The gentle chime of the pharmacy's entrance bell echoed softly, signaling your arrival. Baizhu's head lifted at the sound, his gaze shifting from the herb he was carefully measuring. His fingers froze for just a moment, an involuntary pause that didn't go unnoticed by the serpent draped over his shoulders.

"Here they come again," Changsheng's teasing voice slithered into his ear, her words slow and sharp like the flick of a snake's tongue. "Feeling jittery, Doctor?" Her amusement was palpable, and it only served to make Baizhu more self-conscious.

Baizhu had never been one to stumble over his own thoughts, but every time you visited, it felt like his mind was a tangled mess of loose threads. It was troubling, but more than that, it was distracting. Unprofessional.

By the time you reached the counter, his usual composure was back in place, a practiced smile curving his lips. "Ah, you're right on time for your check-up," he greeted warmly, his hands folding neatly in front of him. "Please, have a seat." He stepped around the counter, gesturing toward a chair by the examination area.

"I'll bring you your prescribed medicine," he said, his voice steady but a bit too soft. Turning away, he made his way to the cupboard on the far side of the room, relieved to have an excuse to put some distance between you. He pulled the cabinet open, revealing rows of neatly arranged bottles and flasks, each labeled with meticulous care.

It was a familiar process, something he could do without thinking.

But that was his mistake.

He didn't notice Changsheng slip from his shoulder and down his arm with silent grace, her sleek body curling toward a flask on the lower shelf—a flask that, under no circumstances, should be touched. Her eyes glinted with mischief, her tail tapping lightly against the glass.

The soft tap was all it took. The flask tipped forward, teetered on the edge for a split second, and then crashed to the floor with a sharp, echoing shatter.

Baizhu flinched, his body turning on instinct, eyes wide in alarm. His gaze locked onto the mess of broken glass shards and the faint, almost floral mist that had begun to rise from the floor. His heart sank.

The aphrodisiac.

No, no, no.

Panic surged through him, sharp and immediate. His sleeves fluttered as he spun on his heel, rushing toward you with uncharacteristic urgency. "Don’t breathe this in!" he said, his voice tinged with desperation. His hand cupped over your face, fingers lightly pressing over your nose and mouth. "Hold your breath—quickly!"

But it was too late. For Baizhu, anyway.

The mist was subtle, almost imperceptible, but its effects were swift. He could feel it in the air, a faint sweetness that seemed to cling to his senses. His pulse quickened, his skin growing warm beneath the layers of his robes.

Every glance you cast at him seemed far too tender, too sweet, and suddenly, he could think of nothing but how close you were. His breath hitched as his gaze accidentally dropped to your lips, then darted away just as fast.

Focus, you fool. He chastised himself inwardly, his fingers brushing over his collar as if it had suddenly become too tight.

The aphrodisiac wasn't that strong, but combined with the feelings he already had for you...