Chapter 13 — The Enemy on the Operating Table

Lu Chen broke three traffic laws before remembering he was not the one driving.

“Faster.”

Qin Ruoxi’s driver glanced at the rearview mirror.

“Doctor Lu, we’re already—”

“Faster.”

The man looked toward Qin Ruoxi in the passenger seat.

She nodded once.

“Do it.”

The sedan accelerated.

Jiangzhou became streaks of light beyond the windows.

Lu Chen sat in the rear with Returning Spring beside him and the small wooden box from beneath the hospital resting on his knees.

Inside was the golden vial.

One drop.

Nothing more.

The liquid did not behave like liquid.

It floated in the center of the glass without touching the sides, glowing faintly as though a piece of sunrise had somehow been trapped inside.

Lu Chen had examined thousands of medicines.

Spirit herbs.

Pills.

Poisons.

Blood essences.

Refined elixirs.

Things worth enough to buy entire city blocks.

He had never seen this.

And his master’s warning repeated in his mind.

Use the golden drop only if you have already chosen.

If you hesitate after opening it, you will die.

Comforting.

Lu Chen disliked medicines with personality.

His phone was pressed against his ear.

Dr. Zhao spoke from the ICU.

“Still no sustainable rhythm.”

“How long?”

“Four minutes since the second arrest.”

“Neurological response?”

“Unknown.”

“Cause of collapse?”

“Everything.”

Lu Chen frowned.

“That is not a diagnosis.”

“It is currently the closest thing I have!”

Machines sounded in the background.

Voices.

Orders.

Movement.

Dr. Zhao continued rapidly.

“Renal failure worsened first. Then liver function collapsed. Then arrhythmia. His oxygenation dropped despite support. There is no single cause that explains it.”

“Cultivation.”

Silence.

Then Dr. Zhao sighed.

“I hate that word.”

“You’re adapting.”

“I preferred coronary arteries.”

“Those are still present.”

“That is not helping.”

Lu Chen looked through the window.

Seven minutes.

Maybe less.

“Keep him alive.”

“We are trying.”

“No.”

His voice changed.

Dr. Zhao heard it.

“Keep him alive until I arrive.”

There was a pause.

Then:

“Understood.”

The call ended.

Ruoxi looked back.

“You really think it could be him?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yan Wusheng.”

“Yes.”

“The man Bai Shuyue said led the attack on your Valley.”

“Yes.”

“The man your master’s letter practically predicted you might have to save.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re calm?”

“No.”

That answer surprised her.

Lu Chen looked at the vial.

“I am very far from calm.”

Ruoxi watched him for a moment.

“Good.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“That sounds cruel.”

“It means you aren’t pretending this is easy.”

“It isn’t.”

“What happens if it really is him?”

Lu Chen said nothing.

The answer should have been simple.

Save him.

He had already decided.

Hadn’t he?

The tenth seed had begun glowing the moment Lu Chen chose to go.

But choosing in a kitchen while holding an apple was one thing.

Looking into the face of a man who might have ordered the slaughter of his family was another.

His fingers tightened around the box.

Ruoxi noticed.

“Your master knew.”

“Yes.”

“He knew this would happen?”

“Maybe not this exact man.”

“But something like it.”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“I intend to ask him.”

“If he’s alive.”

Lu Chen’s jaw tightened.

Ruoxi immediately regretted the words.

He looked out the window.

“If he’s alive.”

Qin Medical Center had cleared a private route from underground parking to the ICU.

No reporters.

No police.

Minimal staff.

Ruoxi had ordered the patient’s altered record sealed from all but four people.

The sedan stopped.

Lu Chen was out before the driver finished opening his own door.

Ruoxi followed.

“Lu Chen.”

He didn’t stop.

“What?”

“The vial.”

He looked down.

Still in his hand.

“If you use it—”

“I know.”

“No. You don’t.”

That made him stop.

She approached.

“You don’t know what it does.”

Correct.

“You don’t know why your master left it.”

Correct again.

“And the letter says you could die.”

“Yes.”

“So don’t treat the instruction as though it is merely inconvenient.”

Lu Chen looked at her.

She held his gaze.

“I am not asking you to abandon the patient.”

Her voice became quieter.

