Chapter 24 — The First Patient of the Old Clinic

The bell rang once.

Lu Chen did not move for half a second.

Then—

“Everyone out.”

Su Qingyue looked toward the back treatment room.

“What happened?”

“Out.”

Qin Ruoxi immediately closed her laptop.

“Xiaoxiao.”

“Already.”

Good.

She understood him too well.

Xiaoxiao was still holding half a dumpling.

She looked between the adults.

“Again?”

Lu Chen crouched.

“Yes.”

“My clinic?”

“Yes.”

“Mouse?”

“No.”

“Rat?”

“No.”

She frowned.

“Bigger rat?”

Despite everything, Su Qingyue’s lips twitched.

Lu Chen looked at his daughter.

“You’re going with Grandma Zhou and Pretty Auntie.”

Ruoxi raised an eyebrow.

Xiaoxiao pointed toward Su.

“Which Pretty Auntie?”

Silence.

Wrong time.

Absolutely wrong time.

Lu Chen stood.

“Both.”

Ruoxi smiled.

Su Qingyue slowly looked at him.

He ignored her.

Madam Zhou came through the front door.

“What happened now?”

“Take Xiaoxiao two streets south.”

“Uncle Chen’s shop?”

“No.”

“Why?”

Because his noodle shop had too much salt, questionable electrical wiring, and an owner incapable of keeping secrets.

“Qin’s people have a car waiting.”

Ruoxi was already calling.

“I’ll take them to the temporary apartment.”

Good.

Su did not move.

“I’m staying.”

“No.”

Her expression cooled.

“This concerns my blood.”

“Maybe.”

“The Gate responded to it.”

“Yes.”

“So—”

“And the last time one drop of your blood touched an old medical structure, frost traveled through a Gate network.”

That stopped her.

Lu Chen continued:

“I do not know what this bell is connected to.”

Su looked toward the floor.

The first three Cold Nails inside her tightened slightly.

Lu Chen saw it.

“Exactly.”

She noticed his expression.

“My Nails moved.”

“Yes.”

“How much?”

“Enough.”

Su was silent for several seconds.

Then:

“Fine.”

Progress.

She pointed toward him.

“But you tell me anything medically relevant.”

“Yes.”

“And anything involving Northern House.”

“Yes.”

“And—”

“Leave before the bell rings again.”

Her eyes narrowed.

But she turned.

Lin Yue immediately followed.

Xiaoxiao remained.

She walked into the back treatment room.

Lu Chen frowned.

“What are you doing?”

She took a small flashlight from a drawer.

Returned.

Held it up.

“For suspicious cellar.”

He stared.

“It has electricity.”

“What if electricity breaks?”

Reasonable.

She put the flashlight into his medical bag.

Then whispered:

“Don’t let the wall eat you.”

“Walls don’t eat people.”

“Old ones might.”

Ruoxi called from the front.

“Xiaoxiao.”

“Coming!”

She hugged Lu Chen’s leg.

Then hurried out.

Lu Chen watched until the door closed.

Only then did his expression change.

The clinic became silent.

Almost.

From beneath the floor—

Knock.

One.

Lu Chen took Returning Spring from beside the consultation table.

And descended.

Elder Fan Qingshu was awake.

Too awake.

The gray-haired records keeper had managed to sit halfway up despite thirty-six black Life Burial needles surrounding his body.

Lu Chen entered.

“Lie down.”

Fan pointed toward the wall.

“It spoke.”

“I noticed.”

“Did you?”

“The entire clinic noticed.”

“Good.”

“That is not good.”

Fan seemed to consider.

“Fair.”

Lu Chen approached.

The far wall had changed.

A thin line of frost divided it vertically.

Black at the center.

White along the edges.

The same frost he had seen before.

But now something else had appeared.

Nine tiny depressions.

Not carved.

Exposed.

Like parts of the stone had melted away.

Returning Spring hummed.

Fan looked at the sword.

“That reacted?”

“Yes.”

“So did the Life Burial formation.”

“Explain.”

“I can’t.”

Lu Chen stared.

Fan sighed.

“I know. Disappointing.”

“You were the Valley’s Keeper of medicinal histories.”

“External guardian and archive keeper.”

“You corrected me while failing to answer.”

“Accuracy matters.”

Unfortunately true.

Lu Chen crouched beside the wall.

Life Meridian perception.

Nothing living.

No human pulse.

No Death Essence.

No familiar Upper Court seals.

Then—

something behind it.

Not a Life Meridian.

A pattern.

Thin pathways embedded in stone.

Medical.

He recognized the logic before the design.

“Diagnostic channels.”

Fan’s expression changed.

“You can see them?”

“Barely.”

“Then it really is one of the old continuity rooms.”

Lu Chen looked back.

“You know what this is.”

“I know what it might be.”

“Better.”

Fan settled against the bed.

