"Tweezers."
Zhang Fusheng handed over the tweezers.
The doctor calmly inserted the tweezers into the wound, fiddling around.
The girl's face was pale, clearly without anesthesia. Her hand holding the gun trembled slightly. Zhang Fusheng wondered, what if it accidentally fired?
She seemed to want to distract herself and spoke with difficulty:
"Doctor, your son?"
"Yes." The doctor nodded.
Chen Nuanyu glanced at the boy with a delicate look, unfazed by the gun, and nodded slightly:
"Quite gutsy."
She obviously didn't recognize her schoolmate Zhang Fusheng.
"Not compared to you. You should be around the same age." The doctor remained expressionless.
Zhang Fusheng looked at Chen Nuanyu. Her wine-red hair was messy, and she had stripped off her shirt, only binding her chest with cloth. Her shoulder had a gunshot wound and a short sword was stabbed into her upper abdomen,
Her slender waist had no excess fat, and the slight blood stains only accentuated her pale and delicate abdomen.
"Lucky."
As he spoke, the doctor extracted a flattened bullet from her shoulder and then turned his gaze to the short sword stuck in her abdomen:
"The sword edge cut an artery on the abdominal wall, but it happened to also press on the arterial opening. If it was slightly off, or if you had pulled out the sword, you'd have bled to death by now... Still, it's fortunate your blood vessels are extremely tough, holding out until you got here without further tearing."
Chen Nuanyu calmly spoke:
"Can't pull out the sword, so what do we do?"
"You can't pull it, but I can."
The doctor put down the tweezers and instructed:
"Vascular clamps, sterile gauze, suture."
Zhang Fusheng handed them over one by one.
"A bit painful, bear with it."
He activated the high-frequency cutting blade and cut open the girl's upper abdomen.
Time slowly passed by as the doctor steadily stitched the wound:
"This is not a hospital after all; this is just a temporary closing of the abdomen. You need to watch out for abdominal compartment syndrome and thrombosis complications. Though you are a martial artist, it's best to visit a big hospital."
"Okay."
The girl slowly got off the operating table, put on her coat, and picked up her large handbag, but then paused, as if contemplating something.
The doctor said calmly:
"I've implanted a life-monitoring chip, and there's ten kilograms of explosive hidden in the floor, connected to the chip."
Chen Nuanyu paused and then put away her gun, opened the handbag, took out a small bag of powder, and tossed it out.
"Medical fee." The girl said coldly, "I've heard of Dr. Zhang's reputation as the most rule-abiding and tight-lipped in the Lower Three Districts."
Zhang Fusheng saw the handbag stuffed full of "Longevity Powder," probably about thirty to fifty pounds.
After this "favored daughter of heaven" left.
"Again with this."
Zhang Fusheng whispered:
"Using this stuff as medical fees again."
The doctor weighed the small bag of Longevity Powder, tore it open, and poured it into the sink.
Just as Zhang Fusheng said, his dad, Zhang Wentao, was a principled underground doctor, open for business to anyone, treating anyone, fugitives, gang members, thugs, evil cults...
The people regular hospitals wouldn't take, he'd take; the injuries those hospitals wouldn't treat, he'd treat.
But he absolutely wouldn't touch Longevity Powder; occasionally received as medical fees, he'd destroy it outright rather than resell it.
This stuff couldn't be refused—being considered an outcast was dangerous here.
Outcasts couldn't survive in the Lower Three Districts.
But Longevity Powder was hard currency in the Lower Three Districts. Not half, but at least a significant portion of the thugs who came to this small clinic for emergency care would leave a small bag of Longevity Powder as payment.
And supporting Zhang Fusheng to attend Lishu Middle School had exhausted almost all their savings—one of the few 'elite schools' offering courses in Breathing Technique and Contemplation Technique.
This was also why having ten thousand yuan to spare was challenging nowadays.
"Dad, is she a regular?" Zhang Fusheng frowned and asked.
Zhang Wentao shook his head:
"An outsider... this afternoon, forty pounds of Longevity Powder was stolen from the Chai Gate. Presumably, it was her."
As he spoke, he picked up the flattened bullet:
"Custom-made bullets for martial artists, highly penetrating, with anti-coagulant toxins. I'll see if I can extract any remaining toxins; it's worth some money."
Zhang Fusheng was thoughtful.
The Chai Gate was one of the major clans in the Lower Three Districts; forty pounds of goods, at the standard price of five hundred a gram in the Lower Three Districts...
Ten million!
He felt a sense of disarray, finding it difficult to connect the 'cool goddess' at school with the Longevity Powder heist.
Was she that short on money?
Risking so much?
Wait a minute.
Zhang Fusheng pondered and asked:
"Dad, I noticed you used a high-frequency cutting blade earlier?"
"A scalpel couldn't cut her skin; only a specially made high-frequency cutting blade could. She's probably a Second Refinement or Third Refinement expert, not yet Fourth Refinement, or else the bullet wouldn't have penetrated so deeply."
Zhang Fusheng listened in shock.
The Martial Artist's Twelve Refinements: Skin Three, Flesh Three, Three Tendons, Bone Three, totalling twelve.
