you...The words sounded like something you’d say to soothe a child, yet Ling Qingxiao couldn’t help but be drawn in.
When he was younger, he often saw Ling Zhongyu’s courtyard filled with people through the night. Everyone was always stationed there, watching over Ling Zhongyu. At those times, the entire manor seemed to come to a standstill—as if his illness was the only thing that mattered.
Ling Xianhong and Su Yifang would remain at his side without ever leaving. Bai Lingluan stayed overnight as well. Sometimes even messengers from Mount Lin would come to ask about the "young master’s" condition.
Back then, Ling Qingxiao hadn’t understood. With his naturally cool temperament, he thought being surrounded like that seemed suffocating, everything so tense and dramatic.
Now he understood—it wasn’t the same.
Because they knew someone would always be there when they opened their eyes. That was why Ling Zhongyu and Su Yinyue grew up so recklessly, so carelessly. Ling Qingxiao never had that.
They had love—so they were fearless. So they dared to waste it.
As the medicine took effect, Ling Qingxiao’s brows, which had been faintly furrowed in his sleep, finally relaxed. He fell into a deep slumber.
Luo Han looked at his peaceful profile and was struck by the thought: There would never be another person who would throw themselves in front of her without hesitation to shield her from a fatal blow.
She didn’t know if, in the modern world, her father would have done that for her. But here, in this world, aside from Ling Qingxiao, there was no one else.
Gong Jin’s attack had been lightning-fast. Even Luo Han hadn’t been able to react in time. Had Ling Qingxiao hesitated for even a second, he wouldn’t have made it. But he hadn’t hesitated. He stepped in front of her without a second thought.
Such loyalty left Luo Han at a loss. What had she done to deserve it? What kind of virtue or blessing had she accumulated to earn not one, but two, no—three—selfless rescues?
The first time was in the Abyss of Absolute Spirits, when she was chased by wind blades. Even though Ling Qingxiao still doubted her, he shielded her and collapsed from triggering his own internal injuries.
The second was in the Western Sea. When the energy backlash from the Demon Binding Ropes came surging, he stepped forward again and took the brunt of it for her.
The third was this time.
He had such an easily deceived heart—probably because he’d had so little growing up. The moment someone showed him a shred of kindness, he gave back everything he had.
Standing in the warmth of that unreserved trust, Luo Han felt completely unworthy.
The best she could do was treat him well. Her little gestures—making medicine, tending to him—felt like drops in the ocean compared to what he had done for her.
Seeing that he’d finally fallen into a deep sleep, Luo Han tiptoed out and went to prepare the external medicine.
Before she left, the chief had also given her a poultice recipe to pair with the internal medicine. Luo Han found the herbs, and following the instructions, began grinding them into paste.
It sounded simple, but making poultices actually required meticulous care. The order, amount, and timing of each herb mattered. It wasn’t difficult, but it was time-consuming and labor-intensive. Luo Han didn’t cut corners with spiritual energy. She did it all by hand, slowly grinding the ingredients herself.
To the immortal and demon races, the Great War was a time of endless suffering. But to spiritual plants and beasts, it was paradise.
The air brimmed with spiritual power, the population was still sparse, and the environment untouched. The immortal realm was flourishing with life, and the energy in the air and herbs here far surpassed what Luo Han had ever experienced.
In other words, if they weren’t in a hurry to return, this was an ideal place to cultivate.
Luo Han was grateful for Ling Qingxiao’s protection—but she didn’t want this to happen again.
She wanted to become strong, to protect those she cared about—not just wait to be protected.
Weakness was original sin. Because she was weak, she had to hide her face in public, keep her identity secret, and couldn’t even say who her parents were when making friends. Even when she discovered spatial techniques, she couldn’t display them openly—because possessing what others didn’t would only invite envy.
The fault wasn’t hers. But because she was weak, she had to bow to the rules of the strong.
