Chapter 12 — The Hospital Beneath the Hospital

At eight twenty-three the next morning, Lu Chen was cutting an apple into rabbit shapes.

He disliked this fact.

Not the apple.

The shapes.

“Those ears are too small.”

Across the breakfast table, Lu Xiaoxiao inspected his work with the severity of a master craftsman judging an incompetent apprentice.

Lu Chen looked at the apple slice.

“It is food.”

“It is a rabbit.”

“It is attempting to be a rabbit.”

“That one looks like a cat.”

“It looks like fruit.”

Xiaoxiao sighed.

Deeply.

Patiently.

As though she were dealing with a difficult child.

“Daddy.”

“Yes?”

“You need imagination.”

“I need breakfast.”

“You need both.”

Lu Chen looked toward Returning Spring, which rested inside its repaired case near the wall.

The sword had spent five years missing.

It had returned carrying memories of a traitor.

And somehow, that was still less complicated than breakfast.

His phone vibrated.

Qin Ruoxi.

Xiaoxiao immediately looked at the screen.

“Pretty Auntie.”

Lu Chen turned the phone facedown.

“Eat.”

“She calls a lot.”

“She has problems.”

“Maybe you can fix them.”

“That is unfortunately becoming my job.”

Xiaoxiao bit into the cat-shaped rabbit.

“Maybe she likes you.”

Lu Chen looked toward the ceiling.

There had to be easier cultivation tribulations than raising a four-year-old.

The phone vibrated again.

Then again.

Three messages.

He picked it up.

RUOXI: We found the access route.

A second message.

RUOXI: It is beneath the old surgical wing.

Then:

RUOXI: You need to see this.

Lu Chen stopped chewing.

Xiaoxiao noticed immediately.

“Trouble face.”

“I do not have a trouble face.”

“You have three.”

“Three?”

“Little trouble.”

She held up one finger.

“Big trouble.”

Second.

Then third.

“And the face you make when you forget my school things.”

Lu Chen stared.

“That is not trouble.”

“That is biggest trouble.”

Unfortunately, she was correct.

He stood.

“Grandma Zhou is taking you to kindergarten.”

Xiaoxiao frowned.

“You promised.”

“To take you?”

“Yes.”

He checked the time.

He had.

Again.

Lu Chen slowly sat back down.

Ruoxi could wait ten minutes.

The Upper Court could wait ten minutes.

Ancient conspiracies could wait ten minutes.

Xiaoxiao smiled.

“Rabbit apples first.”

Lu Chen picked up the knife.

“Fine.”

At eight fifty-four, Lu Chen delivered Xiaoxiao to kindergarten.

Three minutes early.

He was irrationally proud of this.

Xiaoxiao hugged him at the gate.

“Are you going to save someone?”

“Maybe.”

“Bad people?”

“Possibly.”

“Are bad people patients?”

Lu Chen paused.

The question was becoming increasingly relevant.

“Sometimes.”

She thought about it.

“Then save them too.”

He looked at her.

That child was going to make his life impossible.

“Go to class.”

She kissed his cheek.

“Don’t be late later.”

“I won’t.”

“You said that before.”

“I am trying to improve.”

“Good.”

Then she ran inside.

Lu Chen stood for several seconds.

Trying to improve.

Perhaps that applied to more than punctuality.

Qin Medical Center looked completely ordinary in daylight.

That was the unsettling part.

Ambulances moved through the emergency entrance.

Visitors carried flowers.

Nurses changed shifts.

Patients complained about waiting times.

The lobby smelled of disinfectant and coffee.

Nobody knew that somewhere beneath their feet stood a bronze door marked with the symbol of the Nine-Lock Repository.

Qin Ruoxi met Lu Chen inside the private parking structure.

She wore a navy suit and flat shoes.

Lu Chen noticed the shoes.

“You prepared for stairs.”

She looked down.

“I learned from Golden Pavilion.”

“Good.”

“You sound surprised.”

“I am.”

She ignored him.

Two men waited beside her.

One was Qin Zhenguo’s head of security, a broad-shouldered former military officer named Deng Hu.

The other was Dr. Zhao Mingde.

The cardiologist who had spent the last several days slowly discovering that his medical education had omitted several inconvenient aspects of reality.

Dr. Zhao looked unhappy.

“Why am I here?”

Ruoxi answered.

“Because the entrance is behind part of your cardiology wing.”

“That does not explain why I need to go underground.”

Lu Chen looked at him.

“Curiosity?”

“No.”

“Then professional responsibility.”

“That sounds worse.”

Deng Hu stepped forward.

“Doctor Lu.”

“Mr. Deng.”

“We reviewed footage from three months.”

“And?”

“The scarred man appears seven times.”

Lu Chen’s expression sharpened.

“Seven?”

“Yes.”

“Same identity?”

“No.”

Ruoxi handed him a tablet.

Different visitor logs.

Different names.

Different identification numbers.

Same face.

Same scar.

At least—

same enough.

Sometimes glasses.

Sometimes a hat.

Once an orderly’s uniform.

Once a maintenance badge.

Always entering old parts of the hospital.

Never leaving through recorded exits.

Lu Chen looked at Ruoxi.

“Your security is terrible.”

Deng Hu frowned.

Ruoxi sighed.

“It is one of the most monitored hospitals in Jiangzhou.”

“And one man bypassed you seven times.”

“That is why we are standing here.”

Fair.

Lu Chen enlarged the dates.

One caught his attention.

“Three months ago.”

Ruoxi nodded.

“The first recorded visit.”

Three months ago.

The same period when rumors had begun spreading that someone in Jiangzhou was using lost Valley medical techniques.

Coincidence?

No.

“Where did he go each time?”

Deng Hu answered.

“Different areas initially.”

“Eventually?”

“All routes converge near the old surgical wing.”

Dr. Zhao frowned.

“That wing has been closed for renovation.”