“I’m asking you not to forget that your daughter is waiting for you afterward.”

That struck much harder than she intended.

Xiaoxiao.

Rabbit apples.

Two strawberry milks.

Fix him.

Lu Chen closed his eyes for one heartbeat.

Then opened them.

“I won’t.”

Ruoxi knew immediately.

“You can’t promise that.”

“No.”

He slipped the wooden box inside his coat.

“But I can promise I’ll try to come home.”

She nodded.

It would have to be enough.

The ICU doors opened.

Controlled chaos.

Doctors surrounded the bed.

Nurses moved between machines.

Dr. Zhao was at the center.

His white coat had disappeared.

Sleeves rolled up.

Hair disordered.

He saw Lu Chen.

“Finally.”

Lu Chen approached the bed.

And stopped.

The patient did not look like the man from Returning Spring’s recovered memory.

No scar across the right cheek.

No familiar face.

This man appeared around sixty.

Gray hair.

Gaunt cheeks.

Several old scars across his torso.

No identification.

No jewelry.

No obvious sect markings.

“Where did the name come from?” Lu Chen asked.

Ruoxi answered.

“The digital chart.”

“Who changed it?”

“External administrator credentials.”

“Trace?”

“False route.”

“When?”

“Six minutes before his first cardiac arrest.”

Lu Chen looked at the patient.

Someone had wanted them to see that name at the exact moment he began dying.

A message.

Or manipulation.

Probably both.

“Move.”

The ICU physician beside the bed frowned.

“Who is he?”

Dr. Zhao answered:

“Consulting physician.”

The doctor looked at Lu Chen’s plain clothes.

“What specialty?”

Dr. Zhao hesitated.

Lu Chen said:

“Complicated.”

The ICU doctor stared.

“Doctor Zhao—”

“He saved Chairman Qin.”

That ended considerably more discussion than medical qualifications probably should have.

Lu Chen placed two fingers against the patient’s neck.

Nothing useful from the ordinary pulse.

He closed his eyes.

Life Meridian.

The world changed.

And Lu Chen’s breath stopped.

The patient’s body was a ruin.

Not illness.

Not age.

Not ordinary injury.

Cultivation.

This man had once possessed an enormous network of spiritual meridians.

Far beyond Mo Changfeng.

Far beyond Steward Han.

The twelve primary meridians had been fully opened.

Dozens of secondary pathways had been reinforced.

His lower dantian once held a condensed core.

Once.

Now—

shattered.

Stolen story; please report.

Seven black iron-like bands wrapped around the remnants of the core.

Another nine seals crossed his major meridians.

Something had deliberately destroyed his cultivation while keeping him alive.

Lu Chen’s face changed.

Dr. Zhao noticed.

“What?”

“He was a cultivator.”

Ruoxi moved closer.

“How strong?”

“Very.”

“Was?”

“Yes.”

The patient’s Life Meridian flickered.

Heart.

Brain.

Kidneys.

Liver.

All failing because the seals had begun collapsing together.

Not by accident.

Someone had activated them.

A death mechanism.

And beneath everything—

Lu Chen found something worse.

A mark on the man’s soul channel.

Not physical.

Not completely spiritual.

Three ancient characters.

His pupils narrowed.

YAN WUSHENG.

Ruoxi saw his reaction.

“What?”

Lu Chen didn’t answer.

He examined the mark again.

Names could be forged on charts.

Faces changed.

Documents manipulated.

But a soul-brand?

Far harder.

Not impossible.

But far harder.

“Lu Chen.”

He opened his eyes.

“The name is inside him.”

Ruoxi became still.

Dr. Zhao looked confused.

“What does that mean?”

“It means someone branded Yan Wusheng’s name into his spiritual foundation.”

“Is he Yan Wusheng?”

“I don’t know.”

Ruoxi frowned.

“That doesn’t answer anything.”

“It answers one thing.”

“What?”

“Whoever arranged this wanted a cultivator to verify the identity.”

Not merely doctors.

Not merely Qin security.

Lu Chen.

Specifically.

The setup was becoming obvious.

Someone had sent him the name.

Then left a spiritual confirmation he could discover.

They wanted him to believe.

Question was—

why?

The monitor alarm changed.

