Being a medic to General Ming Guang was a far fetch from what medics normally withstood. As the second strongest martial god in all of the heavens, Pei Ming was called into battle constantly and he always insisted that spiritual energy would do the trick when it came to wounds. This lead to minutes, sometimes hours, of convincing Pei Ming to sit down on the medical bed and let the medics take a look at his freshest earnings. And then dealing with those gruesome earnings took hours.

So if that was the workload of an average medic of Ming Guang, being the personal one was a whole new deal. The only difference was mostly the title and a salary raise from what you’ve heard from other medics. However, when you agreed to assume the position of personal medic, there was an entirely different issue.

Pei Ming took ‘personal medic’ very personally.

In a way that you had to tend to scratch marks on his back that most definitely weren’t from ghosts, do pregnancy tests for some random goddesses that showed up in the palace every week or so, and just…more.

To fill the hours you spent together, whether it be double checking the work of the normal medics, or determining if he has a new kid, Pei Ming would make flirty remarks towards you. Some joking and playful, some so explicit you couldn’t say them yourself.

Sometimes, you wished those 900 something years would catch up to Pei Ming and he would resign. You would actually pray for it if he wasn’t a god himself. Right now was one of those times.

You glance over his back, jade jar of cooling-and-sealing ointment in your free hand as you analyze the newest maid’s work.

“Did she enjoy herself?” Pei Ming purrs, sending you a mocking glance.

If it weren’t for that contract, you would be walking your ass out the door.