“For how long?”

“Four months.”

Lu Chen looked at Ruoxi.

She looked back.

Four months.

Convenient.

“Who ordered renovation?”

Ruoxi answered slowly.

“Hospital administration.”

“Name.”

She checked.

“Vice President Luo Jian.”

Deng Hu added:

“He resigned six days ago.”

Silence.

Dr. Zhao stared.

“Why was I not informed?”

Ruoxi gave him a look.

“You are director of cardiology, not human resources.”

He seemed offended by the logic.

Lu Chen handed the tablet back.

“Show me.”

The old surgical wing occupied part of the hospital’s original central building.

Not old by historical standards.

Forty-eight years.

But old enough that several renovations had buried one generation of corridors beneath another.

The public entrance had been sealed with plastic sheets.

Deng Hu unlocked it.

Dust filled the air.

Construction materials lay untouched.

No workers.

No equipment running.

Lu Chen frowned.

“This isn’t renovation.”

Dr. Zhao looked around.

“Work was supposed to begin weeks ago.”

“Did anyone check?”

Dr. Zhao looked uncomfortable.

Apparently not.

Ruoxi stepped over a stack of drywall.

“Administrative approval was completed. Contractors billed mobilization costs.”

Deng Hu said:

“Contract company dissolved four days ago.”

Ruoxi stopped.

“Of course it did.”

Lu Chen almost smiled.

She was learning the joys of cultivation conspiracies.

They continued.

At the end of a corridor, Deng Hu stopped before a storage room.

“Here.”

Nothing unusual.

Metal shelves.

Old surgical equipment.

Boxes of archived files.

Lu Chen walked inside.

The air was cooler.

Very slightly.

He remembered the tunnel beneath Golden Pavilion.

Old spaces breathed.

Buildings did too.

He moved toward the far wall.

Pressed his palm against it.

Concrete.

Then—

stone behind concrete.

Much older.

“How thick?” Ruoxi asked.

“Half a meter, maybe less.”

Deng Hu pointed toward the floor.

“We found this.”

He moved a metal cabinet.

Beneath it—

a narrow iron ring.

Set into the floor.

Lu Chen crouched.

Old.

Far older than the hospital.

Deng Hu pulled.

Nothing.

“Locked below.”

Lu Chen looked at Dr. Zhao.

“Any historical records of this land?”

Dr. Zhao stared at him.

“I treat hearts.”

“Useful.”

Ruoxi answered.

“Before the hospital, a missionary clinic operated here.”

“When?”

“Early twentieth century.”

“And before that?”

“No idea.”

Lu Chen looked at the iron ring.

The half-jade against his chest warmed.

His expression changed.

Ruoxi noticed.

“It reacts?”

“Yes.”

“Strongly?”

“Enough.”

Then Returning Spring—

inside its case across Lu Chen’s back—

gave a faint metallic hum.

Dr. Zhao heard that.

His face changed.

“I am going to regret coming.”

“Yes,” Lu Chen said.

“Deeply.”

Deng Hu used a pry bar.

The floor panel moved.

Slowly.

A hidden hatch opened.

Cold air rose from below.

Stone stairs descended into darkness.

Ruoxi looked at Dr. Zhao.

“Still want to leave?”

“Yes.”

“Then why aren’t you?”

He stared downward.

“Professional responsibility.”

Lu Chen almost approved.

Bai Shuyue was not with them.

She had disappeared after Golden Pavilion and had not returned.

Zhou Wei remained at the hospital with his brother.

Qin Zhenguo had been ordered—this time successfully—to remain upstairs.

That left four people.

Lu Chen descended first.

Ruoxi behind him.

Deng Hu third.

Dr. Zhao last.

The stairs continued far deeper than expected.

Thirty steps.

Forty.

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

Sixty.

Dr. Zhao muttered:

“This violates every building code I know.”

Ruoxi looked back.

“Do you think the secret cultivators filed permits?”

He considered.

“No.”

“Then adapt.”

Lu Chen smiled faintly.

She was becoming useful.

At the bottom stood a stone corridor.

Not hospital construction.

Not twentieth century either.

Much older.

The walls had been fitted without mortar.

Small niches held bronze lamps.

Most empty.

Some contained blackened residue.

And on the floor—

nine parallel grooves.

Lu Chen stopped.

Ruoxi looked down.

“What are those?”

“Transport channels.”

“For what?”

Lu Chen crouched.

He ran one finger along the stone.

Faint medicinal scent.

Impossible after decades.

Unless spiritual preservation formations remained.

“Medicine boxes.”

His voice changed.

Dr. Zhao looked at him.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

Lu Chen pointed toward the spacing.

“Nine channels. Each the width of a Valley transport tray.”

Ruoxi’s gaze sharpened.

“This belonged to your sect.”

“No.”

He stood.

“Not exactly.”

“What does that mean?”

“The Valley had stations outside the mountains.”

“For supplies?”

“Yes.”

“Could this have been one?”

“Possibly.”

But Jiangzhou was far from the Valley.

Too far.

Why would a Valley storage facility exist here?

Unless—

his master’s network extended beyond what disciples knew.

That was becoming a pattern.

Lu Chen had grown up believing the Valley was secluded.

Perhaps it had never been as isolated as he thought.

The corridor ended at the bronze door.

Exactly as in Ruoxi’s recovered footage.

Circle.

Nine lines.

The Nine-Lock symbol.

Lu Chen approached.

Returned Spring hummed again.

The half-jade warmed.

The bronze key from the sword case—

the one marked Third Bell—

became hot in his pocket.

Three artifacts.

Same reaction.

Ruoxi noticed him reaching inside his coat.

“The key?”

“Yes.”

“Does it fit?”

“No.”

The door had no visible keyhole.

Dr. Zhao stared.

“Then what are we supposed to do?”

Lu Chen looked toward the Nine-Lock symbol.