Dr. Zhao turned.

“Losing pressure.”

The ICU team moved.

Lu Chen looked at the man.

No time.

Identity later.

Life first.

“Everyone except Zhao, stay available but give me space.”

The ICU physician objected.

“We cannot simply—”

Lu Chen looked at Dr. Zhao.

“Continue standard resuscitation when needed.”

Dr. Zhao nodded immediately.

That surprised the others.

Lu Chen was not replacing modern treatment.

He was addressing what it could not see.

Both mattered.

He opened his needle case.

Nine needles.

Then another case.

Three longer ones.

Twelve.

Dr. Zhao stared.

“More than usual.”

“He has nine spiritual seals.”

“That sentence still sounds ridiculous.”

“Yet you understood it.”

“I resent that.”

Good.

Lu Chen removed the first needle.

Then looked toward Ruoxi.

“The vial.”

She froze.

“Already?”

“Not yet.”

Her shoulders relaxed slightly.

“Keep it near.”

She removed the wooden box.

Held it.

Lu Chen inserted the first needle.

The patient’s body jerked.

Monitor surged.

The ICU physician stepped forward.

Dr. Zhao raised one hand.

“Wait.”

Second needle.

Third.

Lu Chen worked around the heart.

Not ordinary points alone.

The spiritual anchors sat beneath them.

Fourth.

Fifth.

The sealed cultivation core reacted.

Black lines spread under the patient’s skin.

Nurses stared.

One whispered:

“What is that?”

No one answered.

Sixth needle.

The man’s eyes opened.

Suddenly.

Fully.

He grabbed Lu Chen’s wrist.

Strength exploded.

Far more than a dying man should possess.

The bed rail bent.

Ruoxi stepped forward.

Lu Chen lifted his free hand.

“Stay.”

The patient stared at him.

Dark eyes.

Confused.

Then recognition.

“Lu…”

His voice was barely air.

“…Chen.”

Everything inside Lu Chen went cold.

“You know me.”

The man tried to speak.

Blood appeared at his lips.

“Valley…”

Lu Chen’s fingers stopped.

Fire returned.

Screams.

His master bleeding.

Yan Wusheng.

This could be him.

Really him.

The man who knew the Valley.

Who knew Lu Chen.

“Who are you?”

The patient’s face twisted in pain.

A seal inside his soul activated.

His heart rhythm collapsed.

Dr. Zhao shouted:

“Again!”

The medical team moved.

Lu Chen’s jaw tightened.

Questions later.

If there was a later.

He inserted the seventh needle.

The patient screamed.

Black energy erupted from his chest.

One spiritual band cracked.

The patient’s hand loosened.

His eyes rolled upward.

The heart stopped.

Dr. Zhao immediately began the hospital response.

Lu Chen moved to the eighth anchor.

Ruoxi watched the monitors.

Seconds.

One minute.

The heart returned.

Weak.

Then faltered again.

Lu Chen felt his Life Essence.

Too little.

Nine acknowledged lives had strengthened him.

But this man’s body was beyond anything he had treated since losing his cultivation.

Even if Lu Chen used every drop inside himself—

not enough.

The golden vial.

His master had known.

Of course he had.

Lu Chen looked toward Ruoxi.

“Open the box.”

She didn’t move.

“Lu Chen.”

“Open it.”

“Have you chosen?”

The question cut through everything.

Doctors.

Monitors.

Alarms.

The dying man.

Five years of hatred.

His master’s warning.

If you save only those who deserve it, you are a judge.

What if this truly was Yan Wusheng?

Not a trick.

Not a substitute.

The man who had led the attack.

What if saving him meant giving a monster another chance to kill?

What if he escaped afterward?

What if he harmed Xiaoxiao?

His core stirred.

Death Essence whispered.

Let him die.

Not kill him.

Simply stop.

No one could blame Lu Chen.

The patient was already dying.

Modern medicine had failed to find a cause.

His body was destroyed.

Lu Chen could step away.

Call it unavoidable.

Perhaps everyone would understand.

Perhaps even his master.

Would he?

Lu Chen looked at the man.

Not Yan Wusheng.

Not Elder Yan.

Not Valley destroyer.

For one instant, Lu Chen forced himself to see only what was actually before him.