Luo Han looked up toward the vast, boundless sky. This was the Great War—abundant with spiritual energy, bursting with vibrant life. It was the most radiant era of the gods.
Divine cultivation flourished. Countless arts that had long been lost in later generations were still alive and thriving here.
Luo Han could guess why she had been brought to this time.
Her emotions had spiked violently under threat, resonating with the heavens and summoning thunder. The resulting storm brought with it a violent magnetic field—one strong enough to tear open space.
Last time, the Bodhi Tree and the others used a massive surge of spiritual energy to open a temporal rift. Heavenly thunder was a force of nature—its energy matched that of the Bodhi Tree and the Black Tortoise combined.
She had likely triggered the temporal rift herself, completely unintentionally.
The difference was, when the Bodhi Tree sent her back last time, she had known where she was going. She had a destination. But this time, it was her subconscious making the call.
And her subconscious had cried out for power.
She had been holding the Demon-Sealing Stone when it happened—and so, naturally, she had been sent back to the era it belonged to:
The era of the Great War War.
Luo Han slowly tightened her grip on the pestle.
Back in the modern world, she had been pushed along by school, teachers, and her parents. Truthfully, she never really knew what she wanted—she just followed society’s expectations, knowing she was supposed to get into a good college. Once there, she continued to be driven by exams. After arriving in this world, she met Ling Qingxiao, and once again, it was Ling Qingxiao who pushed her to study.
She looked like she was working hard, but in reality, it was always passive. She had been protected too well—by the system, by society, and even by Ling Qingxiao. So much so that she never realized that she should be working hard for herself, that she should be the one pushing herself forward.
Reading, studying, and cultivating would never be easy or enjoyable. But the difference between an adult and a child lay in the ability to delay gratification and to restrain one's desires. She was grown now. Doing her homework shouldn't require someone to nag her anymore.
She had to take initiative. She had to become focused, disciplined, and self-controlled—just like Ling Qingxiao.
After carefully grinding the herbs into a thick, dark green paste, Luo Han poured the mixture into a porcelain jar, then quietly returned to the house. Ling Qingxiao was still fast asleep inside. She sat softly by the bed, glanced at the medicine in her hands, then at the weakened Ling Qingxiao, and suddenly realized something.
Grinding the herbs wasn't the issue. The real problem was...now that the paste was ready, how was she supposed to apply it?
Luo Han hesitated for a long while before finally gritting her teeth and muttering, “Those who accomplish great things don’t fuss over trifles. Treating his wounds comes first. There’s no need to worry about something as superficial as gender propriety.”
With that grand declaration, she reached out—but no matter how noble her justification sounded, when her fingers actually brushed against Ling Qingxiao’s belt, they still curled up with hesitation.
He was still asleep, and with his eyes closed, his face was so beautiful it seemed unreal—skin pale, lashes long, every feature from his brow to his jaw, from his nose to his neck, sculpted to perfection. And now, having taken the sleep-inducing medicine, he was utterly defenseless against the world.
Luo Han didn’t know why she suddenly felt like a criminal. Heaven could testify—she really was just trying to apply medicine. It was just that Ling Qingxiao lying there, so quiet and perfect, made her attempt to undo his clothing feel...disturbingly lewd.
She inhaled deeply, then resolutely shut her eyes and tugged on his belt.
Head tilted upward, she gave it several sharp yanks—only to find it wouldn’t budge. Startled, she opened her eyes, utterly bewildered.
“What the heck? Why won’t it come off?”
Clothing in the Immortal Realm was nothing like the mortal world’s. Here, garments weren’t just clothes—belts weren’t just belts. In this realm, any sort of “rip-it-off” fantasy was basically doomed from the start.
Immortal garments were spiritual tools. Unless you brought a sword, don’t even think about tearing them. And if the wearer didn’t will it, their robes would hold firm, staunchly fulfilling their duty as protective artifacts.
Seeing that one hand wasn’t enough, Luo Han set the jar aside and leaned in, carefully inspecting his belt.