There were nine shallow depressions around the circle.

Not keyholes.

Finger-sized.

One at each line.

“Probably a sequence.”

Ruoxi frowned.

“Do you know it?”

“No.”

“Good.”

She sighed.

“Would have been too easy.”

Deng Hu examined the door.

“Can we cut through it?”

Lu Chen and Ruoxi both said:

“No.”

Deng Hu looked at them.

Ruoxi explained:

“We have learned that forcing ancient cultivation objects is usually a bad idea.”

Lu Chen nodded.

“Very.”

Deng Hu stepped back.

Dr. Zhao looked at Lu Chen.

“Then?”

Lu Chen touched the central circle.

Cold.

No reaction.

He used Life Essence.

A tiny thread.

The first depression lit.

Gold.

Then went dark.

Interesting.

The door wanted more.

But not power.

Something else.

He placed a second finger in the depression beside it.

Nothing.

Ruoxi asked:

“Maybe all nine?”

“Possibly.”

“You have ten fingers.”

“That is medically accurate.”

He gave her a look.

She smiled.

Lu Chen placed fingers into multiple depressions.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Nothing.

Then—

the half-jade pendant slipped against his chest.

The first golden leaf pulsed.

The uppermost depression lit.

Not random.

Leaf one.

First Medicine.

Life.

Lu Chen understood.

“The seal.”

Ruoxi looked at him.

“Your manuscript?”

“Yes.”

He removed the half-jade.

Placed it against the center.

The first line illuminated.

One of nine.

The bronze door made a deep sound.

Not opening.

Recognizing.

Dr. Zhao stepped backward.

“What did you do?”

“Introduced myself.”

“You say strange things with too much confidence.”

Lu Chen looked at the remaining eight dark lines.

“This door requires Nine Medicines authority.”

“So you can’t open it.”

“Not fully.”

Then another sound.

Click.

A narrow panel opened at the bottom of the door.

Ruoxi crouched.

Inside—

a small compartment.

Something had been waiting.

Lu Chen reached toward it.

Deng Hu stopped him.

“Doctor.”

“What?”

“Could be trapped.”

Lu Chen looked at the security chief.

Reasonable.

He used a wooden probe from his case.

Nothing.

No reaction.

He reached inside.

Pulled out a small box.

Dark wood.

The same Ironheart cedar as his sword case.

Lu Chen’s expression changed.

Someone from the Valley had placed it there.

He opened it.

Inside rested a strip of silk.

And a glass vial.

One drop of golden liquid floated inside.

Exactly like the vial hidden beneath the hospital in Chapter 11’s final scene.

Ruoxi leaned closer.

“What is that?”

Lu Chen did not know.

But his entire body reacted.

The shattered core inside him pulsed.

Hard.

Not with hunger like Death Essence.

Recognition.

The golden liquid moved inside the vial.

Toward him.

Dr. Zhao stared.

“Liquid does not do that.”

“Today seems difficult for you,” Ruoxi said.

He ignored her.

Lu Chen unfolded the silk.

Four characters.

For the Tenth Life.

Silence.

Ruoxi looked at him.

“How many are you at?”

“Eight.”

Her eyes widened slightly.

“This was placed here before you reached eight?”

“Yes.”

“How long ago?”

Lu Chen examined the box.

Dust.

Aged wood.

At least years.

Possibly decades.

Someone had predicted the sequence.

Again.

That was beginning to irritate him.

Dr. Zhao asked:

“What is the tenth life?”

Ruoxi answered:

“Long story.”

“How long?”

“Cultivation long.”

He closed his eyes.

A sound came from behind them.

Metal.

Soft.

Deng Hu turned instantly.

His hand moved toward his weapon.

Lu Chen raised one hand.

Footsteps.

Slow.

Uneven.

Someone was in the corridor.

Ruoxi’s expression changed.

“We came alone.”

“Yes.”

Deng Hu stepped forward.

A figure appeared at the far end.

Hospital gown.

Bare feet.

An IV line dangling from one arm.

A woman.

Seventy, perhaps.

Thin.

White hair.

Confused expression.

Dr. Zhao stared.

“What the—”

She took another step.

Then collapsed.

Lu Chen moved first.

He reached her before she hit stone.

“Ma’am.”

No response.

He checked her pulse.

Weak.

Very weak.

Dr. Zhao knelt beside him.

“I know her.”

“Who?”

“Patient from neurology.”

“Name?”

“Mrs. Shen. Shen Yulan.”

“What condition?”

“Advanced neurodegenerative disease. Admitted two weeks ago.”

Ruoxi stared back toward the stairs.

“How did she get down here?”

Nobody answered.

That was the problem.

Shen Yulan’s wristband had been cut.

Not removed normally.

Cut.

Her feet were bleeding.

She had walked barefoot through somewhere.

Lu Chen activated Life Meridian perception.

His expression changed.

The old woman’s body showed ordinary age.

Weak organs.

Poor circulation.

But her brain—

golden threads there were being obstructed.

Not destroyed.

Blocked.

By something black.

Foreign spiritual energy.

Not a disease.

Again.

Dr. Zhao checked her pupils.

“She shouldn’t even be mobile.”

Lu Chen looked at him.

“What is her diagnosis exactly?”

“Rapid cognitive decline. Motor deterioration. Episodes of confusion.”

“How rapid?”

“Six months.”

“Prior history?”

“Minimal.”

“So sudden.”

“For her age, not impossible.”

“Still sudden.”

Dr. Zhao looked at him.

“You think this is another cultivation thing.”

“Yes.”

Dr. Zhao exhaled through his nose.

“Of course.”

Ruoxi looked toward the old woman’s bare feet.

“Someone brought her here.”

“No.”

Lu Chen shook his head.

“She walked.”

“How?”

He looked at the black energy in her brain.

“Compulsion.”

Similar family of seal.

Not identical to Zhou Kai.

Simpler.