“Before the Valley formalized its medical network, some external clinics used continuity chambers.”

“For what?”

“Unfinished treatment.”

“That sounds ordinary.”

“It was.”

Fan looked toward the wall.

“If a physician died, disappeared, or was forced to abandon a patient, certain clinics preserved enough of the case that another physician could continue.”

Lu Chen frowned.

“Medical records.”

“More than paper.”

“Pulse impressions.”

“Yes.”

“Blood?”

“Sometimes.”

“Memories?”

“Fragments.”

That sounded dangerous.

Fan nodded before Lu Chen could say it.

“It was dangerous.”

“Why use it?”

“Because sometimes the patient was more dangerous without treatment.”

Fair.

Lu Chen looked toward the wall again.

“The voice.”

Fan’s expression became serious.

“Say it exactly.”

“‘Physician… still there?’”

Fan closed his eyes.

Then opened them.

“That is not a greeting.”

“What is it?”

“A continuity query.”

“So automated.”

“Originally.”

That word mattered.

“Originally?”

Fan looked uncomfortable.

“The query should appear when an unresolved patient record reconnects to a functioning clinic.”

Lu Chen’s eyes narrowed.

“Reconnects from where?”

“Could be local.”

“Could be remote.”

“Yes.”

“Could be from another Gate station.”

Fan hesitated.

“Yes.”

Wonderful.

“Can I answer without opening the route?”

“Maybe.”

Lu Chen stared.

Fan gave him a tired look.

“You’ve been saying that word for days.”

“I’m allowed.”

“So am I.”

The wall whispered again.

Faint.

“Physician…”

Pause.

“…still there?”

Lu Chen did not answer aloud.

Good instinct.

Fan nodded.

“Do not speak your name.”

“Why?”

“Old medical systems sometimes used spoken identity confirmation.”

“And if this one is compromised?”

“You register yourself to whoever is asking.”

“No.”

“Exactly.”

“So how did physicians answer safely?”

Fan pointed toward the frost.

“Life.”

Lu Chen looked at him.

“What?”

“A physician placed a trace of living medical qi into the clinic bell.”

“Medical qi.”

“Not ordinary cultivation.”

The Life Seed pulsed.

Of course.

“Why didn’t you say that first?”

“You asked many questions.”

Lu Chen stared.

Fan closed his eyes.

“Old age.”

“Convenient.”

There was no visible bell in the chamber.

Until Returning Spring touched the wall.

The sword hummed.

One section of stone vibrated.

Dust fell.

A small bronze object pushed outward.

Not the large Third Bell.

Not even close.

This bell fit into Lu Chen’s palm.

Blackened by age.

Nine leaves around its rim.

No clapper.

A single shallow depression on top.

Finger-sized.

Fan whispered:

“Physician call bell.”

“Different from Third Bell?”

“Entirely.”

“Good.”

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

“Probably.”

Lu Chen looked back.

Fan smiled weakly.

“Had to.”

Lu Chen placed one finger against the depression.

Nothing.

He allowed the Life Seed to release the smallest possible thread of Life Essence.

The bronze warmed.

One pulse.

He stopped.

The wall remained silent.

Then—

a second pulse returned.

Not from the bell.

From behind the stone.

Fan’s expression changed.

“Accepted.”

“You sound surprised.”

“I am.”

“Helpful.”

The black-white frost retreated.

Stone lines separated.

A seam appeared.

Then a voice.

Clearer now.

Neither male nor female.

Old recording.

“Physician continuity confirmed.”

Lu Chen did not move.

“Unfinished case memory available.”

Pause.

Then:

“Load first patient?”

Fan inhaled.

Lu Chen looked at him.

“Should I?”

“That is a terrible question to ask the man lying under a forbidden preservation seal.”

“Still asking.”

Fan thought.

“If it is local memory only, yes.”

“And if it isn’t?”

“Then we find out quickly.”

That sounded like something Lu Chen would say.

He disliked it.

He placed one more tiny pulse into the bell.

The wall opened.

Behind it was a room.

Small.

Perhaps three meters deep.

Two wide.

Not a tunnel.

Not another endless underground structure.

Thank Heaven.

One examination cot.

One bronze wash basin.

One cabinet.

One wall rack containing eleven rusted medical instruments.

The air smelled old.

Burned paper.

Cedar.

Medicinal alcohol.

And ash.

The fire thirty-one years ago had reached this room.

But not destroyed it.

Black scorch marks climbed one wall.

At the center sat a low stone table.

On it—

a ledger.

Actual paper.

Lu Chen stared.

“Finally.”

Fan called weakly from behind him.

“What?”

“Something normal.”

Then the stone table lit.

Lu Chen sighed.

“Never mind.”

A faint silver pattern moved under the ledger.

The clinic did not use screens.

No floating numbers.

No artificial voice announcing levels.

Good.

Instead—

condensation formed across the stone.

Characters slowly appeared.

