From the pulse, his cold toxin is not an ordinary one. An ordinary cold toxin results from cold entering the body, affecting blood circulation and causing blood to stagnate. In mild cases, it usually has little impact, just making one prone to colds, night sweats, and frostbite in winter. Severe cases can lead to sudden fainting, or damage to meridians and bones, causing joint pain or rheumatism. But Nangong Yehen’s cold toxin is far more severe than the latter. The first two can be treated with herbal medicine, but his requires expelling the toxin to heal. His cold toxin resembles food poisoning, needing emergency treatment to cleanse the poison inside. Yet it’s not true poisoning; even sending him to a major hospital for Western medicine treatment can’t resolve it. This toxin combines the real and the virtual; Western medicine only sees the real and can’t judge the virtual degree. Someone with this cold toxin constitution either inherits it from the mother’s womb or develops it from long-term consumption of cold-natured foods since childhood. If it were truly inherited in the womb, Nangong Yehen couldn’t have grown so robust and tall. It should be from long-term consumption of some food, allowing the cold toxin to grow from within. But Nangong Yehen, a young master born and raised with a silver spoon, eats luxuriously and meticulously; he wouldn’t eat one food long-term. Having lived here so long, except for fresh vegetables, almost no dish repeats. He’s so picky and particular about food; long-term consumption doesn’t exist. Maybe the diagnosis is wrong. Chu Lingzhi thought, after all, she hadn’t taken pulses and treated illnesses in over a decade. Besides, how could a severe illness like cold toxin be determined just by her taking his pulse? As he said, he’s weak now, so of course his pulse is weak. She took out silver needles and applied them to his five fingers to improve his blood circulation. Then she pressed firmly on his cervical vertebrae with her thumb to prevent dizziness. Under her skilled treatment, Nangong Yehen felt somewhat better, his spirits lifting. “Can you make a sound?” Chu Lingzhi, focused on slowly advancing the needles, asked, “What sound?” “The sound of doing that thing.” At that, Chu Lingzhi’s hand jerked, driving the needle three-tenths of an inch deeper. “Ah…” Nangong Yehen felt a sharp pain and deliberately cried out, his voice utterly seductive. “I really want to stab you to death.” Chu Lingzhi’s face flushed as she glared at him. Nangong Yehen smirked, “Are you sure you want to stab me to death, not screw me to death?” “Screw your head!” Chu Lingzhi cursed. Weak as he was, he still thought of such wicked things; it served him right to suffer. “Gong Liye’s men are outside; we have to play the part. Doing that can’t be so quiet without any noise.” Nangong Yehen lowered his voice. “Then what do you want me to do?” “Moan seductively.” “I can’t.” “At a time like this, don’t act coy.” “I’m not being coy; I’m being reserved.” Chu Lingzhi retorted. “Whether you moan or not has nothing to do with your reserve. Just do it!” Nangong Yehen glanced toward the door, “He’s outside.” Chu Lingzhi knew who he meant—who else but Gong Liye? Damn it! Chu Lingzhi wanted to curse. She was urgently treating him, yet had to keep making those seductive sounds; it was worse than death. Nangong Yehen raised an eyebrow, displeased as he looked at her, “Chu Lingzhi!” “Fine, I’ll do it! What’s with the yelling? Ah… ah… Master Nangong, faster… feels so good… faster…” Nangong Yehen: “…”