A command:

Go.

Where?

To the door?

Why?

Lu Chen searched her gown.

Nothing.

Then felt a hard object near her ankle.

Strapped beneath the hem.

A bronze disc.

Nine-Lock symbol.

Deng Hu’s expression hardened.

“She was carrying access.”

Lu Chen removed it carefully.

The disc bore one number.

2

Ruoxi looked toward the bronze door.

“One of nine?”

“Probably.”

“So someone used a hospital patient to deliver it.”

“Yes.”

Dr. Zhao’s face changed.

“She was admitted here because someone did this to her?”

Lu Chen looked at him.

“Possibly.”

The doctor’s anger appeared immediately.

Not fear.

Anger.

Good.

“What do we do?”

“First?”

Lu Chen placed two fingers against Shen Yulan’s neck.

“Save her.”

They carried Shen Yulan back to the old surgical storage room.

Dr. Zhao wanted a proper treatment bed.

Lu Chen refused to move her farther until the spiritual seal was stabilized.

They placed her on an old padded table.

Deng Hu guarded the entrance.

Ruoxi called upstairs discreetly and confirmed something disturbing.

Shen Yulan’s room was empty.

No alarm had been raised.

Her assigned nurse claimed she was sleeping twenty minutes earlier.

Security footage outside her room had failed.

Exactly during the relevant period.

Someone inside the hospital was still active.

Lu Chen opened his needle case.

Dr. Zhao stood beside him.

“I want to help.”

Lu Chen looked up.

“You can.”

The cardiologist seemed surprised.

“Tell me her medical history.”

Dr. Zhao began immediately.

Blood pressure.

Medications.

Previous scans.

Neurology workup.

Cardiac status.

Renal function.

Good.

Useful.

Lu Chen listened.

This was how it should be.

Modern medicine saw what cultivation medicine sometimes missed.

Cultivation medicine saw what modern medicine could not.

Neither required contempt for the other.

His master had once said:

Only fools argue over which hand is more important while the patient bleeds.

At twenty, Lu Chen had thought the old man was speaking metaphorically.

Now he suspected he had meant everything literally.

“Any anticoagulants?”

“Yes.”

“Dose?”

Dr. Zhao answered.

Lu Chen changed needle position.

Dr. Zhao noticed.

“You adjusted because of bleeding risk.”

“Yes.”

The cardiologist went quiet.

Then:

“You really are a doctor.”

Lu Chen looked offended.

“What did you think?”

“I still don’t know.”

Fair.

Shen Yulan’s Life Meridian showed three black knots.

One behind the forehead.

One at the base of the skull.

One near the upper spine.

Not designed to kill.

Designed to suppress.

Memory.

Movement.

Will.

Someone had been controlling her for months.

Her “neurodegenerative disease” might not exist at all.

Lu Chen’s anger rose.

An elderly woman had lost half a year of her life because someone needed a courier.

No.

Not courier.

Key.

They had turned her into a living key.

His shattered core pulsed.

Death Essence would solve nothing here.

Life.

He guided golden energy.

First needle.

Second.

Third.

The black knots resisted.

More strongly than expected.

Dr. Zhao watched the monitor.

“Heart rate rising.”

“I know.”

“Blood pressure too.”

“I know.”

“When do I worry?”

“Now is fine.”

Dr. Zhao stared.

“That is not medically comforting.”

“Good.”

Ruoxi almost smiled.

Shen Yulan’s fingers twitched.

Then she whispered:

“No…”

Everyone froze.

Lu Chen leaned closer.

“Mrs. Shen?”

Her eyes remained closed.

“No…”

“What?”

Her lips trembled.

“Don’t…”

The first black knot cracked.

“Don’t open…”

Lu Chen’s expression changed.

“The door?”

Her breathing became rapid.

“Don’t open the Ninth Lock.”

Silence.

Ruoxi and Dr. Zhao looked at each other.

Lu Chen continued treatment.

“Who told you?”

Her face tightened.

A deeper command seal activated.

Pain.

He immediately stopped questioning.

“Never mind.”

He pushed Life Essence.

The second knot broke.

Shen Yulan screamed.

Dr. Zhao moved.

Lu Chen raised one hand.

“Wait.”

The monitor spiked.

Then stabilized.

The final knot was the strongest.

At the base of the skull.

A safeguard.

If broken incorrectly—

brain injury.

Lu Chen used one needle.

Not three.

He inserted it slowly behind the ear.

Millimeter by millimeter.

Dr. Zhao stared.

“You’re near the—”

“I know.”

One more millimeter.

The Life Essence moved.

Golden.

Warm.

The black knot tightened.

His core pulled.

Not toward Death Essence.

There was almost none.

Instead, something else happened.

The Nine Medicines manuscript upstairs—

far away in his clinic—

answered.

Lu Chen felt it.

Distance didn’t matter.

Eight golden seeds.

Then a ninth outline.

His eyes widened.

Not complete.

Waiting.

Shen Yulan was being recognized.

Before the treatment finished.

Again.

Intent.

The choice to try.

Lu Chen smiled faintly.

“All right.”

Dr. Zhao looked confused.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

The final knot cracked.

Black spiritual residue escaped.

The old woman’s entire body relaxed.

The monitor slowed.

Her eyelids opened.

Clear eyes.

Not confused.

Clear.

Dr. Zhao stopped breathing.

“Mrs. Shen?”

She looked at him.

Recognition.

“Doctor Zhao?”

His face changed.

She had not recognized him in days.

“Yes.”

“Why…”

She looked around.

“…am I here?”

Ruoxi stepped closer.

“You don’t remember?”

Shen Yulan frowned.

“I remember…”

Her face became pale.

“A man.”

“What man?” Lu Chen asked gently.

No command seal reaction.

Good.

“Scar.”

His attention sharpened.

“Right cheek?”

“Yes.”

Ruoxi looked at him.