Old medical script.

Lu Chen read.

EASTERN RIVER CHARITY MEDICAL HALL

Below:

CONTINUITY RECORD

Then:

FIRST UNFINISHED EMERGENCY PATIENT

Lu Chen’s heartbeat changed.

A name appeared.

PEI MINGSHAN

Silence.

Behind him, Fan Qingshu stopped breathing.

“What?”

Lu Chen looked back.

“Pei.”

Fan tried to get up.

Lu Chen pointed.

“Stay.”

“Pei Mingshan?”

“Yes.”

“The real one?”

“That is what we’re about to find out.”

He approached.

A shallow depression existed beside the ledger.

Blood sample cavity.

Empty to the naked eye.

But under Life Meridian perception—

something remained.

An Origin Pulse echo.

Old.

Faint.

Yet clear enough.

Lu Chen had seen Pei Mingshan’s authentic Blood Ledger signature.

The archive beneath Qin’s property had shown it.

Calm structure.

Dense fingertip channels.

Strong ocular meridian reinforcement.

Keeper’s spiritual authorization around the right heart branch.

This—

matched.

Not perfectly.

Thirty-one years of decay distorted it.

But enough.

Lu Chen’s expression hardened.

“Real.”

Fan closed his eyes.

“So Pei was here.”

“Yes.”

“After the fire?”

Lu Chen opened the ledger.

The first page had survived.

Handwriting.

He recognized it instantly.

Lu Tianhe.

His master.

Patient: Pei Mingshan.

Age: 39.

Position: Twelfth Keeper, Nine-Lock Repository.

Lu Chen paused.

Thirty-one years ago.

Pei had indeed been alive.

The next line:

Admission: 2:26 a.m.

Lu Chen remembered the municipal fire report.

Three knocks at approximately 2:11.

Bell at 2:14.

A man wearing Pei Mingshan’s coat seen leaving around 2:17.

Then—

the real Pei admitted at 2:26.

Nine minutes later.

Lu Chen’s eyes narrowed.

He read faster.

Condition: conscious. Severe spiritual exhaustion. Three secondary meridian fractures. Origin Pulse abrasion surrounding Repository authority channels. Right palm partially burned. No facial burns.

No facial burns.

Important.

The witness had described the man leaving the fire with a badly burned face.

That man was not this Pei.

At least not if the record was accurate.

Next:

Patient states municipal authorities have already recorded him as dead.

Fan whispered:

“Before he arrived?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“Keep listening.”

Lu Chen continued.

Patient denies being present inside the public treatment hall when the fire began.

Then:

Patient reports returning to Jiangzhou after receiving evidence that his Ninth-Lock authority had been used without permission.

The council vote.

Northern House.

The forged objection.

Pei had come to investigate.

Then the next line:

Patient encountered an individual using his medical clearance prior to arrival.

Lu Chen stopped.

There.

Thirty-one years ago.

Someone was already using Pei’s living authority.

The following note was in different handwriting.

Pei’s.

Sharper.

More compact.

I saw my seal before I saw the man.

Lu Chen read aloud.

Fan became silent.

The eastern clinic door recognized him.

Next line:

It refused me.

Lu Chen’s expression changed.

The door believed the copy.

Not the original.

Pei continued:

My authority was not merely forged. The clinic believed it belonged to him.

Then:

His face was not mine.

Important.

The first living identity theft had not required physical disguise.

Authority and name could be separated.

Pei wrote:

When I demanded his identity, he asked whether a name belonged to the body that was born with it or the door that obeyed it.

Lu Chen became still.

That sounded like the enemy’s philosophy.

Names as tools.

Dead names as doors.

Except this was decades earlier.

The next sentence had been underlined.

He carried part of my Origin Pulse.

Fan Qingshu whispered:

“Borrowed Pulse.”

“Before the Valley used that term.”

“Yes.”

Lu Chen continued.

I do not know how he obtained it.

Then another note from Lu Tianhe:

No incision. No blood theft discovered. No evidence of soul extraction.

Good.

So the copy did not come from attacking Pei physically.

Pei’s next line answered.

I believe the clinic gave it to him.

Silence.

Lu Chen looked around the hidden continuity chamber.

Fan’s face changed.

“No.”

Lu Chen continued.

This hall examined me six years ago after a Repository injury. It retained my pulse memory for continuity treatment.

There.

Medical technology.

Built to save patients.

Weaponized.

Pei wrote:

Someone learned how to remove an authority echo from the patient memory.

Lu Chen’s eyes hardened.

The clinic remembered patients.

And someone had learned how to steal what it remembered.

Not blood.

Not face.

Not name.

Recognition itself.

The next line:

They did not copy me.

Pause.

They copied the part of the world that recognizes me.

Lu Chen read that twice.

Fan muttered:

“Gods.”

“No.”

Lu Chen looked toward the stone table.

“Physicians.”