A human body failing.

A patient on a bed.

That was all medicine was allowed to know first.

Everything else came afterward.

His breathing steadied.

“Yes.”

Ruoxi looked into his eyes.

No hesitation.

None.

She opened the wooden box.

The golden drop rose inside the vial.

Every cultivator in the hospital felt something.

Most did not understand it.

A nurse on the sixth floor paused beside a window.

A hidden martial artist visiting his father looked toward the ceiling.

Deep beneath the hospital, the Nine-Lock bronze door gave a single resonant hum.

And across Jiangzhou—

the Nine Medicines manuscript opened by itself.

Nine golden seeds appeared.

The tenth remained empty.

Waiting.

Ruoxi removed the vial.

“How?”

“I don’t know.”

“That is not the answer I wanted.”

“Neither did I.”

The golden liquid moved toward Lu Chen through the glass.

His shattered core pulsed.

Hard enough to hurt.

Bai Shuyue’s earlier words returned.

First Gift.

First Medicine.

His master’s letter.

Use the golden drop only if you have already chosen.

Lu Chen understood now.

The liquid was not medicine for the patient.

It was for him.

He uncorked the vial.

Ruoxi grabbed his wrist.

“Wait.”

The golden drop rose into the air.

The moment the seal broke—

pain hit Lu Chen.

His shattered dantian convulsed.

The golden point expanded.

Black Death Essence hidden deep inside his body awakened.

Every trace he had refused to absorb.

Every residue he had purified but not completely expelled.

They surged toward the golden drop.

Life and death.

Two roads.

The vial had opened the choice.

Lu Chen finally understood the warning.

Hesitate now—

the two forces would tear his shattered core apart.

Choose.

Life.

Or death.

Healing.

Or power taken from endings.

Both available.

Both real.

His vision darkened.

Ruoxi caught him.

“Lu Chen!”

He could not hear properly.

Inside himself, he stood between two rivers.

Gold.

Black.

The black river was larger.

Faster.

It promised strength.

Open meridians.

Restore cultivation.

Kill enemies.

Protect Xiaoxiao.

Revenge.

The golden river was almost laughably small.

Nine lives.

Nine choices.

Slow.

Painful.

Uncertain.

No guarantee he would become strong enough.

His master’s voice appeared from memory.

Not mystical.

Just memory.

The fastest road is useful only if it reaches the place you actually wanted to go.

Lu Chen almost laughed.

The old man had said that after Lu Chen took a mountain shortcut and fell into a pig pen.

A profoundly undignified source of wisdom.

But useful.

Lu Chen looked toward the golden river.

He thought of Qin Zhenguo.

The bodyguard.

Zhou Wei.

Bai Shuyue.

Zhou Kai.

Mo Changfeng.

The child with the allergic reaction.

Ma Qiang.

Shen Yulan.

Different people.

Different lives.

None owed him anything.

And then the tenth.

Perhaps his enemy.

Perhaps not.

It did not matter yet.

Lu Chen reached toward gold.

The black river roared.

He chose.

The golden drop entered his mouth.

It had no taste.

For one heartbeat—

nothing happened.

Then Lu Chen’s body broke.

At least, that was how it felt.

He dropped to one knee.

Ruoxi caught his shoulder.

Blood appeared beneath his nose.

Then his eyes.

Dr. Zhao looked over.

“What happened?”

“No idea!” Ruoxi snapped.

Useful honesty.

Inside Lu Chen, the golden drop struck his shattered core.

The tiny point exploded.

Not destroyed.

Opened.

Nine thin golden roots spread outward.

One toward each damaged major meridian.

Not repairing them completely.

Planting themselves.

The black Death Essence surged.

The golden roots absorbed it.

Lu Chen panicked.

No.

He had chosen life.

But the inheritance did not reject death.

It transformed it.

Black energy entered the roots.

Came out gold.

Less power.

Much less.

But purified.

Clean.

The message became clear.

Death existed.

A physician did not deny it.

He simply refused to build his path by causing it.

The first golden root pierced a damaged meridian.

Pain blinded him.

Then—

the pathway reopened.

Not fully.

A narrow channel.

But open.

For the first time in five years, Lu Chen possessed a functioning cultivation meridian.