“Is it because men’s belts are different from women’s?”
Her movements grew increasingly aggressive. She climbed onto the bed and used both hands—but the belt remained stubbornly firm. Luo Han gave up and switched tactics, aiming for the collar instead.
Ling Qingxiao’s injury was on his chest. If she couldn’t undo the belt, then simply loosening the collar a bit and exposing the chest area would work too.
She placed her fingers on his robe and was just beginning to pull it open when a cool hand suddenly grabbed her wrist.
Startled, Luo Han looked up to find Ling Qingxiao awake, his eyes still misty from sleep, staring at her in disbelief. “What...are you doing?”
Luo Han innocently released his robe and pointed at the jar beside her. “Applying medicine.”
Ling Qingxiao’s eyes were deep and dark, still glistening faintly from the lingering drowsiness, glowing softly in the dim light. He pushed himself up from the pillow, only to be hit with a wave of dizziness.
The sleep-inducing herbs had clearly done their job. Ling Qingxiao was lightheaded and weak, vision swirling. After steadying himself for a moment, he rasped, “Give me the medicine. I’ll do it.”
He tried to sit upright but couldn’t muster the strength. Several times, he nearly collapsed back onto the bed. Luo Han quickly caught him and said helplessly, “Look at you. How do you expect to do it yourself? Since you’re awake, just undo your robe. I’ll help apply the medicine.”
Ling Qingxiao’s head spun even worse at her words. What...was she even saying?
He firmly refused. “You already worked hard preparing it. Just leave it here. I’ll do it myself later.”
“Didn’t you study Immortal Botany better than me? You should know fresh herbal pastes lose potency over time. We don’t have the luxury to wait right now—your injury takes precedence. We both know our intentions are pure, so why fuss?”
But Ling Qingxiao still refused. Luo Han, growing annoyed with his stubbornness, simply reached out to hold him down. “Why are you so difficult? Stop moving, or you’ll aggravate your wound—hey, quit it, hold still…”
Half-kneeling beside the bed, Luo Han pressed one hand against his shoulder, the other gripping the front of his robe. With the medicine’s sedative effects still active, Ling Qingxiao was weak and dizzy, unable to struggle free. Luo Han, worried about hurting him, didn’t dare use force. She hovered over him, trying to coax him calmly: “Can you just cooperate for a second?”
Just as she finished speaking, a noise came from outside—something falling to the ground.
Both of them looked toward the sound—and saw the tribe chief standing at the door, halfway through knocking, unable to go forward or retreat.
When she saw them turn their heads, she gave an awkward smile and said, “I noticed you hadn’t come out all afternoon. Thought maybe you didn’t know how to cook, so I brought something over. I’ve left it on the stove. You two...carry on.”
Luo Han’s face turned bright red. She sprang off the bed faster than ever before. Ling Qingxiao clutched at his collar, struggling to sit up.
They had been too caught up arguing to notice the courtyard gate. Luo Han had forgotten to close the door when she entered, and now...well, here they were.
Even though nothing had actually happened, from the look on the chief’s face, she’d clearly misunderstood.
Luo Han watched the chief turn to leave and immediately ran after her. “Wait, Chief! Please—I need to explain!”
Luo Han chased the tribe leader all the way into the courtyard. Staring at that upright, composed face, the words she had prepared got stuck in her throat. “I...I was just applying medicine for him.”
The chief smiled at her, calm and composed. “I know.”
She was too calm. Luo Han had prepared a whole basket of explanations, but now, with such a nonchalant reaction, she had nowhere to direct them. After holding it in for a moment, she added, “He’s my older brother—by blood. We’re close, so sometimes we mess around.”
Luo Han thought that clearing things up with a “we’re siblings” would dispel any misunderstanding. But the chief remained equally serene. She nodded and smiled. “I know.”