“What?”

“This was medical technology.”

He touched the edge of the old ledger.

“Whatever it became later, it started as medicine.”

That mattered.

If medicine created the vulnerability—

medicine might also reveal how to fix it.

Lu Tianhe’s next note was shorter.

Patient’s public death record must remain uncorrected.

Lu Chen frowned.

Fan did too.

Then:

Decision made jointly with Patient.

Good.

Not Master manipulating everything.

Pei had agreed.

Reason:

If the thief believes Pei is officially dead, Pei can investigate without exposing that the Valley has identified the duplication.

Reasonable.

Dangerous.

But reasonable.

Another line:

No Valley-wide announcement. Information restricted to Valley Master, Pei Mingshan, and two external guardians.

Which guardians?

Not listed.

Perhaps Luo Shen.

Perhaps Shen Tuo.

Perhaps Guo.

Unknown.

Then:

Patient discharged after nineteen days under sealed civilian identity.

So real Pei survived the fire.

Publicly dead.

Internally hidden.

Then he continued investigating.

The stone table added a later annotation.

Not handwritten.

A preserved Blood Ledger synchronization.

AUTHENTIC ORIGIN PULSE EXTINGUISHED: 3 YEARS, 8 MONTHS AFTER INITIAL ADMISSION.

Lu Chen closed his eyes briefly.

Perfect.

That matched the Blood Ledger.

About twenty-seven years ago.

The moment Pei truly died.

And from Master’s remembered confrontation five years ago:

“You wore Pei’s seal for twenty-two years.”

Twenty-seven years ago to five years ago.

Twenty-two years.

The timeline finally aligned.

Lu Chen whispered:

“Master knew.”

Fan looked toward him.

“Part.”

“Yes.”

“The infiltrator copied Pei while Pei lived.”

“Yes.”

“Pei investigated for almost four years.”

“Yes.”

“Then died.”

“Yes.”

“And the false Pei continued.”

“For twenty-two more years.”

Fan closed his eyes.

“That explains why everyone believed the seal.”

Exactly.

By the time the Valley realized how deep the infiltration went, the counterfeit authority had been accepted longer than many disciples had been alive.

Lu Chen turned the page.

Pei had written one final statement before discharge.

Do not destroy the Eastern River clinic.

Interesting.

The breach is here, but so is the evidence.

Then:

The patient memory did not betray me by itself. Someone taught it to release what should only be used for healing.

Lu Chen’s eyes sharpened.

Not evil artifact.

Compromised medical system.

Again.

Find who changed the rules.

Then a final sentence:

If I die before I finish, do not hunt my face.

Lu Chen almost smiled.

Pei understood.

Thirty-one years before Lu Chen did.

Hunt the pulse that keeps wearing my authority.

That was all.

Lu Chen closed the ledger.

For several seconds, the hidden room remained silent.

Then Fan spoke.

“Your master’s mirror.”

“The bronze mirror beneath Qin Medical Center.”

“The one that showed seven faces.”

“Yes.”

“It may have been built from the same patient-memory method.”

Lu Chen thought.

The mirror had said:

Faces are the least reliable part of a man. Watch the Life Meridian.

It could have been created as a countermeasure after Pei’s case.

Not necessarily by Master alone.

Possibly developed by Pei, Lu Tianhe, or the archive network after discovering the theft.

“Possible.”

Fan groaned.

“There it is.”

“What?”

“Your favorite word.”

Lu Chen ignored him.

The stone table changed.

Another line appeared.

CASE ONE CONTINUITY: COMPLETE

Then:

PHYSICIAN ACKNOWLEDGMENT REQUIRED

Lu Chen frowned.

“For what?”

Fan answered from the bed.

“To close the old case.”

“Will that erase it?”

“No.”

“Certain?”

“Mostly.”

Lu Chen stared.

Fan sighed.

“I read fragments of these systems. I did not build them.”

Lu Chen examined the Life Meridian channels embedded in the room.

Closing the case seemed local.

No outward pressure.

No Gate resonance.

He placed one thread of Life Essence into the physician bell.

The first patient record dimmed.

Not vanished.

Settled.

Like a completed medical chart.

Good.

No acknowledgment from the First Medicine.

As expected.

He had not saved Pei.

Pei had died decades ago.

History was not a patient.

Then the room spoke.

“First patient closed.”

Pause.

Lu Chen’s expression tightened before the next sentence arrived.

“Second patient remains unfinished.”

Fan and Lu Chen looked at each other.

“No,” Fan said immediately.

“Agreed.”

Good.

Then the wall began to frost.

The temperature dropped.

Not severely.

Enough.

Lu Chen stepped backward.

“Fan.”

“I feel it.”

The Life Burial needles trembled.

Not failing.

Responding.

The stone table displayed another old heading.

SECOND EMERGENCY PATIENT

Then—

a name.

Lu Chen stared.

