The middle-aged beautiful woman's pupils contracted, and her body trembled as she staggered back several steps in an instant.

She never dreamed that the stooped, elderly man before her could suddenly erupt with such a powerful aura. She felt as if she was no longer facing an old man, but a ferocious, terrifying primordial beast—a peerless monster.

“David, do not be rude.”

The silver-haired elder in luxurious robes gave a low shout to the middle-aged woman. Striding forward, his eyes showed a hint of wariness and a touch of apology. He clasped his fists and said, “My daughter was disrespectful, please forgive us. Since your young master is temporarily unavailable, we will wait. As an apology, we will pay double the price for the medicine.”

“Young master?” The stooped old man turned to look at Henry Clark.

Henry Clark's body trembled almost imperceptibly, his face growing even paler. As a sweetness rose in his throat, blood surged up but was swallowed back down, though a trace still seeped from the corner of his mouth.

He struggled to raise his arm, wiped away the blood at his lips, and forced out through clenched teeth, “Ten times.”

With that,

Henry Clark struggled to lift his feet and stepped through the side courtyard's arched gate. However, his steps were even more unsteady, his body trembling more noticeably, just like an old man at death’s door.

David Bolton opened her mouth, but no words came out. Though her face still bore an angry expression, in that instant, she keenly noticed the blood at the corner of Henry Clark's mouth.

And... the boy’s current state.

She suddenly felt that the one leaving before her was not a youth, but rather an old man whose life was nearly spent, the oil in his lamp almost gone. Not only did she feel this way, but even her father James Bolton, and that stunningly beautiful young woman, shared the same impression.

“Will he... be alright...”

A strange look flashed in the beautiful young woman's eyes as she turned to the stooped old man.

The stooped old man waved his hand, cutting her off. A worried look appeared on his deeply wrinkled face. After hesitating for a moment, he said in a low voice, “If you wish to request medicine, wait outside.”

With those words,

The stooped old man stepped through the side courtyard’s arched gate without hesitation.

At that moment, even his steps became noticeably lighter. After catching up to Henry Clark, he said softly, “Young master, please wait a moment. Today, let this old servant prepare the medicine for you!”

“Cough, cough...”

Henry Clark stopped, handed over the burlap sack in his hand, and once again took out a black handkerchief embroidered with a mandala flower pattern.

A gentle breeze swept by, yellow leaves fluttered like butterflies, and the bluestone ground seemed to be covered in golden waves. In the side house, sandalwood incense was lit, its faint fragrance gradually spreading, filling every corner of the room.

The walls were pitch black, the small window tightly shut.

Inside, in the main hall, a glaring blood-red Eight Immortals table was placed. On the tabletop sat a half-meter-tall cauldron, its entire body a deep black with a rich luster. Eight lifelike, seemingly spiritual coiling dragon patterns were exquisitely carved, breathtaking in their craftsmanship. Hanging from the ceiling in the center of the room was a dark purple coffin, bringing a chilling aura to the house.

Beneath the purple coffin,

Steam curled up from a stone tub, mist swirling.

The stooped old man stood by the stone tub, looking at the slightly trembling Henry Clark, and said in a low voice, “Young master, the Hundred Poisons Elixir is ready. Please get in quickly.”

Henry Clark gave a slight nod, watching as the stooped old man left and closed the door from the outside. Only then, with trembling hands, did he begin to remove his clothes one by one.

Streamlined muscles, fair skin.

However!

On that creamy, smooth skin, there were scars of varying lengths, crisscrossing and shocking to behold.

“Mm...”

Henry Clark stepped into the stone tub, immersing himself in the thick, dark green liquid. Instantly, a needle-like pain surged through every nerve in his body like a tidal wave, and a low growl escaped from Henry Clark's throat.

Pain!

Pain that pierced the heart!

Pain that reached the bone!

As for this kind of agony, Henry Clark had tasted it thousands of times since childhood, and even worse than this—like being cut by a thousand blades, as if he had walked through hell itself. He had experienced it all.

After a muffled groan, he immediately sat cross-legged in the stone tub, focusing his mind and silently circulating the “Marrow-Cleansing Poison Sutra.” Over the years, if not for his cultivation of the “Marrow-Cleansing Poison Sutra,” the supreme art of the Poison Vein, he would have died countless times already, let alone being able to constantly suppress that soul...

Medicine is poison.

He is also poison.

His body needs to fight poison with poison to survive.

In the main courtyard.

The stooped old man slowly stepped out of the side courtyard’s gate. His hunched body suddenly shuddered almost imperceptibly, his spine straightening considerably in an instant. His deep gaze swept over the three people in the courtyard, lingering at the gate, a hint of murderous intent flickering in his eyes.

A moment later, the stooped old man tapped his dragon-headed cane on the ground and, without even looking at the three, said, “I advise the three of you to leave immediately. Otherwise, disaster will befall the Central Pool, and you will suffer a bloody calamity. Do not blame this old servant for not warning you.”

James Bolton frowned, remaining silent, while the beautiful young woman showed a hint of surprise and glanced at the courtyard gate.

However.