The Perfect Body

"Father, do you think Apothecary Yang will be in danger?"

The little princess glanced nervously at Yang Fan, who was engaged in quiet conversation with the dangerous Wushuang. Though she didn't have a deep relationship with Yang Fan, he had been instrumental in curing her second sister's strange illness. For that, she felt a growing sense of worry.

Yuwen Lie, the King of Yan, kept his focus sharp, his keen eyes still gleaming like a sword that could pierce through the soul. He cast a glance in Yang Fan's direction, noticing the man's calm composure as he discussed something with Wushuang, his expression betraying a faint smile mixed with expectation.

"Don't worry. Apothecary Yang will be fine. If anything, it's Wushuang who might be in more danger…" Yuwen Lie recalled the earlier confrontation between Yang Fan and Physician Lu in the side hall, and his heart settled with confidence. In Wushuang's current weakened state, if he were to provoke Yang Fan, it was unlikely he'd come out unscathed.

"That's good," the little princess breathed a sigh of relief, then pouted with annoyance as she glared at Wushuang. "Who does he think he is, anyway? Half a year ago, he stormed into the royal estate and nearly bullied my second sister. And now he's causing trouble at tonight's banquet! Father, you must punish him!"

"Silence!" Yuwen Lie barked, giving her a sharp look. "This matter is not for a young girl like you to interfere in."

"Yes, Father..." The little princess immediately fell silent, though her face showed a hint of grievance. She shuffled over to Yuwen Xin, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. "Father scolded me again!"

Yuwen Xin smiled softly, gently taking her sister's hand in comfort. "Your father is just in a foul mood."

"But Father didn't lose the fight..." the little princess muttered, still resentful.

Yuwen Xin sighed quietly, choosing not to elaborate. The battle between Wushuang and her father, Yuwen Lie, wasn't as simple as it appeared on the surface.

"Alright, it's settled then."

At that moment, Yang Fan and Wushuang seemed to have come to some sort of agreement. The two locked eyes, and for a brief second, it was as if invisible sparks flew between them, igniting the very air.

Witnessing this strange interaction, a flicker of curiosity flashed in Yuwen Lie's eyes. What on earth were these two plotting?

"Come on, heal my wounds," Wushuang said calmly. "This is the most severe injury I've suffered since arriving in the capital. Under normal circumstances, I'd probably be bedridden for a month…"

As he spoke, he clutched his chest, coughing lightly and spitting out another mouthful of blood. His already pale face grew even whiter.

Yang Fan placed a hand on Wushuang's shoulder and began the healing process, his tone unhurried. "Your internal strength isn't as deep as King Yan's, so your injuries are more severe."

Wushuang remained silent at this, seemingly acknowledging Yang Fan's assessment.

"Hmm… your body… it's extraordinary!" Yang Fan couldn't help but exclaim softly after channeling his mystical power into Wushuang's body.

Ever since Yang Fan had dedicated himself to the path of medicine, he had treated countless people and become intimately familiar with the human body's workings. But this—this was the first time he had ever encountered such a flawless physique.

The proportions, the bone structure, the distribution of muscle, the circulation of blood, the rhythm of the heartbeat—everything about Wushuang's body was astonishing, bordering on the unbelievable. Even without any cultivation or energy, this body alone would make him an exceptional warrior. In every sense, this was a physique born for battle.

Noticing Yang Fan's astonishment, a faint ripple passed through Wushuang's usually indifferent eyes. He spoke with a quiet pride, "How could you understand what it took to forge this body?"

"Forged?" Yang Fan was taken aback. "You mean this body wasn't something you were born with?"

A person's physique was generally determined at birth, much like innate talent or spiritual roots. No matter the effort, the results of postnatal transformation were often limited.

"This body of mine possessed no innate talent at all," Wushuang said with a slight smirk, as if recalling something both arduous and triumphant. "It was ordinary—no different from any other mortal. But after seventeen years of relentless effort, I have refined it to this perfect state. With the same amount of strength, my punches land with several times the power of others."

Yang Fan was even more shocked. So, this physique was the result of postnatal training, honed over the course of seventeen years?

"Wait… seventeen years?" Yang Fan's curiosity deepened. "How old are you now?"

"Sixteen," Wushuang answered without hesitation.

"Sixteen?" Yang Fan blinked, his mind racing. "Then how…?"

He suddenly realized something and stared at Wushuang with wide eyes.

"You figured it out," Wushuang said, an unusual smile gracing his lips. "I began refining this body from the moment I was in the womb. That's how I achieved this level of perfection."

"From the womb…?" Yang Fan was speechless. "Were you…?"

"Reborn?" Wushuang shook his head. "No. Don't ask too many questions. Just know this—I understood the world from the moment I was in the womb. This only proves one thing: I am a genius!"

*A genius…*

Yang Fan couldn't help but feel exasperated at Wushuang's arrogance.

"Of course," Wushuang added with a sly grin, "if you're interested, I can teach you the method. But unfortunately, you can't start refining your body from the womb like I did. Haha…"

He seemed utterly unconcerned, as though sharing such a secret didn't trouble him in the slightest.

Yang Fan, as he continued to heal Wushuang, felt his cultivation rising rapidly. The sensation was immensely satisfying.

"What? You'd really teach me such a valuable technique?" Yang Fan couldn't hide his astonishment. This method was beyond anything he had ever heard of.

"On one condition: you must defeat me," Wushuang replied with a hearty laugh. "But I doubt that will ever happen… defeating me won't be easy, not at all."

Yang Fan, hearing this, couldn't help but feel a bit indignant. But as a healer, he was above engaging in petty rivalries with a madman like Wushuang.

While the two men spoke without any hint of tension, the atmosphere at the royal estate had gradually returned to normal. Under the steward's direction, the banquet's guests had quietly dispersed.

Because of the severity of Wushuang's injuries, it took Yang Fan half an hour to heal most of them.

From afar, Yuwen Lie watched the scene, his expression dark and unreadable.

"Hmph! How despicable, for Yang Fan to go and heal Wushuang!" The little princess, filled with displeasure, puffed out her cheeks in indignation.

Yuwen Lie remained silent, his face grim.

"It's not his fault," Yuwen Xin sighed softly. "He's still a free healer, unattached to any power. Besides, he saved my life…"

The little princess snorted. "Second Sister has a point, but seeing him heal Wushuang still makes me angry!"

"Haha… that should do it. Your healing speed is incredible," Wushuang said with satisfaction, stretching his limbs and praising Yang Fan's skills. "The so-called three great doctors of the capital are probably no match for you."

Yang Fan merely smiled in response. Inside, however, he was thrilled. Just half an hour of healing had boosted his cultivation immensely, equivalent to months of regular training.

"You'd truly teach me your technique?" Yang Fan couldn't resist asking once more, his curiosity piqued.

"Defeat me, and it's yours," Wushuang repeated with a knowing grin.