Fan whispered:

“That can’t be right.”

The name read:

PEI MINGSHAN

Again.

Two patients.

Same name.

Same clinic.

Same night?

Lu Chen looked at the admission line.

Admission: 1:58 a.m.

His expression changed.

Earlier.

Patient Two had arrived twenty-eight minutes before the real Pei.

Before the three knocks.

Before the bell.

Before the fire.

The false Pei had entered first.

That was why the clinic door later refused the real one.

The counterfeit had already registered.

The next line:

AUTHORITY: ACCEPTED

Then:

PATIENT MEMORY: CONFLICT

And beneath it:

REGISTERED NAME DOES NOT MATCH ORIGIN PULSE

Lu Chen’s heart began beating faster.

Fan Qingshu whispered:

“The clinic noticed.”

“Eventually.”

“Too late.”

“Yes.”

A pulse pattern emerged across the stone.

Not human flesh.

An old medical impression.

Incomplete.

But enough.

Twelve primary meridian structures.

Secondary routes.

Artificial rerouting.

Several channels that did not seem to belong together.

Lu Chen became completely still.

He had seen something like this.

At the archive.

The preserved blood sample of the first infiltrator.

Not identical enough to declare from memory.

But frighteningly similar.

Fan watched his expression.

“You recognize it.”

“Maybe.”

“Again?”

“This one matters.”

He leaned closer.

Adaptive channels.

Artificial graft junctions around the spiritual heart.

Same region where Pei’s borrowed authority had attached to the infiltrator sample.

Could be the same person.

Could be an early version.

Could be someone carrying the same technique.

No conclusion without comparison.

He reached for his phone.

Jian answered immediately.

“Little Chen.”

“Box Two.”

Silence.

“What about it?”

“I need the first infiltrator sample compared against a pulse pattern.”

“Where?”

“My clinic.”

Jian became quiet.

“You opened the old chamber.”

“Yes.”

“What did you find?”

“Patient One.”

“Who?”

“Real Pei Mingshan.”

Long silence.

Then:

“What?”

Lu Chen gave him the shortest possible summary.

Public death false.

Real Pei treated after the fire.

Pulse-memory theft.

Public death deliberately left in place.

Actual death three years and eight months later.

Twenty-two-year impersonation afterward.

Jian did not speak for several seconds.

Then:

“That fits.”

“Yes.”

“Too well.”

“Yes.”

“And the pulse pattern?”

“Patient Two.”

“Name?”

Lu Chen looked at the stone.

“Pei Mingshan.”

Jian swore.

“Real?”

“No.”

“Pulse?”

“Foreign.”

“Borrowed Pei authority?”

“Accepted.”

Jian became very quiet.

“First infiltrator.”

“Possibly.”

“I hate when you do that.”

“Bring the sample.”

“I’m leaving now.”

“No rush driving.”

“Little Chen.”

“I have a daughter.”

Silence.

Then Jian said:

“Fine.”

Good.

He was learning too.

The second patient record continued without being asked.

Lu Chen did not touch the bell.

Interesting.

It was already active.

INITIAL COMPLAINT: LOSS OF SELF

That was unexpected.

Fan frowned.

“What?”

Lu Chen read.

Patient states: “I remember things that did not happen to me.”

The room became colder.

Next:

Patient unable to provide birth name.

Then:

Patient provides six different childhood memories under questioning.

Lu Chen’s eyes narrowed.

Borrowed memories.

Long before Upper Court’s later identity surgeries.

Next:

Patient reports hearing doors call him by names of previous patients.

Fan whispered:

“That is not a spy.”

Lu Chen looked at him.

“Maybe not originally.”

Important distinction.

The first infiltrator might not have entered the clinic as an enemy.

Could have begun as a patient.

Or pretended to be one.

Evidence not enough.

Next line:

Patient requests removal of foreign memories.

Lu Chen became still.

A genuine medical request?

Perhaps.

Then another:

Patient becomes agitated when informed the clinic cannot distinguish original memories from grafted ones.

Reasonable.

Terrifying.

The note continued.

Upon exposure to diagnostic mirror, patient’s Origin Pulse changed.

Fan stared.

“Changed?”

Lu Chen read:

First pattern persisted for eleven breaths. Second pattern matched archived patient record P.M. at 31%. Third exposure increased match to 67%.

His expression hardened.

The clinic itself had trained the counterfeit.

Not merely leaked data.

The diagnostic process strengthened the mimicry.

Medical feedback.

Like teaching a false meridian.

Except maliciously—or accidentally—teaching an identity.

This was the origin of Borrowed Pulse replication.

Possibly.

Pei’s patient memory had become a template.

The next line had been violently crossed out.

Underneath, barely readable:

Fourth exposure—

Burned away.

No result.

Then:

Patient left treatment before physician clearance.

“How?” Fan asked.

Lu Chen continued.

Emergency fire.

Of course.

