I Transmigrated as Cannon Fodder, Only to be Desired by the Dragon King - Chapter 46

Chapter 46: Feeding the Medicine — Feng Xiuyan immediately pulled back, his ear tips so red they looked ready to bleed…

Outside the cave, the night remained heavy, and the pool water flowed with a bone-chilling cold.

Chu Heng carried a freshly hunted wild deer on his shoulder, his steps heavy as he walked back toward the deep cavern. The mountain wind bit into the blade wound on his back, and the exertion of the trek sent cold sweat trickling down his forehead. The back of his moon-white robe was soaked through with blood, clinging to his skin with a searing, rhythmic pain.

He knit his brows, enduring the agony in silence, yet his mind was inexplicably occupied by the feverish mortal inside the cave. While hunting the deer, he had specifically chosen the most tender loin meat and had even detoured to pick some sweet and sour wild berries. The mortal was delirious; he likely wouldn’t have an appetite upon waking, and the berries might help.

He had even instinctively slowed his pace on the way back, fearing that walking too fast would jostle the venison and make the meat less tender when roasted.

“I must be insane. Just a delicate mortal—is he worth this much trouble?” Chu Heng grumbled to himself, trying to suppress the unbidden concern, yet his fingers tightened protectively around the deer on his shoulder.

When he was still several yards from the cave, his nose twitched, and his expression suddenly darkened. In the air, besides the cave’s dampness and the scent of the fire, drifted a faint yet immensely oppressive aura. It was crisp, domineering, and carried the unique scent of a pure-blooded dragon—the scent he had loathed and envied since childhood.

Feng Xiuyan!

Chu Heng’s footsteps froze. His pupils contracted, and a tidal wave of shock crashed through his heart. He had hidden this cavern so well—the entrance obscured by reefs and currents. Ordinary people could never find it. How did Feng Xiuyan get here?!

Ignoring the agony in his back, he surged forward toward the cave. He forgot to restrain his strength, and the sudden movement tore at his wound, forcing a grunt of pain from his lips, yet he did not stop.

The moment he burst into the cave, the scene before him made his blood turn to ice.

The bonfire in the center was no longer roaring; it was merely a pile of dull red embers, sparks dancing weakly to illuminate a single corner. The pile of dry grass was empty. Shen Youqing is gone!

In the corner, the remains of the crushed fever-reducing herbs sat beside an empty water skin. But the mortal who had been flushed with fever, who had whimpered unconsciously and gripped his finger pleading with him not to go, had vanished without a trace.

The cave was terrifyingly quiet. Only the crackle of the dying fire and the distant echo of the pool remained. Feng Xiuyan’s dragon aura still lingered, dominantly overwriting Shen Youqing’s lingering warm scent, as if staking a claim.

“Feng Xiuyan!” Chu Heng hissed, his voice thick with suppressed rage and crimson malice. He violently threw the deer carcass to the ground with a heavy thud. The blood stained the dry floor, seeping into the cracks of the stone.

He clenched his fists so hard his knuckles turned white, his nails digging into his palms. The sharp sting was nothing compared to the fury and indignation in his chest. He had done so much—not so that Feng Xiuyan could just waltz in and take the person without effort!

“Damn it!” Chu Heng cursed, his chest heaving. The bioluminescent moss cast a cold, eerie light on his shadowed profile. He took a deep breath, forcing down the rage and the strange sense of loss, and turned to leave the cave.

Feng Xiuyan… sooner or later, we will settle this account!

…

The Hidden Wooden House

Feng Xiuyan followed the faint spiritual trail left by the Sea-Calling Conch and the unique, warm scent of soapberry clinging to Shen Youqing. It took some effort, but he had tracked them to that hidden cavern. The moment he saw the thin figure curled on the grass, his heart had constricted painfully.

Shen Youqing’s face had been as red as a ripe cherry, his brow furrowed in pain. Feng Xiuyan had immediately scooped him up, finding him as light as a feather. He noticed the herbal residue and the dried robe; someone had cared for him, and the lingering scent was that of a jiao—a scent that felt strangely, disturbingly familiar.

But there was no time to think. He had flown through the woods to this unassuming wooden house on a shaded mountainside. It was a residence he had built years ago during his travels in the mortal world—warm, clean, and hidden.

Feng Xiuyan placed Shen Youqing on a soft, velvet-covered couch. He pressed his fingers to the boy’s forehead, channeling pale green spiritual energy to soothe his soul and reduce the heat. As the boy’s breathing stabilized, Feng Xiuyan prepared a bowl of medicinal tea.

However, a problem arose.

When he held the spoon to Shen Youqing’s lips, the boy instinctively turned his head away, mumbling, “Pah… bitter…”

Feng Xiuyan tried again patiently, but Shen Youqing simply spat the medicine back out, staining his collar. After three attempts, the boy’s face grew paler from the struggle, and tears began to bead in the corners of his eyes like a wronged kitten.

The Dragon King, who had ruled the four seas for centuries without ever losing his cool, was finally at a loss. His gaze fell on Shen Youqing’s flushed, medicine-stained lips. His ears began to burn, and his heart raced as an idea took hold.

He looked away, his face heating up. After a moment, he whispered to himself: “Anyway… anyway, I am going to marry Qingqing in the future.” He reached for an excuse, his fingers trembling. “This isn’t taking advantage. It’s to help him get better quickly.”

After a fierce internal battle, his love for Shen Youqing won out over his restraint. He leaned down and whispered into the boy’s ear: “Qingqing, be good. Drink the medicine and it won’t hurt anymore.”

The warm breath made the boy relax slightly. Feng Xiuyan took a sip of the bitter tea, held it in his mouth, took a deep breath, and leaned in.

His nose brushed against Shen Youqing’s hot breath. His heart skipped a beat as his lips gently touched the boy’s. When Shen Youqing tried to pull away, Feng Xiuyan used one hand to gently cup his cheek and the other to support his neck, preventing him from retreating.

Slowly, he passed the medicine over. Shen Youqing tried to push it back out with his tongue, mumbling about the bitterness, but Feng Xiuyan wouldn’t let him. He rubbed the boy’s chin soothingly, waiting for him to adapt.

Perhaps the familiar scent brought comfort; Shen Youqing’s struggles ceased, and he finally swallowed the medicine.

Feng Xiuyan immediately pulled back, his ear tips so red they looked ready to bleed. His breathing was ragged as he hurriedly used a handkerchief to wipe the remaining traces of medicine from their lips, his movements as gentle as if he were handling a priceless, fragile treasure.

He fed the rest of the bowl using the same method—a soft word of comfort, followed by the “transfer.”

Once the last drop was finished, Shen Youqing’s consciousness sank into a deep, peaceful sleep. He instinctively nuzzled closer to Feng Xiuyan’s hand, seeking warmth.

Feng Xiuyan sat by the couch, looking at the peaceful sleeping face. The warmth of the kiss still lingered on his lips, and his heart refused to slow down.

“Really…” He smiled helplessly, a sweetness in his expression he didn’t even realize was there. He brushed stray hair from the boy’s forehead, his eyes full of melting tenderness and a tiny hint of disappointment: “When you wake up, I suppose you won’t remember this at all…”