The same man.

Shen Yulan continued.

“He came to my room.”

“When?”

“I don’t know.”

“Recently?”

She shook her head.

“No.”

Then:

“Months.”

Dr. Zhao’s face changed.

“You’ve been seeing him for months?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“In dreams.”

Silence.

Lu Chen frowned.

“Dreams?”

“He would stand beside my bed.”

Her hands trembled.

“I thought he was a doctor.”

“What did he do?”

“Touched here.”

She pointed toward her forehead.

Exactly above the first seal.

“Then?”

“I started forgetting.”

Dr. Zhao looked sick.

Not physically.

Professionally.

They had treated her for months.

Scans.

Medications.

Consults.

All while someone was deliberately suppressing her mind.

Lu Chen touched her wrist.

Stable.

“Do you remember coming downstairs?”

“No.”

“Do you know what this is?”

He showed the bronze disc marked 2.

She stared.

Then fear returned.

“He gave it to me.”

“When?”

“Last night.”

“What did he say?”

Her lips trembled.

“That when the physician came…”

Lu Chen became still.

“…I must bring the second lock to the door.”

Everyone looked toward him.

So the scarred man knew Lu Chen would come.

Not merely suspected.

Knew.

Again.

Too much prediction.

Too much orchestration.

“What else?”

Shen Yulan closed her eyes.

“He said…”

She swallowed.

“‘Nine lives open the path. Ten lives choose whether he survives it.’”

Lu Chen’s expression changed.

Ruoxi whispered:

“Nine lives.”

The manuscript.

Eight before.

Now Shen Yulan.

Nine.

One remaining before the First Gift.

But the scarred man knew.

How?

Bai Shuyue knew fragments of the inheritance.

The Upper Court knew the count.

Someone else apparently knew exact milestones.

This was no longer merely a secret Lu Chen had inherited.

Other people were watching the inheritance unfold.

Shen Yulan looked at him.

“Are you the physician?”

Lu Chen hesitated.

“Yes.”

Tears appeared suddenly in her eyes.

“I thought I was losing my mind.”

Dr. Zhao looked away.

Lu Chen’s expression softened.

“You weren’t.”

“Everyone said—”

“You were sick.”

Her face fell.

Then he added:

“Just not in the way they thought.”

Dr. Zhao looked back.

No accusation in Lu Chen’s voice.

Important.

Shen Yulan gripped his hand.

“Can I go home?”

Lu Chen checked her pulse.

“Eventually.”

“How long?”

“Hospital observation first.”

She looked disappointed.

Dr. Zhao almost smiled.

Finally, familiar territory.

“I agree.”

Lu Chen nodded.

The cardiologist looked absurdly pleased.

“Was that agreement?”

“Don’t become emotional.”

Ruoxi laughed.

The moment Shen Yulan was safely moved to a secure room—

the Nine Medicines manuscript reacted.

Lu Chen felt it from across the city.

Nine golden seeds.

Complete.

Then words appeared in his mind.

Not through the book.

Directly.

Nine lives acknowledged.

A pause.

One remains.

Then something new.

The First Gift is already waiting.

Lu Chen touched the vial inside his coat.

The golden liquid.

For the Tenth Life.

So the vial was the gift?

No.

The silk said for the tenth life.

Not the First Gift.

Different.

That meant the golden liquid served another purpose.

Perhaps to complete the threshold.

Perhaps to survive it.

The scarred man’s message echoed:

Ten lives choose whether he survives it.

Lu Chen disliked that wording.

Very much.

Dr. Zhao remained with Shen Yulan.

Deng Hu increased internal security quietly.

No lockdown.

No visible alarm.

Ruoxi and Lu Chen returned underground.

This time—

with the bronze disc marked 2.

At the Nine-Lock door, Lu Chen placed it into the second depression.

It fit.

Perfectly.

The second line illuminated.

The first line, linked to his half-jade, glowed beside it.

Two of nine.

The door gave another deep sound.

A second compartment opened.

Inside—

another object.

A sealed letter.

Ruoxi stared.

“This place is becoming an elaborate scavenger hunt.”

Lu Chen took the envelope.

No name.

Only:

After the Ninth Life.

His jaw tightened.

Someone had prepared this exact sequence.

He opened it.

One sheet.

Old handwriting.

His master’s.

Lu Chen recognized it instantly.

He read.

Chen’er,

His chest tightened.

Ruoxi saw his expression and said nothing.

He continued.

If you are reading this, then you have reached nine acknowledged lives and found the second lock.

Of course the old man knew.

Somehow.

You are probably angry.

Lu Chen almost laughed.

Correct.

Good. Anger means you are still stupid enough to care.

Definitely his master.

Ruoxi raised an eyebrow.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

He kept reading.

Do not confuse the First Gift with strength.

Interesting.

The First Medicine does not reward you for saving ten people.

Lu Chen’s eyes narrowed.

It asks whether you understand why ten lives matter equally.

He thought of them.

Qin Zhenguo.

The bodyguard.

Zhou Wei.

Bai Shuyue.

Zhou Kai.

Mo Changfeng.

The child.

Ma Qiang.

Shen Yulan.

Rich.

Poor.

Enemy.

Ally.

Cultivator.

Ordinary.

None counted more than another.

The letter continued.

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

If you save only those who can repay you, you are a merchant.

If you save only those you love, you are a father.

Lu Chen stopped.

That one hurt.

Ruoxi noticed.

He continued.

There is honor in all three.

Then:

But none alone makes a physician.

Silence.

Lu Chen read the next line.

The Tenth Life will be the one that teaches you whether you understand this.

His grip tightened.

So the tenth would not be random.

Or perhaps it would.

The inheritance would make it meaningful either way.

Do not seek the tenth.

Of course.

It will come to you.

Lu Chen exhaled.

He disliked prophecy almost as much as paperwork.

When it does, use the golden drop only if you have already chosen.