Then:

Patient departed through public hall wearing gray physician’s coat.

Lu Chen stopped.

The witness.

2:17 a.m.

A burned-faced man wearing Pei Mingshan’s coat.

But this note only said gray physician’s coat.

Not necessarily Pei’s literal coat.

Still.

Same timing.

Then the next line:

Facial condition at departure: thermal injury across right cheek. Corneal clouding observed.

Silence.

Lu Chen’s hand tightened around the edge of the stone table.

Right-cheek scar.

Cloudy eye.

The face he had seen in Returning Spring’s memory.

The face captured on hospital security footage.

The scarred infiltrator.

Thirty-one years ago, the second patient left this clinic with the injuries that could have produced that appearance.

Could.

Not absolute.

Because later face alteration existed.

But now the resemblance had an origin.

Fan whispered:

“Lu Chen.”

“I see it.”

“The scar.”

“Yes.”

“The eye.”

“Yes.”

“Is it him?”

Lu Chen looked at the unstable pulse pattern.

“Not yet.”

Fan almost laughed.

“You would demand a death certificate from Heaven itself.”

“Probably.”

“Good.”

A final note appeared.

Not Lu Tianhe’s handwriting.

Not Pei’s.

Unknown physician.

Only initials.

Y.C.

Lu Chen stared.

Ye Canglan?

Possible.

The dates placed him alive.

Northern House guardian.

External physician.

His initials matched.

But don't assume.

The note read:

Patient is ill.

Then:

This does not mean patient is harmless.

Excellent distinction.

Next:

Borrowed authority appears to worsen with every identity accepted by external systems.

Lu Chen’s eyes sharpened.

The more doors recognized the false identity—

the more stable it became.

A feedback loop.

That explained decades of infiltration.

Every successful impersonation strengthened the copy.

Then:

If this process continues, patient may eventually become more recognizable to a system than the original person.

That had already happened.

The clinic door recognized the false Pei before the real one.

Terrifying.

Then:

Do not solve this by killing the patient before understanding the condition.

Lu Chen paused.

Physician.

Definitely written by someone who thought like one.

Then:

If the illness can be taught to borrow an identity, it may be possible to teach it to release one.

That line mattered.

A treatment.

Not merely enemy hunting.

Could the first infiltrator still be medically trapped inside a condition?

Maybe.

Could an enemy have deliberately weaponized that condition afterward?

Likely.

Could both be true?

Yes.

The final line:

We need the original name.

Nothing after it.

No signature beyond Y.C.

Case unfinished.

The frost thickened.

Then the hidden room whispered:

“Second patient continuity available.”

Lu Chen did not answer.

The voice continued.

“Last remote contact received.”

His expression changed.

“When?”

Characters formed.

Not thirty-one years ago.

Today.

19:36

Less than fifteen minutes before the bell rang upstairs.

Fan went pale.

“Remote contact?”

“Yes.”

The next line formed.

SOURCE: UNRESOLVED

Then:

REQUEST: PHYSICIAN

Silence.

The voice beneath Lu Chen’s clinic had not necessarily been a thirty-one-year-old recording.

Something had contacted the unfinished second case tonight.

And the system had asked whether a physician was still there.

Lu Chen’s Life Seed pulsed.

The second patient’s old Origin Pulse pattern flickered.

Then—

for half a heartbeat—

another pulse overlaid it.

Current.

Fresh.

Distant.

Lu Chen’s eyes widened.

Same adaptive structure.

More complicated now.

Far more scarred.

Multiple layers of rerouting.

Seven major identity graft channels.

Seven.

The bronze mirror beneath Qin Medical Center had said:

The man you seek has worn seven faces.

Lu Chen stopped breathing.

The signal vanished.

Too fast to examine properly.

But enough.

Fan whispered:

“You saw it.”

“Yes.”

“Same patient?”

Lu Chen slowly looked at the stone table.

“I need Box Two.”

Not yes.

Not yet.

Evidence.

Jian was bringing the preserved first-infiltrator blood.

Then they could compare.

The hidden room spoke again.

“Continue second patient?”

Lu Chen stared at the physician bell.

One pulse from him might reopen the consultation.

Perhaps establish a direct medical link to whoever—or whatever—had just contacted the clinic.

A patient from thirty-one years ago.

Possibly the first infiltrator.

Possibly the scarred man.

Possibly the person behind Pei, Luo, and Shen Tuo’s stolen authorities.

Possibly someone who had once entered this clinic genuinely asking to be cured.

And who had since helped destroy Lu Chen’s home.

Fan looked at him.

“You’re thinking about answering.”

“Yes.”

“Bad idea.”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Lu Chen took his hand away from the bell.

“Not without the sample.”

Fan exhaled.

For once, an ancient patient would have to wait.

He climbed upstairs.

The clinic was empty.

Strangely empty.

No Xiaoxiao.

