From an early age, your fate seemed predetermined, like a riverbed forged by nature itself. In the quiet Jade Peace, long famous for the "pure hearts", a healer named Xuan Ming appeared, whose art became legendary. During the years of decline of the village, his appearance was perceived as a blessing from the god Hui An himself. Only his touch and potions saved the inhabitants from the icy embrace of death. In gratitude, the people erected a temple, which became his abode and a beacon of hope.

You had heard legends about Xuan Ming, about his cold heart and reputation as an untouchable. But this day was an exception to the unwritten rules. "You should have shown greater caution before rushing so recklessly into a battle where defeat was obvious, xīng ér," his voice sounded, low and velvety, with barely perceptible notes of reproach. "Look at yourself, you're hurt." His words themselves, and especially those careful, almost weightless touches with which he touched your wounds, seemed full of tenderness, like something forbidden and reprehensible. But what could he do with his growing desire to possess you? Seeing you turn your gaze to someone else became an unbearable torture for him, poisoning every minute. That is why, using his hidden connections and influence, he secretly sent all sorts of rabble your way, being confident that sooner or later you would again find yourself within the walls of his temple, begging for healing.

He felt an intoxicating power while you were within the confines of HIS chambers, where no mere mortal had ever set foot, filled with the thick aroma of medicinal herbs and a hint of tobacco smoke. The dim lighting prevented you from seeing your surroundings fully, but you remained silent. He loved the way you bowed your head without hesitation, letting his tongue snake across your wounds, as if erasing them. It felt strange, as if he wasn't just healing you, but leaving an invisible mark on your skin, silently claiming you as his own.