Chosen what?

The next line:

If you hesitate after opening it, you will die.

Ruoxi noticed his expression.

“That sounds bad.”

“You are becoming excellent at reading faces.”

“What does it say?”

He handed her the letter.

She read.

Her expression changed at the final line.

“You will die?”

“Yes.”

“And you are saying that calmly?”

“I have had a busy week.”

“That is not a reason.”

“It is becoming one.”

She returned the letter.

“Do you know what the golden liquid is?”

“No.”

“Then don’t use it.”

“Excellent plan.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

She stared.

He folded the letter.

“I have no intention of drinking unidentified ancient liquids.”

“That sentence should not need to be spoken.”

“Yet here we are.”

He placed the letter inside his coat.

Then noticed something on the back.

More writing.

One line.

Smaller.

And Chen’er—if the Tenth Life is someone you hate, do not blame me.

Lu Chen stared.

Then looked at the ceiling.

“Old bastard.”

Ruoxi smiled.

“That one I understood.”

They began searching the underground chamber.

The Nine-Lock door remained closed except for the two illuminated lines.

No way through.

But the corridor contained other clues.

Old shelf recesses.

Foundation markings.

A drainage map carved into stone.

And one set of characters nearly hidden behind mineral deposits.

Lu Chen cleaned them.

Jiangzhou Auxiliary Medical Vault

So it had belonged to the Valley.

Not a station.

A vault.

Ruoxi frowned.

“Why would the Valley have a vault beneath land my family eventually bought?”

“Maybe your family bought it because of the vault.”

She looked at him.

“My grandfather?”

“Maybe whoever advised him.”

“He built the hospital twenty-nine years ago.”

Lu Chen stopped.

Twenty-nine.

Two years after Qin Zhenguo met his master.

Ruoxi realized it too.

“My grandfather built a hospital here because your master told him to.”

“Possibly.”

“He never mentioned that.”

“Ask him.”

“I intend to.”

Another carving.

Emergency access — Third Bell authority.

Lu Chen took out the bronze key from Returning Spring’s case.

Third Bell.

Same phrase.

Ruoxi looked toward the corridor.

“Keyhole?”

“Somewhere.”

They searched.

Found nothing.

Then Deng Hu called from upstairs.

“Miss Qin.”

Ruoxi answered.

“What happened?”

“We identified Vice President Luo Jian.”

“Where?”

“His residence is empty.”

“Expected.”

“There is more.”

“What?”

“His financial records show monthly payments from an offshore holding company.”

“Name?”

Deng Hu paused.

“Returning Spring Holdings.”

Lu Chen and Ruoxi looked at each other.

That was almost insulting.

“Registered where?” Ruoxi asked.

“Singapore originally. Dissolved two years ago. Ownership chain ends in a trust.”

“Beneficiary?”

“Unknown.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes.”

Deng Hu’s voice tightened.

“Luo Jian authorized one patient transfer six months ago without normal documentation.”

“Who?”

Silence.

Then:

“Shen Yulan.”

Lu Chen’s expression hardened.

So her admission had been arranged.

Not merely exploited afterward.

She had been brought to Qin Medical Center intentionally.

To become the second lock.

Which meant there were probably more.

Patients.

Living keys.

How many?

Nine?

Ruoxi understood at the same time.

“Lu Chen.”

“Yes.”

“If Shen Yulan carried Lock Two…”

“Then someone may have prepared Locks Three through Nine.”

Her face became cold.

“Using patients.”

“Yes.”

The anger this time was mutual.

Not because of the inheritance.

Because sick people had been turned into tools.

Lu Chen looked toward the sealed bronze door.

Whatever waited behind it—

someone had been building a path using human lives.

His master would have hated that.

So did he.

“Find every unusual admission authorized by Luo Jian,” Lu Chen said.

Deng Hu answered:

“We’re already pulling records.”

“Not only neurology.”

Ruoxi added:

“Every department. Transfers, charity cases, unidentified patients, altered records.”

“Yes, Miss Qin.”

The call ended.

Ruoxi looked at Lu Chen.

“We may have several patients like her.”

“Yes.”

“That could bring you to ten.”

Lu Chen’s expression changed.

She immediately realized.

“No.”

“Exactly.”

“If someone deliberately planted patients for you to save…”

“They do not become meaningless.”

“No.”

“But I refuse to let whoever arranged this decide how I reach the First Gift.”

Ruoxi nodded.

Good.

That distinction mattered.

The patients were still patients.

Their manipulation did not make their lives less real.

But the path itself—

Lu Chen would not walk it blindly.

At 3:17 that afternoon, Deng Hu found six suspicious admissions.

Not seven.

Six.

Combined with Shen Yulan—

seven potential living locks.

Each admitted within the last six months.

Different conditions.

Different departments.

One coma patient.

One child with unexplained seizures.

One man diagnosed with rapid muscular degeneration.

One woman with recurring psychosis.

One elderly monk with complete sensory loss.

One unidentified homeless man with severe organ dysfunction.

All transferred under exceptions authorized by Luo Jian.

All carrying medical conditions that could potentially conceal spiritual interference.

Lu Chen stared at the list.

Ruoxi stood beside him.

“Seven.”

“Yes.”

“Plus locks one and two?”

“No.”

He looked at the bronze door.

“Lock one is the Nine Medicines Seal.”

“Yours.”

“Yes.”

“Lock two was Shen Yulan.”

“Yes.”

“Then six additional patients could be three through eight.”

Ruoxi counted.

“One missing.”

“Nine.”

Neither spoke.

Whoever—or whatever—served as Lock Nine remained unknown.

Lu Chen checked the names.

One line caught his attention.

Patient 4: Chen Tao, age 7. Recurrent seizures. Pediatric neurology.

Child.

He frowned.

Ruoxi noticed.

“We check all of them.”

“Yes.”

“Which first?”

Lu Chen looked at the records.