No Ruoxi.

No Madam Zhou shouting from across the street.

He disliked it.

Immediately.

His phone rang.

Xiaoxiao.

He answered.

“Daddy.”

“Yes.”

“Did you get eaten?”

“No.”

“Good.”

“What are you doing?”

“Eating noodles.”

“Where?”

“Pretty Auntie’s apartment.”

“Which Pretty Auntie?”

Silence.

Then several women laughed in the background.

Lu Chen closed his eyes.

This problem was getting worse.

Xiaoxiao continued:

“Cold Pretty Auntie says you’re bossy.”

Su Qingyue’s voice appeared:

“I said medically overbearing.”

Xiaoxiao whispered loudly:

“Same.”

Ruoxi laughed.

Lu Chen stared at the consultation table.

“Is everyone safe?”

“Yes,” Ruoxi said.

“Su’s temperature?”

“36.3.”

“Pulse?”

“Normal.”

“Symptoms?”

Su answered:

“I am capable of speaking for myself.”

“Then speak.”

“No symptoms.”

“Good.”

A pause.

Then Su asked:

“What did you find?”

“Pei Mingshan.”

Silence.

Ruoxi became serious immediately.

“The real one?”

“Yes.”

“Alive?”

“Thirty-one years ago.”

Su understood.

“The clinic fire.”

“Yes.”

Lu Chen gave them only the relevant summary.

Real Pei survived.

His public death had been false.

A second patient used his identity before the real Pei arrived.

The old clinic’s patient-memory system may have been used to copy Origin Pulse authority.

He did not yet mention the current remote contact.

Not until verified.

Su said:

“So the medical system itself became the source of identity theft.”

“Possibly.”

Ruoxi groaned.

“You did that intentionally.”

“Yes.”

Su asked:

“Does this connect to Northern House?”

“Pei came to Jiangzhou after his authority was used to oppose Ye Canglan’s evacuation.”

Silence.

So yes.

Directly.

Then Xiaoxiao returned to the phone.

“Daddy.”

“Yes?”

“Did you find the patient?”

He looked toward the back treatment room.

“Maybe.”

“Is he sick?”

That question stopped him.

Not:

Is he bad?

Is he dangerous?

Is he the enemy?

Is he a liar?

Just:

Is he sick?

Lu Chen looked at the second patient record in his mind.

Loss of self.

Six childhood memories.

Borrowed identities.

A plea to remove foreign memories.

A condition that became stronger every time the world accepted the false name.

Then thirty-one years of murder, infiltration, stolen authority, and Valley blood.

Whatever the second patient had once been—

innocence did not erase later choices.

Illness did not erase responsibility.

But responsibility did not erase illness either.

“Yes,” Lu Chen said.

“I think he might be.”

Xiaoxiao thought.

“Then help him.”

Lu Chen closed his eyes.

Simple.

Children made impossible things sound embarrassing when adults complicated them.

“If he lets me.”

“Okay.”

Then:

“Bring strawberry milk.”

The call ended.

Of course.

At 8:24 p.m., Jian Wei arrived at the clinic.

He carried no disguise.

No red prayer beads.

Only a small sealed case.

Inside—

a single crystal vial.

The preserved blood of the first infiltrator.

Box Two.

Lu Chen looked at him.

“You drove normally?”

Jian stared.

“I am your senior brother.”

“That is not an answer.”

“Mostly.”

“Senior Brother.”

“Fine. Faster than normal.”

Lu Chen sighed.

“Xiaoxiao will need another uncle eventually.”

“That sounded threatening.”

“It was medical.”

Jian handed him the case.

“Show me.”

They descended.

Fan Qingshu was still awake.

He looked at Jian.

“You got older.”

Jian stopped.

“Senior Uncle Fan?”

Fan smiled weakly.

“Still loud.”

Jian’s face changed.

For one moment he looked twelve.

Then thirty-eight again.

“You’re alive.”

“Apparently.”

Jian stepped toward the bed.

Stopped himself when he saw the Life Burial needles.

No touching.

Good.

“You look terrible.”

Fan stared.

“You learned bedside manner from Lu Chen.”

“I taught him.”

“Then this is your fault.”

Lu Chen walked into the hidden room.

“Family reunion later.”

Both older men looked at him.

Jian muttered:

“He became unpleasant.”

Fan said:

“He always was.”

Betrayal everywhere.

Lu Chen opened the crystal vial.

Not fully.

Just enough for the Life Seed to sense the preserved blood.

The old sample responded.

Red-gold pulse pattern unfolded above the stone.

The first infiltrator.

Same pattern they had seen beneath the Qin archive.

Artificially rerouted channels.

Graft points.

Adaptive spiritual-heart junction.

Jian became silent.

“Now the old patient,” he said.

Lu Chen touched the physician bell.

Not enough to accept continuity.

Only enough to request stored examination.