Luo Han’s brain started to fuzz out. The chief’s response didn’t seem wrong...but it also didn’t seem quite right. Confused, Luo Han followed the chief to the stove. The chief placed the items down, taught her how to start the fire, and then turned to leave.
On her way out, she even considerately closed the courtyard gate behind her.
Luo Han stood frozen in the yard for a long while. She didn’t know why, but something just felt...off.
She dawdled her way back to the cabin. Inside, Ling Qingxiao had already run through the Clear Mind Mantra three times, successfully banishing the drowsiness. He heard Luo Han come in, and his brows twitched slightly. He forced himself not to look at her and instead stared straight at the medicine bowl. “The chief...has she left?”
“Mhm.”
After a long pause, Ling Qingxiao asked, “What did she come for?”
“She brought food and herbs. They’re outside.”
“The chief is thoughtful and kind. A great leader.”
“…Yeah.”
That was the end of that. The two of them fell into a long silence. Ling Qingxiao wasn’t great at small talk. He knew avoiding the subject wouldn’t help, so after a while, he finally said, “I’m feeling better now.”
“Huh?”
“I’ll apply the medicine myself. Thank you...for preparing it.”
Luo Han finally realized—he was politely suggesting she step out for a bit. She couldn’t help rolling her eyes. Where did Ling Qingxiao even learn to talk in such a roundabout way? Very graciously, she took two steps back and said, “Ah right, I just remembered—there were a couple of herbs I didn’t put away. I’ll go take care of that.”
She stepped outside and closed the door behind her with surgical precision. Naturally, the whole herb thing was just an excuse. She didn’t really have anything to do out here, but she couldn’t just hover near the door either, so she pulled out her storage pouch and started sorting through its contents.
She needed to take stock—what could be used, and what absolutely couldn’t be seen.
In the billions of years that had passed, furniture styles had evolved drastically. During the Tianqi Era, everything from tables and beds to lamps was crafted with refined artistry. But in this primitive era, such craftsmanship didn’t exist yet. Any furniture or vessels she brought from Tianqi would be out of place—and clothes too. Modern robes were grand, flowing, and extravagantly styled, especially for the immortals. But in a war-torn era like this, wearing wide sleeves and billowing hems would be begging for trouble.
Books and jade slips bearing recorded dates were out of the question. Even her pills wouldn’t pass. After the Great War, the six realms suffered multiple disasters, each further depleting the world’s spiritual energy. As the number of cultivators skyrocketed, the ambient energy declined, many species of spiritual plants and beasts went extinct, and most ancient prescriptions became lost to time.
Because of this scarcity, alchemy only flourished in later eras. With fewer materials available, people had to condense maximum effect into the smallest dose. Traditional medicinal brews and elixirs gave way to the more efficient method of forming pills through fire. But in the era, alchemy was a niche field at best. Most of the pills now commonplace hadn’t even been invented yet.
Probably only the most basic Fasting Pills were usable—those only required two ingredients and were nearly universal across eras.
In other words, for the foreseeable future, Luo Han could only rely on Fasting Pills. If she were injured, she couldn’t even use a healing pill—how could she explain where it came from?
Luo Han sighed. Thankfully, she rarely used pills. She didn’t need to store spiritual energy or build cultivation points, so overusing pills would only lead to residual toxins in her system. Her dependency was next to zero. But for someone else, this situation would be a nightmare.
Sorting through her storage pouch took a while, and she completely lost track of time. It wasn’t until the lighting in the courtyard dimmed that she realized how much time had passed. She grabbed her pouch and went back inside, lost in thought—so much so that she didn’t even notice the door was already open.
There was no lamp lit in the room. It was dim and shadowy. Ling Qingxiao sat upright, clearly having been cultivating for quite some time.
Luo Han pulled out a lampstand and lit it. The flame flickered across her face, illuminating half the room in warm light and leaving the other half in shadow. As the light shifted, she was suddenly struck by a realization.
Where was she going to sleep tonight?