Not the most mysterious.

Not the most useful.

Not the one most likely connected to the Valley.

The medically most urgent.

The unidentified man’s organ function was deteriorating rapidly.

But Chen Tao’s seizure frequency had increased that morning.

Both dangerous.

He hated triage.

Every physician did.

Because choosing who needed help first always felt too close to choosing whose suffering mattered more.

Dr. Zhao entered.

He had heard enough to understand the situation.

“The child seized twice today.”

Lu Chen looked at him.

“And the unidentified man?”

“ICU. Stable for the moment.”

“Then child first.”

Ruoxi nodded.

No inheritance logic.

No lock sequence.

Medical urgency.

As it should be.

Chen Tao was small for seven.

Too small.

He lay in a pediatric bed beneath cartoon planets painted across the wall.

His mother sat beside him.

Exhausted.

His father stood near the window.

They had the expressions of parents who had stopped sleeping properly months ago.

Dr. Zhao introduced Lu Chen simply as a consulting physician.

No Ghost Physician.

No cultivator.

No Nine Medicines.

Good.

Lu Chen examined the boy.

Normal skin.

Normal temperature.

No current seizure.

But Life Meridian perception showed something extraordinary.

A thin silver-black thread circled the child’s brain.

Not suppression.

Not compulsion.

A loop.

Every few hours, it tightened.

Seizure.

Then loosened.

A timed seal.

Lu Chen’s expression hardened.

Artificial.

Again.

“Doctor?”

The mother noticed.

“Can you help him?”

Lu Chen looked at her.

“How long has this been happening?”

“Five months.”

“Before that?”

“Healthy.”

“Any accident?”

“No.”

“Travel?”

“No.”

“New school?”

She shook her head.

“Anything unusual before the first seizure?”

The parents looked at each other.

The father hesitated.

“A man gave him candy.”

Lu Chen became still.

“What man?”

“Outside school.”

“Did you know him?”

“No.”

“We thought he was another grandparent.”

“Appearance?”

The father frowned.

“Older. Gray hair.”

“Scar?”

He froze.

“Yes.”

Right cheek.

Of course.

“What happened after?”

“Tao ate the candy.”

“Then?”

“First seizure that night.”

The mother began crying silently.

She had probably blamed herself for months.

Lu Chen’s voice softened.

“You didn’t cause this.”

She looked at him.

He rarely said things like that.

But this one mattered.

“You had no reason to know.”

The mother wiped her face.

“Can you cure him?”

Lu Chen looked at the seal.

“Yes.”

Probably.

Then the boy opened his eyes.

“Mom?”

She leaned forward immediately.

“Tao.”

He looked toward Lu Chen.

“Who are you?”

“Doctor.”

The boy frowned.

“You look tired.”

Ruoxi, standing near the door, covered a smile.

Lu Chen stared.

“Children are becoming disrespectful.”

Chen Tao smiled weakly.

Then suddenly stiffened.

His mother’s face changed.

“No.”

The boy’s eyes rolled upward.

Seizure.

Lu Chen moved instantly.

He protected the child’s airway.

Timed the event.

Dr. Zhao called for medication.

Lu Chen stopped him.

“Wait.”

“What?”

“Ten seconds.”

The silver-black loop tightened.

More.

More.

Then—

there.

A tiny opening.

During the seizure, the seal exposed its anchor.

At the boy’s left temple.

Lu Chen inserted one needle.

The seizure stopped.

Instantly.

The room went silent.

Dr. Zhao stared.

The parents stared.

Ruoxi had seen enough not to react.

Lu Chen focused.

The anchor was small.

Easy to break.

Too easy.

That bothered him.

He applied a tiny amount of Life Essence.

The loop dissolved.

The boy inhaled.

Then relaxed.

His mother started crying harder.

“Is it over?”

Lu Chen checked again.

No loop.

No remaining seal.

“Yes.”

Her knees almost gave out.

The father caught her.

Lu Chen removed the needle.

And then—

nothing.

No golden seed.

He waited.

Still nothing.

The Nine Medicines manuscript did not recognize Chen Tao as the tenth life.

Interesting.

Ruoxi saw his expression.

“Not counted?”

He looked at her.

Later.

The parents were thanking him.

Too much.

Again.

Lu Chen refused payment.

Not because of the inheritance.

Because someone had deliberately caused the child’s illness.

Taking money felt wrong.

He gave them follow-up instructions.

Neurological monitoring.

Hospital observation.

Repeat scans.

Modern medicine still mattered.

Then he left.

In the corridor, Ruoxi asked:

“Why didn’t it count?”

“I don’t know.”

“You saved him.”

“Yes.”

“Without payment.”

“Yes.”

“Then?”

Lu Chen looked back toward the room.

“Perhaps I didn’t save his life.”

“Meaning?”

“The seal caused seizures. Dangerous, but not necessarily fatal today.”

“So the inheritance distinguishes treatment from saving a life.”

“Possibly.”

That was useful.

And important.

The First Medicine was not a simple tally of patients helped.

It required lives truly at risk.

Which made the next one impossible to engineer casually.

Good.

Lu Chen preferred that.

They examined two more patients before evening.

Both carried spiritual interference.

Both were treated.

Neither counted.

One regained movement in his legs.

One woke from a false psychiatric suppression state.

Lives improved.

Not lives returned from death.

The manuscript remained at nine.

Lu Chen felt strangely relieved.

He did not want to rush the tenth.

His master had said:

Do not seek it.

So he wouldn’t.

At six thirty—

he remembered Xiaoxiao.

His face changed.

Ruoxi looked at him.

“What?”

“Kindergarten.”

Her eyes widened.

“What time?”

“Six.”

“You promised.”

“Yes.”

“You’re thirty minutes late.”

“Yes.”

She grabbed her keys.

“Go.”

Lu Chen was already moving.

“Why are you smiling?”