The second patient’s thirty-one-year-old Origin Pulse emerged.

Two patterns hovered beside each other.

Everyone stopped breathing.

Not identical.

At first.

The old patient's network was less developed.

Fewer scars.

Only one major borrowed authority graft.

The modern first-infiltrator blood carried several.

But underneath—

same primary rhythm.

Same core sequence.

Same unusual break between the seventh and eighth secondary branches.

Same three-way rerouting near the spiritual heart.

Jian whispered:

“Same life.”

Lu Chen did not answer immediately.

He examined again.

No reason to rush now.

Ten seconds.

Twenty.

Then:

“Yes.”

Fan Qingshu closed his eyes.

The second patient of the Eastern River Charity Medical Hall—

the person who registered as Pei Mingshan before the real Pei arrived—

shared the same underlying Origin Pulse as Lu Tianhe’s preserved first-infiltrator blood.

Thirty-one years.

Same life.

Same patient.

Same infiltrator.

A person who had once walked into a medical clinic and asked to have foreign memories removed.

Then became the man who spent decades wearing the identities of others.

Jian’s expression turned hard.

“So we found him.”

“No.”

Lu Chen looked toward the wall.

“We found who he was thirty-one years ago.”

“Difference?”

“Thirty-one years.”

Fair.

“What is his name?”

“Unknown.”

“Face?”

“Unreliable.”

“Location?”

“Unknown.”

“Current condition?”

“Unknown.”

Jian sighed.

“You are destroying this moment.”

“I am preserving it.”

The hidden room suddenly responded.

Both pulse patterns were present.

Old patient memory.

Modern blood.

Same life.

The continuity system recognized the match.

Characters appeared.

SECOND PATIENT IDENTITY CONTINUITY CONFIRMED

Then:

ORIGINAL NAME: NOT RECORDED

No help.

Next:

CURRENT REMOTE LINK AVAILABLE

Jian looked toward Lu Chen.

“Now?”

“Yes.”

The physician bell warmed beneath Lu Chen’s hand.

Not from him.

From the other side.

The voice returned.

But this time—

not the neutral clinic recording.

A person.

Old.

Calm.

Very much alive.

“Physician…”

Static crackled.

“…still there?”

Jian’s hand moved toward his sword.

Lu Chen raised one finger.

No.

The voice waited.

Then—

a faint laugh.

“Little Chen.”

Every muscle in Lu Chen’s body went still.

Jian’s face changed.

That name.

Not Ghost Physician.

Not Doctor Lu.

Not Lu Chen.

Little Chen.

The way Master called him.

The way Jian called him.

The way Guo Shan called him.

Someone who knew the Valley.

Personally.

The voice continued:

“You finally opened my case.”

Lu Chen stared at the bell.

Jian whispered:

“Do not answer.”

Lu Chen agreed.

For once.

The voice laughed softly again.

“You learned caution.”

A pause.

“Good.”

Then:

“Ask Pei what it cost him.”

Silence.

Pei was dead.

The voice knew that.

Then:

“Ask Luo who killed him.”

Also dead.

“Ask Shen why he ran.”

Dead.

Names.

Always names.

The voice continued:

“But if you want to know why your Valley burned…”

Lu Chen’s eyes hardened.

“…do not ask the dead.”

A crack of static.

Then:

“Ask your master why he treated me first.”

The connection severed.

The bell went cold.

No one spoke.

Jian slowly turned toward Lu Chen.

“Master treated him.”

“Apparently.”

“Before the Valley fell.”

“Thirty-one years ago.”

“The first infiltrator.”

“Yes.”

“And Master knew him as a patient.”

“Yes.”

Jian looked toward the old case record.

“Then Master knew where all this started.”

Lu Chen stared at the silent physician bell.

Maybe.

Or he knew only part.

Again—

do not turn preparation into omniscience.

Lu Tianhe had treated a sick man thirty-one years ago.

That man later became—or already was—the first infiltrator.

What Lu Tianhe knew then remained unknown.

But one fact was now certain.

Before he was an infiltrator—

before he wore Pei’s authority—

before he helped destroy the Valley—

he had been a patient.

And Lu Chen’s master had treated him.

The first great enemy in Lu Chen’s past had begun not with a sword.

Not with betrayal.

Not with murder.

But on a medical bed.

Lu Chen looked at the old record.

Then at the silent bell.

His voice became quiet.

“Senior Brother.”

“Yes?”

“Tomorrow we find out what Master did to him.”

Jian nodded.

“And if the answer is something we don’t like?”

Lu Chen looked toward the stairs.

Toward his clinic.

Toward the home where Xiaoxiao would return.

“Then we don’t protect Master’s reputation.”

Jian became still.

“We protect the truth.”

For several seconds, his senior brother said nothing.

Then he smiled faintly.

“Master would hate that.”

“No.”

Lu Chen picked up the medical ledger.

“He’d complain.”

That was different.