A Third Refinement martial artist...
The Master Chen, whom the high school principal hired for a hefty price, is also a Third Refinement martial artist!
But according to the school, Chen Nuanyu was supposedly a near First Refinement quasi-martial artist—an already rare talent. After all, one could only begin cultivation after fully developing at sixteen or seventeen, and after mastering the Contemplation Technique and Breathing Technique.
Third Refinement, that's probably the level of Jiang University's Martial Arts department elites, or even some of the teachers.
Why would such a talent take such a reckless risk?
Zhang Fusheng's thoughts raced around, his eyes slightly flickering.
A contract cannot be signed through coercion; it requires genuine willingness, even a pressing need—if there's no need, create one.
If there's no hardship, manufacture it.
"Where did you go today?" Zhang Wentao asked casually as he took off his gloves and washed his hands.
"Went to sell balloons, made less than a hundred."
"We don't need that hundred. Don't go out too much these days."
Old Zhang frowned:
"It's been unstable lately."
As a 'neutral' underground doctor, Old Zhang might not be exceptionally skilled, but at least he dealt with all sorts of people daily, making his information channels particularly well-informed.
If he weren't so ethical, he could've been a millionaire by now—that small bag of Longevity Powder just flushed down the sewer might be worth three to five thousand,
For the past decade, Old Zhang had destroyed several bags of Longevity Powder nearly every month,
and many people had approached him to help distribute it, delivering it to hospitals in the Central Three Districts, but he'd refused.
"Your great-grandfather died because of this stuff. I can't manage others, but I can manage myself," Dr. Zhang often said.
Zhang Fusheng shrugged:
"I just wanted to figure out how to save up the tuition for the Martial Arts Dojo. Every little bit helps... Will you be off work early today? Teacher Zhou mentioned this morning that there'd be braised ribs for dinner."
Zhou Guifang, a math teacher at an elementary school in the Seventh District, is Zhang Fusheng's biological mother.
Upon mention of 'Teacher Zhou,' a smile finally appeared on Old Zhang's usually expressionless face:
"Hmm, that'll do."
He quickly tidied up the basement, a daily routine for Old Zhang—after all, Teacher Zhou didn't know about these activities of his.
She only thought Old Zhang was just an ordinary clinic doctor.
Zhang Fusheng had discovered this by chance, and later his father had frankly opened up to him, even teaching him many survival skills for the Lower Three Districts.
Old Zhang suddenly said:
"If you're that set on learning martial arts, I'll transfer a hundred thousand to you tomorrow so you can pay at the Martial Arts Dojo."
The master at a good Martial Arts Dojo can often be much more skilled than university Martial Arts teachers, but one requires high tuition fees, whereas the other has no fees.
However, the Dojo more easily establishes a true 'master-disciple relationship'—though it does require significant talent.
"Dad, did you strike it rich?"
"An old customer came by earlier, paid in cash, and cleared all past medical bills."
Zhang Fusheng nodded silently.
The father and son walked side by side along the road home, their shadows elongated by the setting sun.
"Dad, it seems like you don't really want me to practice martial arts."
"Among the old customers over the years, there are many martial artists, but none live long. The more formidable they become, the bigger the whirlpool they get sucked into... Martial arts is a path of competition, where there are victories, there are also defeats."
"Dad, why don't we move to the Central Three Districts? You're a doctor, and mom's a teacher. Given our situation, we're not too bad even in the Sixth District, right?"
"Initially, it was to support the family, then I got in too deep, and couldn't get out... Of course, there are other reasons, which I'll tell you after you graduate from university."
"More secrets? Dad, are you perhaps a super-skilled expert hiding from enemies? Or a legendary warrior in plain clothes hiding in the city?"
"Spend less time on those fantasy novels and trashy Dragon King dramas so as not to ruin your brain. You're the first proper university student our family has produced in generations."
"Alright, Dad... You seem to know a lot about those Dragon King dramas, haven't you watched a fair share yourself?"
Old Zhang rubbed his head:
"Probably, my brain's just been a bit slow recently."
With a wide grin, Zhang Fusheng caught the rich aroma of braised ribs as they reached the bottom of the stairs.
A simple, steady life is actually quite pleasant.
But he still wished to see the views from the mountaintop.
Moreover, he didn't want his father to continue living a life where he was threatened with guns, surviving with potent explosives buried underground.
'Ding dong!'
The phone buzzed lightly—it was a message from Old Zhu.
Zhu Xiaoming: Old Zhang, the school is hosting a 'Jiang Banquet' next month to celebrate those of us who got into Jiang University.
Zhu Xiaoming: Haha, only a few from our school got into Jiang University; it's a great chance to connect with each other!
Zhu Xiaoming: Old Zhang, are you going? To be honest, Lu Yao will be there too, and I need a wingman!
Zhu Xiaoming: Reply quickly if you see this!
Zhang Fusheng replied silently with one word.
'Sure'
Lu Yao was a classmate and the object of Zhu Xiaoming's secret admiration.
He turned off the phone and opened the door to his home:
"Teacher Zhou, we're back!"
The aroma of ribs filled the air.