His breath stopped.

Spiritual qi from the room rushed toward him.

Very little.

Most hospitals had almost none.

But he felt it.

Truly felt it.

He could cultivate again.

Barely.

One meridian.

One beginning.

The golden drop disappeared.

Lu Chen opened his eyes.

They flashed gold.

Then returned to normal.

Ruoxi stared at him.

“Are you alive?”

He breathed once.

“Yes.”

“Certain?”

“Mostly.”

“That word again.”

Then the patient crashed.

Lu Chen turned immediately.

No time to celebrate.

Good.

Celebration was inefficient.

He stood.

And for the first time in five years—

circulated cultivation energy.

A tiny amount.

Almost insulting compared with his former strength.

But to Lu Chen, it felt like an ocean.

He inserted the eighth needle.

Golden light flowed.

Strong.

Not overwhelmingly.

Precisely.

The eighth seal cracked.

The patient’s heart stabilized slightly.

Ninth needle.

The seal around the lower dantian resisted.

Lu Chen pressed.

Golden energy entered.

The black band fractured.

The patient screamed despite unconsciousness.

Dr. Zhao looked at the monitor.

“Kidneys improving.”

The ICU physician stared.

“That cannot happen that fast.”

Dr. Zhao said:

“Stop saying that. It doesn’t help.”

Growth.

Lu Chen almost smiled.

Tenth needle.

Eleventh.

The patient’s ruined spiritual pathways began reconnecting enough to keep the organs alive.

Not restore cultivation.

Not close.

Just stop the body from dying because its seals collapsed.

Then Lu Chen reached the final anchor.

Soul channel.

The one carrying the name.

YAN WUSHENG.

He stopped.

This mark was different.

Not killing him.

Maintaining something.

Identity?

Memory?

Lu Chen examined it carefully.

The golden energy touched the characters.

The mark reacted violently.

Images struck him.

Not his.

A battlefield.

Valley flames.

A man kneeling.

Another man speaking.

You will carry his name.

Then pain.

A branding ritual.

Lu Chen’s eyes widened.

The image vanished.

Not Yan Wusheng.

The man on the table was not Yan Wusheng.

At least not originally.

Someone had implanted the name.

Why?

To hide the real identity?

To make Lu Chen save an enemy?

Or—

to make Lu Chen believe the real Yan had been weakened?

He pushed deeper.

The brand cracked.

Beneath it—

another name.

Faint.

Almost destroyed.

Two characters.

GUO SHAN.

Lu Chen froze.

He knew that name.

Senior Uncle Guo.

Guo Shan.

One of the Valley’s external guardians.

A man who disappeared during the attack.

Presumed dead.

Lu Chen remembered enormous hands.

Loud laughter.

A terrible singing voice.

A man who carried young disciples on his shoulders during festival nights.

A man who once gave Lu Chen a wooden practice sword and told him not to tell his master.

Lu Chen’s fingers trembled.

“No.”

Ruoxi noticed.

“What?”

He stared at the unconscious man.

Older now.

Thin.

Broken.

Face changed by years of suffering.

But around the left eyebrow—

a tiny crescent-shaped scar.

Not Black Crescent.

An old cooking accident.

Lu Chen remembered laughing at it as a child.

His chest tightened.

“Senior Uncle?”

The patient’s eyelids moved.

Dr. Zhao looked toward Lu Chen.

“You know him?”

“Yes.”

The answer came almost soundlessly.

This was not Yan Wusheng.

This was one of his own.

Someone had taken Guo Shan.

Destroyed his cultivation.

Branded the enemy’s name into his soul.

Then placed him in Lu Chen’s path.

Why?

A test?

Cruelty?

Or a message?

The final spiritual seal began collapsing.

Guo Shan’s body convulsed.

Lu Chen returned to the treatment.

Emotion later.

Save first.

Twelfth needle.

Directly above the soul anchor.

He guided the newly opened golden meridian.

The First Medicine responded.

The nine golden roots pulsed together.

Lu Chen spoke quietly:

“Senior Uncle Guo.”

No response.

“You owe me an explanation.”

The heart weakened.

“You disappeared for five years.”

Another drop.

“I had to listen to Master complain by myself.”

