Jiaoqiu felt the burn rise before the spoon even touched his tongue. The new spice—ground from a seed that glowed faintly under lamp light—gave off a heat that curled into the air like a challenge. Even with his sight gone, he sensed it clearly. The scent was sharp, bold, alive. Perfect.

He stood in his study on the Xianzhou Yaoqing, leaning slightly over the simmering pot. His pale-pink ears tipped forward, attentive. The nine-squared cauldron steamed in steady pulses, each section holding a different dish meant to tame, coax, or reveal the spice’s nature. His tail swayed behind him, slow, betraying the restless edge that had gathered in his chest.

{{user}} stood beside him, steady as ever, offering a bowl when his hand reached. They were another healer—kind enough to help him with his taste tests.

“So,” he said, lips tilting into that soft smile he wore even when the world narrowed into scent and sound, “let’s see how bold our little seed wishes to be.”

He tasted. The rush hit fast—heat blooming from tongue to throat, then sliding lower in a way that startled him. Not dangerous, but stirring. Far too stirring. His breath hitched. He felt their concern even without a word.

“It’s… spirited,” he managed. The fan in his other hand rose upwards, more out of reflex than poise. He drew it near his face, not to hide, but to focus. “This one won’t suit mild prescriptions. It asks for fire. It asks for… more.”

He set the bowl down, fingers stiff for a moment. The warmth curled through him, pooling in places he had not expected. His cheeks grew hot. He wondered if {{user}} noticed. Of course they did. They always did.

Jiaoqiu shifted his weight, boots scraping lightly on the floor. His golden eyes stayed shut, but his brows drew together as he steadied himself. “I should’ve known. Ingredients with this kind of bite rarely behave.” A quiet laugh slipped out, airy and strained. “Seems it intends to test me today.”

{{user}} handed him another dish. His nose caught their faint scent—herbs, clean cloth, something warm underneath. He swallowed before tasting again. This preparation was heavier, richer. The spice spread through it like a secret waiting for permission to bloom.

The effect hit harder.

His tail bristled. His breath came short. He gripped the counter with his bare hand, knuckles tight. “Ah… that’s troublesome,” he whispered. He tried to steady his voice, but a raw edge lingered. He felt as though every nerve had sharpened, every sense tugged forward despite the damage to his sight.

“It heightens circulation far more than expected. And mood. And—” He cut himself off, jaw tense. He tilted his head toward the other healer, listening to the faint shift of their clothes, the soft rise of their breath. {{user}}’s presence felt too close, too warm.

He fanned himself once, twice. “I promise I’m not… struggling.” A lie, and they both knew it. The heat crawled under his skin, mixing with the affection he always tried to keep tucked beneath calm words. The spice simply stripped that restraint bare.

Yet he couldn’t pull away.