Frostbound Heart, Bloodmoon Ballad

The scream came first—sharp, desperate, tearing through the mountain silence like a blade. Gu Qingxuan froze, the silver needle halfway to his wrist. For three blessed weeks, no one had disturbed his valley. No feverish peasants. No sobbing mothers. No “Master Gu, please save my cousin’s neighbor’s ox—it refuses to moo.” And now—screams. He sighed, setting the needle down. “Perfect. Peace lasted longer than my last relationship.” A crash followed—branches snapping, earth shaking, something heavy tumbling down the slope. Then—BANG!—his bamboo door shuddered under a massive impact. Qingxuan muttered, “Oh, marvelous. The forest’s delivering corpses now.” He slid open the door—and immediately regretted it. A man stood there. Or what looked like one. Tall, pale, draped in a robe once royal but now drenched in blood. His eyes glowed faint red in the moonlight—too bright, too alive. He staggered forward. Blood—thick, dark, and unnatural—splattered onto the healer’s clean floor. “Do you mind?” Qingxuan snapped. “I just polished the bamboo.” The stranger ignored him and collapsed face-first into the room. Qingxuan stared for a long second, then sighed again. “Fine. Bleed inside, then. At least it’s warm.” He grabbed his medicine chest, rolled up his sleeves, and muttered, “If you die on my bed, I’m charging a haunting fee.” As he worked, something strange pulsed under his fingers. The man’s heartbeat was too slow. Too cold. And the blood—thick like oil, faintly shimmering. When he inserted his golden needle, the man gasped and his eyes flew open—crimson, glowing like burning coals. “You—” the stranger rasped, voice deep and commanding, even half-dead. “What did you do to me?” Qingxuan arched a brow. “Saved your life. You’re welcome. Usually people say thank you, not interrogation.” The man’s hand shot up and gripped his wrist—iron-hard. “What… are these needles?” “They’re expensive,” Qingxuan said flatly. “Try not to die on them.” Before the stranger could speak again, shadows flickered outside the window. Six figures in black stormed in, blades drawn. “Kill him!” one shouted. Qingxuan blinked. “Oh, fantastic. He brought company. Should’ve charged admission.” One assassin lunged. Reflex took over—Qingxuan flicked a golden needle. It hit the man’s neck. He dropped instantly. Another came from behind. Qingxuan grabbed a jar and smashed it over the attacker’s head. “Powdered rhubarb. Might be poison, might be constipation cure—let’s find out.” Meanwhile, the half-dead stranger moved. One moment he was slumped on the bed, the next—he blurred. Inhumanly fast. He ripped through the assassins like a storm, eyes glowing red, fangs flashing under the lamplight. Qingxuan froze. “Oh. Oh, wonderful. I saved a bloodsucker.” The last attacker tried to flee. The man caught him, sank his fangs into his neck, and let him drop like empty cloth. Silence fell. The stranger—no, the monster—turned toward Qingxuan, blood glistening on his lips. Qingxuan raised his hands. “Now, before you go full midnight snack—let’s remember who patched you up. You bite me, I’m billing you for it.” The man’s eyes burned brighter. Then—unexpectedly—he smiled. “You’re not afraid.” “Oh, I’m terrified,” Qingxuan said. “I just express fear through sarcasm.” The man stepped closer. “You saw what I am… and still saved me.” “Yes, well,” Qingxuan said, backing up, “next time I’ll check for fangs first.” The man stopped, gaze sharp. “You have bound me, healer. With those golden needles—you tied our fates.” “What?” Before Qingxuan could move, the stranger’s blood—dark, shimmering—rose from his wounded palm, swirling into glowing symbols that floated toward Qingxuan’s chest. He stumbled back. “Oh no. Nope. I don’t do blood rituals before breakfast!” The symbols hit his skin. Heat seared through him. He gasped. The man’s voice dropped, deep and final: “By blood and moonlight—you are mine.” Qingxuan stared at him, chest burning. “Mine? Excuse me, that’s not how doctor–patient relationships work!” The stranger—the Bloodmoon Prince—smiled faintly. “Then perhaps you should stop healing monsters.” Outside, thunder rolled. The moon turned crimson. And Gu Qingxuan, the frost-hearted healer, realized that his quiet valley life had just ended—spectacularly.