The monitor alarmed.

Ruoxi stared at him.

Was he trying to insult the patient back to life?

Apparently.

Lu Chen rotated the needle.

“And your singing was terrible.”

Guo Shan’s fingers twitched.

Lu Chen almost laughed.

There.

Life.

“You still owe me twenty yuan.”

Ruoxi looked at him.

“That one was fabricated.”

“Quiet.”

Guo Shan’s lips moved.

Barely.

“…liar…”

Lu Chen stopped.

Everyone did.

The old man’s eyes opened.

Weak.

Clouded.

But awake.

He looked toward Lu Chen.

Recognition fought through years of suppression.

Then won.

“Little…”

His voice broke.

“…Chen?”

Lu Chen’s throat closed.

He had not been called that by anyone from the Valley in five years.

“Yes.”

Guo Shan looked around.

Confused.

Then back at him.

“You…”

A faint smile appeared.

“…got old.”

Lu Chen stared.

“You look terrible.”

Guo Shan laughed once.

It became a cough.

Blood appeared.

“Still…”

Breath.

“…rude.”

Lu Chen checked his pulse.

Stable enough.

Alive.

The soul-brand shattered.

The name Yan Wusheng disappeared.

And across Jiangzhou—

the tenth golden seed completed.

The Nine Medicines manuscript erupted with light.

Xiaoxiao, coloring upstairs in the clinic under Madam Zhou’s supervision, looked down when golden light escaped from the drawer.

“Grandma?”

Madam Zhou turned.

The manuscript floated into the air.

She dropped a bowl.

Xiaoxiao’s eyes widened.

“Pretty.”

Madam Zhou stared.

“That is not the word I would use.”

Ten golden seeds formed a circle.

Then dissolved.

The first page turned by itself.

Golden characters appeared.

TEN LIVES ACKNOWLEDGED.

Then:

THE PHYSICIAN CHOSE LIFE WHEN HATRED OFFERED AN EXCUSE.

A pause.

FIRST GIFT GRANTED.

Inside the ICU, Lu Chen felt the change.

The nine golden roots surrounding his shattered core fused.

A small structure formed at their center.

Not a dantian.

Not exactly.

A seed.

Golden.

Alive.

Life Seed.

The knowledge entered him without words.

The First Gift.

A new foundation.

One that did not rely entirely on ordinary spiritual qi.

It generated a tiny amount of Life Essence naturally.

Slowly.

Constantly.

Enough that Lu Chen would no longer need every treatment to create the first spark.

Not unlimited.

Far from it.

But renewable.

His shattered cultivation path had changed permanently.

A second understanding followed.

First Medicine — Life.

First Gift — Life Seed.

Ten lives awaken the seed.

One hundred lives open the First Gate.

So ten had not completed the First Medicine.

It had merely given him the foundation required to continue.

Ninety more acknowledged lives.

That was fine.

Lu Chen was a doctor.

He had work.

The knowledge continued:

Life Seed may purify Death Essence.

Purified death returns one part in ten.

One tenth.

So if Lu Chen encountered Death Essence, he could absorb and transform it without walking the death path.

But the efficiency was terrible.

Deliberately.

Killing would still be faster if he chose to consume death directly.

The temptation remained.

The inheritance had not removed choice.

It had simply given him another option.

Clever.

Annoying.

Definitely something connected to his master.

Then one final message:

THE TENTH LIFE WAS NOT THE ENEMY.

Lu Chen almost rolled his eyes.

“Yes, I noticed.”

Ruoxi looked at him.

“What?”

“The book is being smug from across the city.”

She stared.

“I no longer know when you are joking.”

“Neither do I.”

Guo Shan remained conscious for less than three minutes.

Long enough for one important exchange.

Lu Chen leaned close.

“Senior Uncle.”

Guo Shan’s eyes opened.

“Yan Wusheng.”

His expression changed.

Fear.

Real fear.

“Alive.”

“I know.”

“Not…”

Breathing became difficult.

“Not Upper Court.”

Lu Chen frowned.

“What?”

Guo Shan gripped his sleeve with surprising strength.

“Upper Court…”

He swallowed.

“…serves him.”

Silence.

Lu Chen’s blood turned cold.