“Because for once, the disaster is not cultivation related.”

“It is worse.”

She laughed.

Xiaoxiao sat on a small bench outside the kindergarten office.

Backpack in her lap.

Teacher beside her.

Arms crossed.

Lu Chen arrived at 6:48.

Forty-eight minutes late.

He stopped in front of her.

Xiaoxiao looked up.

No smile.

No anger.

Worse.

Disappointment.

Lu Chen would have preferred a Heavenly Tribulation.

“I’m sorry.”

She looked away.

The teacher stood.

“Mr. Lu—”

“I know.”

He crouched.

“Xiaoxiao.”

Silence.

“I broke my promise.”

Still nothing.

He could explain.

A child with an artificial seizure seal.

A hidden hospital vault.

Six patients manipulated by cultivators.

Nine Locks.

The tenth life.

None mattered to a four-year-old who had simply waited for her father.

And maybe they shouldn’t.

“I was wrong.”

Her eyes moved toward him.

No excuse.

Just that.

“I should have called.”

“Yes.”

“I should have remembered.”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t.”

“No.”

Lu Chen nodded.

“I’m sorry.”

She stared at him.

Then:

“How sorry?”

He almost smiled.

Very Xiaoxiao.

“Extremely.”

“Strawberry milk?”

“Yes.”

“Two?”

He paused.

“Two.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“And rabbit apples.”

“Fine.”

“Good rabbit apples.”

He looked offended.

“My rabbits were acceptable.”

“No.”

The teacher laughed.

Xiaoxiao finally stood.

Then hugged him.

Lu Chen closed his eyes.

Relief.

Absurdly large.

“Daddy?”

“Yes?”

“Did you save people?”

“Yes.”

“How many?”

He thought.

“Three today.”

“Did they all almost die?”

“No.”

She pulled back.

“Then why save them?”

Lu Chen stared.

The question was innocent.

And somehow exactly what he needed.

“Because they were hurting.”

Xiaoxiao nodded.

“Okay.”

Simple again.

You did not need to be dying to deserve help.

The First Medicine counted lives pulled from death.

But being a physician meant more than satisfying the inheritance.

Important distinction.

He lifted her.

She rested her head on his shoulder.

“Daddy?”

“Yes?”

“Tomorrow don’t be late.”

“I’ll try.”

“No.”

She leaned back.

“Promise.”

Lu Chen hesitated.

Then smiled faintly.

“I promise.”

He would keep this one.

At 8:12 that evening, while Lu Chen was attempting improved rabbit apples, Qin Ruoxi called.

He answered with one hand.

“What?”

Her voice was quiet.

Too quiet.

“Lu Chen.”

He stopped cutting.

“What happened?”

“The unidentified ICU patient.”

His expression changed.

“What about him?”

“He crashed.”

“When?”

“Two minutes ago.”

“Resuscitation?”

“In progress.”

“Cause?”

“Multiple organ failure.”

“Expected?”

“No.”

Lu Chen set down the knife.

“Anything else?”

Ruoxi hesitated.

“His chart changed.”

“What?”

“Someone accessed it remotely.”

“And?”

“They replaced his name.”

Lu Chen’s eyes narrowed.

“What name?”

Silence.

Then:

“Yan Wusheng.”

Lu Chen stopped breathing.

For one second—

everything disappeared.

Kitchen.

Apple.

Xiaoxiao humming beside him.

All of it.

The man connected to the destruction of the Valley.

The name he had waited five years to find.

Dying.

In his hospital.

Ruoxi spoke carefully.

“We do not know if the name is real.”

Lu Chen said nothing.

“Lu Chen?”

He looked toward Xiaoxiao.

She was arranging apple rabbits on a plate.

His master’s letter returned.

And Chen’er—if the Tenth Life is someone you hate, do not blame me.

Lu Chen closed his eyes.

Old bastard.

Of course.

“Daddy?”

Xiaoxiao looked at him.

“Trouble face.”

He opened his eyes.

“How big?”

She studied him.

“Biggest.”

Correct.

Ruoxi’s voice came through the phone.

“Do I tell the team to continue resuscitation?”

The question struck him like a slap.

Not because she meant harm.

Because she knew who Yan Wusheng might be.

The man who led the assault.

The man responsible for deaths.

His home.

His family.

His master.

Perhaps dozens.

Hundreds.

And now the hospital staff were asking—

in practice, if not literally—

whether that life deserved saving.

Lu Chen looked at the rabbit-shaped apple in his hand.

If he saved only those who deserved it, he was a judge.

If he saved only those who could repay him, a merchant.

If he saved only those he loved, a father.

All honorable.

But none alone made a physician.

His master had known.

The tenth life.

Not random.

A test.

Lu Chen spoke.

“Continue resuscitation.”

Ruoxi exhaled.

“And you?”

He placed the knife down.

“Prepare the golden vial.”

Silence.

“You said you wouldn’t use it unless—”

“I know.”

“If that patient is really Yan Wusheng—”

“I know.”

“He may have destroyed your sect.”

“I know.”

“Lu Chen.”

His voice became calm.

“I have already chosen.”

She went silent.

Xiaoxiao watched him.

“Are you going to save someone?”

Lu Chen looked at his daughter.

“Yes.”

“A bad person?”

He paused.

“Maybe.”

She thought about that.

Then held out one rabbit apple.

“For energy.”

Lu Chen accepted it.

His throat tightened unexpectedly.

“Thank you.”

Xiaoxiao smiled.

“Fix him.”

Lu Chen looked toward the night outside.

At the hospital.

At the man who might be waiting between life and death.

At the tenth golden seed that had not yet appeared.

Then he walked toward the door.

Five years ago, Lu Chen would have crossed half the world for the chance to kill Yan Wusheng.

Tonight—

he was going to fight to keep him alive.

And somewhere inside the Nine Medicines manuscript, the tenth seed began to glow.