In a silent, cramped room filled with the strong fragrance of herbs, Fang Mo placed a few Devil's Helm leaves into the mortar and crushed them with the pestle. After a few firm strokes, he ground them into powder to the best of his ability, then added about fifty milliliters of water and mixed it into a homogeneous solution. In a single gulp, he forced the bitter medicine down his throat.
He didn't wait for the drug to take effect. Only a breath later, he was already throwing Widow's Kiss and Starbell into the mortar. Fang Mo's plan was simple but dangerous.
He didn't know which poison was affecting his body, and he lacked the time or tools to find out. Rather than entrust his life to another medic, he chose to take control of his fate; he would fight poison with poison.
Since time immemorial, in both Western and Eastern cultures, humans have used poison to heal diseases. Aconite, despite its toxicity, was one of the most prescribed herbs in the medieval era. Mercury was once used to eliminate parasites and prevent infections.
His goal was to numb the pain and concoct a poison strong enough to repel the one trying to kill him. If he was right, he would survive. If not, he'd die again.
But since he had already died once, Fang Mo didn't mind gambling with his life for a chance at survival.
With everything in place, Fang Mo looked at the dark-colored substance before him with determination. His face was already as pale as a corpse; his hands wouldn't stop trembling.
He no longer had time to think. Fang Mo quickly drank everything in the mortar. He focused his gaze on the wooden door he had used to enter the room and tried to focus on its handle. The only thing he could do now was make sure he stayed awake. If he closed his eyes, he would never open them again.
Seconds passed like hours. Only three minutes after drinking his hastily prepared drug, he could already feel his consciousness beginning to blur. His body involuntarily swayed to the left, hitting a shelf filled with herbs and knocking several containers to the ground, where they smashed into pieces. The sudden impact jolted him awake, but he knew it was far from enough.
Fang Mo looked at the pestle lying next to him and grabbed it. In his current state, pain was the best medicine. With a firm grip, he brought the pestle toward his left little finger.
Afraid his weakened body wouldn't hit hard enough, Fang Mo didn't hold back; he struck with every ounce of strength his weakened muscles could muster. The searing pain surged through his body like a shot of adrenaline.
After smashing his little finger, Fang Mo raised the pestle above his head. He knew the pain was effective, but it wouldn't last. To maintain its effect, he would need to take more of the medicine. And as his body continued to deteriorate, the doses would have to increase.
The moment he felt his consciousness slipping again, he slammed the pestle down. It crushed the bones in his little finger with a sickening crunch. His finger was mangled beyond recognition. The skin had split open, revealing bone fragments protruding through torn flesh. It was swollen and purple, and darkening by the second.
But it was just a finger. If all the fingers on his hand were the price to live, then Fang Mo would pay without hesitation.
But because he felt it still wasn't enough, Fang Mo raised the pestle again. This time, he brought it down on his ring finger. Fang Mo flinched at the pain, but maintained a cold and determined expression.
Today, he would live, no matter what.
***
After twenty minutes, Fang Mo felt the color return to his face, and a beautiful smile blossomed across it. I survived.
He stood up, took some rosemary and oregano he found in the room, and poured them into his left hand. The first was for its anti-inflammatory and analgesic properties, the second to prevent infection. His left hand was completely smashed, barely recognizable as a hand. Even after it healed, he knew he would never be able to use it again.
Though he had overcome the immediate threat to his life, he knew it was far from over. Someone, most likely his uncle, had poisoned him. Whoever it was, they wouldn't rest until he was dead.
I need to leave the city. Since there's going to be a spiritual root test in Qinghe City, I should head there.
Not only would that allow him to escape Southern Zhou Province, but it would also give him a chance to pursue the path of cultivation. With his destination set, Fang Mo left the room.
The old clerk was stupefied when he saw Fang Mo's mangled hand; the words he wanted to say caught in his throat like a fishbone. If the madman could do that to himself, what couldn't he do to others?
Fang Mo walked up to the counter, and the clerk involuntarily took a step back in fear. "Sorry for the trouble," Fang Mo said as he placed another gold coin on the counter before leaving the herb store.
The moment the door closed behind Fang Mo, the old clerk's legs gave out, and he collapsed to the floor.
***
Fang Mo bought a new set of clothes, dark robes with a hood, capable of somewhat concealing his appearance, along with some bandages to wrap his left hand. With everything prepared, he headed to the outskirts of Baoxiang City. There, a few carriages came and went, transporting passengers and goods. His plan was to find one heading to Qinghe City.
"Going to Mingzhao City, one silver coin per passenger!"
"Wuyin City, fifty copper coins per passenger!"
Many coachmen shouted, advertising their destinations. Thanks to the commotion, Fang Mo easily spotted a few carriages headed to Qinghe City, but the price made him pause. All three were charging one gold coin per passenger, significantly more than the others.
Fang Mo figured it was because of the spiritual root testing taking place there. With the high influx of people making the trip, the coachmen had raised their prices, though one might wonder why they assumed so many people could spare a hundred gold coins for a spiritual root test.
It seems things will be lively there.
He selected one of the carriages and left Baoxiang City behind. With his face hidden beneath the hood, Fang Mo watched the city grow smaller in the distance.
Fang Da, I'll remember this favor.
***
According to the coachman, the trip to Qinghe City would take fifteen days. During that time, food and water would be provided, but at a cost, of course. Fang Mo was certain the prices would be inflated, but he didn't care much. What he did care about, however, was the chatterbox sitting next to him.
"I heard Her Highness is being sent to Qinghe City. It's probably a show of force from the State Lord to pressure Cheng Hou State into surrendering. I wonder what kind of price the State Lord had to pay to get the emperor's daughter, who apparently has a mutated supreme spiritual root, involved. They say when she tested her spiritual root a few weeks ago, multiple sects fought over her to make her a core disciple. But the emperor decided to wait for the Spring Immortal Conference, where she'll showcase the might of the royal family."
The man, who spoke without pause, was a short, fat fellow named Lei Mingli. More than once during the trip, Fang Mo felt like slapping him, but his current situation didn't allow for drawing unnecessary attention. So he simply endured the chatter.
Still, he had to admit the fatso did share some useful information, like the grades of spiritual roots, which were divided into: mortal spiritual roots, for those who could never cultivate and were destined to remain ordinary for life, and then low, mid, high, and supreme immortal spiritual roots. The higher the root, the smoother one's path toward immortality.
Fang Mo didn't wish for much. As long as he had an immortal spiritual root and could cultivate, that would be enough.
For a brief moment, Lei Mingli finally stopped talking, allowing Fang Mo a rare moment of peace. Unfortunately, good things never last long.
"Ah!" the fat man exclaimed, as if suddenly remembering something important. "Her Highness is also said to be the most beautiful girl in the entire empire! I'm so excited to see her, even if it's just from afar!"
"Shut the hell up, fatso. I'm trying to sleep!" a muscular man in the carriage growled, his bloodshot eyes glaring at Lei Mingli.
Startled, Lei Mingli shrank back in fear, quickly sealing his lips and nodding his head in silence.