Bai Shuyue had called Yan Wusheng the man who led the assault.

They had assumed he was an Upper Court elder.

Perhaps he had been.

But Guo Shan was saying something larger.

“Where is he?”

Guo Shan’s eyes moved toward Ruoxi.

Then toward the floor.

Down.

“Under…”

His strength faded.

Lu Chen leaned closer.

“Under what?”

“Not… here.”

“Where?”

Guo Shan forced the words.

“Third…”

Lu Chen’s expression changed.

The key.

Third Bell.

“Third Bell?”

Guo Shan’s eyes widened.

Yes.

Then fear.

“Don’t…”

His fingers tightened.

“Ring…”

The monitor changed.

Dr. Zhao stepped forward.

Lu Chen checked.

Exhaustion.

Not another arrest.

“Enough.”

Guo Shan fought him.

“Traitor…”

“What traitor?”

“Still…”

Breath.

“…inside.”

Then he lost consciousness.

Lu Chen stood motionless.

Ruoxi looked at him.

“Inside where?”

He didn’t answer.

Because the answer had too many possibilities.

Inside the Valley?

Upper Court?

Qin Medical Center?

The Nine Medicines network?

Or—

inside the surviving people from his own sect?

Dr. Zhao supervised Guo Shan’s transfer to a secure ICU room.

This time, Lu Chen insisted on conventional scans, laboratory tests and constant monitoring.

The spiritual crisis had passed.

The physical damage remained severe.

Years of malnutrition.

Old fractures.

Scarring.

Organ injury.

The man had suffered.

A lot.

Ruoxi stood beside Lu Chen outside the room.

“So he is definitely not Yan Wusheng.”

“No.”

“Guo Shan?”

“Yes.”

“Someone from your Valley.”

“External guardian.”

“Important?”

“To me?”

She nodded.

“Yes.”

Lu Chen looked through the glass.

“Very.”

His voice answered more than he wanted.

Ruoxi did not press.

After a moment:

“You saved him believing he might be Yan.”

“Yes.”

“Would you still have done it if he actually was?”

Lu Chen thought.

The correct moral answer was obvious.

The emotionally true answer was harder.

Finally:

“Yes.”

She waited.

“But?”

He looked toward his hands.

“I would have hated every second.”

That made her smile faintly.

“That sounds more believable.”

“It would not mean forgiveness.”

“I know.”

“Saving someone does not erase what they did.”

“I know.”

“It does not mean I would allow them to walk away.”

“I know.”

He looked at her.

“You say that often.”

“Because you keep explaining things I already understand.”

Fair.

He leaned against the wall.

The newly formed Life Seed pulsed.

Warm.

Steady.

His body felt different.

Not powerful.

Not yet.

But no longer completely broken.

For five years he had lived with emptiness where his cultivation once existed.

Now something lived there.

Small.

His.

He almost wanted to laugh.

Instead, his phone rang.

Xiaoxiao.

Of course.

He answered.

“Hello?”

“Daddy.”

“Yes?”

“You forgot dinner.”

Lu Chen looked at the clock.

9:18 p.m.

Damn.

“I can explain.”

“You always say that.”

Ruoxi covered her mouth.

Lu Chen turned away.

“I saved someone.”

“Bad person?”

He looked through the glass at Guo Shan.

“No.”

Pause.

“Good person?”

Lu Chen smiled faintly.

“Yes.”

“Then okay.”

Just like that.

Forgiven.

Then:

“But you owe me noodles.”

“Fine.”

“And strawberry milk.”

“You have three bottles at home.”

“Those are old.”

“They were purchased yesterday.”

“Old.”

Lu Chen closed his eyes.

“Fine.”

Ruoxi laughed silently.

Xiaoxiao continued:

“Pretty Auntie there?”

“No.”

Ruoxi raised an eyebrow.

“You lie badly.”

Xiaoxiao gasped through the phone.

“I heard her!”

Lu Chen looked betrayed.

Ruoxi took the phone.

“Hi, Xiaoxiao.”

“Pretty Auntie!”

Lu Chen stared at the ceiling.

Why had Heaven not simply sent lightning?

An hour later, after promising dinner, noodles, milk and what Lu Chen believed might have included a pony but refused to confirm, they returned to the underground vault.

