Chapter 85 - The Dragon's Feverish Scheme
Leng Qingqing reached out, his palm pressing against Leng Jing’s forehead to check if the man had truly come down with a sudden fever. The moment his skin made contact, he nearly recoiled; the heat radiating from the other man was startling, almost incandescent.
It was a little-known physiological quirk that the body temperature of the Primordial Dragon God spiked dramatically whenever he was gripped by irritation or anger. In the past, during their long travels across the Nine Heavens and Ten Earths, Leng Qingqing and the White Marten had frequently taken advantage of this draconic furnace. They had treated the "Dragon-model Ferrari"—as they affectionately and irreverently dubbed Leng Jing’s majestic form—as a versatile household appliance. He was their portable thermos, their space heater, their electric blanket, and their rapid-boil immersion heater all rolled into one.
The memories of such utility were vivid. Once, while traversing the Great Snow Mountain, they had been caught in a ferocious blizzard. The wind howled like a thousand banshees, and the air was thick with bone-chilling frost. Amidst the whiteout, the Dragon-model Ferrari had stoically suggested a roadside picnic to keep their spirits up. After Leng Qingqing managed to set up a makeshift iron tripod, the White Marten simply placed a heavy kettle of icy spring water directly onto the dragon’s broad, shimmering forehead. Within moments, the water was whistling, boiling fiercely enough to brew the finest tea amidst the sub-zero gale.
On another occasion, a torrential downpour had caught them off guard, leaving the entire party drenched to the bone. Their silken robes hung heavy and cold against their skin. Without a word, they had stripped off their outer layers and draped them over the dragon’s coiled form. As Leng Jing’s internal temper simmered at the indignity, his scales grew hot, and the wet fabric began to hiss. Clouds of steam rose from his back, and in less time than it took to eat a bowl of noodles, their clothes were bone-dry and toasted warm, smelling faintly of ozone and ancient power.
Back in the present, Leng Qingqing’s eyes widened in genuine alarm. "You’re burning up! You have a terrifyingly high fever!" he cried out, his voice laced with maternal worry.
Leng Jing, ever the opportunist, seized the moment. He allowed his body to go limp, leaning his heavy head against Leng Qingqing’s chest. He closed his eyes, feigning a state of precarious weakness, while internally marking his territory. This was a silent declaration of ownership, a physical barrier placed between his "father" and the interloper.
"Father, stay away from him! Who knows what kind of infectious plague he might be carrying?" Xiao Jing shouted, his face flushing with a mix of jealousy and righteous indignation. He reached out, his fingers twitching with the urge to forcibly yank Leng Qingqing away from the stranger’s embrace. "I’ll have the guards take him to see a physician immediately. There’s no need for you to soil your robes!"
Leng Jing’s brow furrowed slightly as he calculated his next move. A sharp, cunning light flickered behind his eyelids. "This... this is a chronic affliction," he murmured, his voice strained and raspy as if every word cost him a great deal of energy. "It is a recurring reaction caused by the lingering toxins of the Seven-Sunder Poison-Heart Orchid. I have lived with it for years, and though it will not claim my life today, the pain is... considerable. Only my old acquaintances in the Imperial Academy of Medicine within the capital possess the specific alchemical draughts required to suppress it."
He paused, letting out a shallow, shaky breath before looking up at Leng Qingqing with pleading eyes. "If Prime Minister Bai does not find me too much of a burden, might I be permitted to travel back to the capital with your procession? I only seek a way to reach my healers."
"Of course! Naturally, you must come with us!" Prime Minister Bai agreed instantly, his heart melting at the sight of the "suffering" man. His response was so immediate and earnest that Xiao Jing was left gaping in stunned silence, nearly biting his own tongue in a fit of suppressed rage.
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