The bronze door had changed.

Line One glowed gold.

Nine Medicines authority.

Line Two glowed faintly from Shen Yulan’s bronze disc.

But now—

a tenth symbol had appeared above the door.

A small golden seed.

Ruoxi stared.

“That wasn’t there.”

“No.”

Lu Chen approached.

The Life Seed inside him pulsed.

The door answered.

A third compartment opened.

Inside lay no letter.

No vial.

Only a small mirror.

Round.

Black metal.

Lu Chen picked it up.

His reflection appeared.

Then changed.

Another face.

Scarred right cheek.

The infiltrator.

The false Pei Mingshan.

Ruoxi stepped closer.

“That’s him.”

“Yes.”

The mirror shifted again.

Hospital corridor.

The man walking.

Then—

the image showed something impossible.

The scarred man entered an elevator.

Doors closed.

When they opened—

someone else walked out.

Different face.

Different height.

Same internal posture.

Ruoxi’s expression changed.

“Disguise?”

“No.”

“Shape-shifting?”

“Maybe.”

Lu Chen examined the mirror.

A voice emerged.

His master’s.

Recorded.

Faint.

Faces are the least reliable part of a man.

Lu Chen almost smiled.

Then:

Watch the Life Meridian.

The mirror image changed.

Both faces vanished.

Only golden spiritual channels remained.

Same pattern.

Identity beneath appearance.

Lu Chen understood.

The mirror was teaching him.

Or enhancing something he already possessed.

Then:

The man you seek has worn seven faces.

Ruoxi became still.

The image flashed through seven silhouettes.

One was the scarred infiltrator.

One—

Pei Mingshan’s official portrait.

Another—

Lu Chen froze.

He knew that silhouette.

Broad shoulders.

Long robe.

Walking staff.

Someone from the Valley.

Someone who had supposedly died during the destruction.

The mirror went dark before the face appeared.

Lu Chen’s grip tightened.

Ruoxi looked at him.

“You recognized someone.”

“Maybe.”

“Who?”

He did not answer immediately.

Because if he was right—

the betrayal went deeper than he had imagined.

The bronze mirror warmed.

One final phrase appeared:

DO NOT TRUST THE DEAD MERELY BECAUSE YOU MOURN THEM.

Silence.

Lu Chen stared at his own reflection.

Then toward the sealed door.

Ten lives had given him the Life Seed.

But the First Gift had also opened another layer of his master’s warning.

The real enemy did not merely use false names.

He used dead identities.

Trusted identities.

Perhaps even faces Lu Chen loved.

Ruoxi spoke quietly.

“Who did you think you saw?”

Lu Chen closed his eyes.

A man from his childhood.

Someone who trained Valley disciples.

Someone who ate dinner with his master.

Someone who once carried an injured Lu Chen down a mountain after a training accident.

Someone Lu Chen had mourned.

Then he opened his eyes.

“My Second Uncle.”

Far outside Jiangzhou, in a chamber without windows, an elderly man knelt before a figure hidden behind a curtain.

“The Tenth Life survived.”

Silence.

“The Life Seed awakened.”

The figure did not react.

The old man continued.

“The substitute identity broke.”

Still nothing.

“Guo Shan remembers.”

This time, the figure moved.

Very slightly.

“Then kill him.”

The old man hesitated.

“Inside Qin Medical Center?”

“Yes.”

“The Ghost Physician is guarding him.”

A quiet laugh came from behind the curtain.

“Then we finally know where Lu Chen will be.”

The old man bowed.

“And Yan Wusheng?”

The curtain shifted.

A hand emerged.

On one finger was a black crescent ring.

“Yan Wusheng died five years ago.”

The kneeling man froze.

“But the orders—”

“Names are tools.”

The hand withdrew.

“Some remain useful after their owners die.”

The old man lowered his head.

“Then who leads the Upper Court?”

Silence.

Long enough that he regretted asking.

Finally:

“The same person who has led it for thirty-one years.”

The curtain opened slightly.

Only one eye became visible.

Calm.

Ancient.

Familiar.

And on the wall behind him hung a Valley portrait.

The name beneath it:

SECOND GUARDIAN — LUO SHEN.