The rain had surrendered by midnight, leaving Van Trach submerged in a light of leaden grey. Mists descended from the peaks, mingling with the steam rising from stagnant puddles, blurring the town into a charcoal wash of indistinct shapes. The air was bone-chilling and damp, forcing those few who ventured out early to huddle deep within their cloaks.
At Tich Tam Clinic, the scent of herbal decoction was thicker than usual. Van Khue was simmering a complex brew of Honeysuckle, Dandelion, and Baikal Skullcap—following Lam Tich's instructions to "clear heat, expel dampness, and ward off seasonal miasmas." The bitter fragrance wafted into the street, becoming a signature of the eastern block.
Lam Tich sat behind the counter, his left hand gently massaging his right wrist. The bandages had been changed; the skin was knitting, but the joints remained stiff with a dull, persistent ache. He was listening to the report of another prisoner who had just returned from infiltrating the hunting parties at Stone Valley.
"...They found the cold embers of a fire, scorched animal bones, and a tattered scrap of prison rags on a briar patch," the prisoner whispered, his voice like the buzzing of a gnat. "The crowd was howling about a 'heretic' having fled. A patrol from the Prefectural City arrived to scour the area; they claimed to find traces of 'Yin Qi,' though faint. Most bounty hunters have turned back, leaving only a few professionals to investigate further."
"And Tam Tu?" Van Khue asked.
"No body. No captive. He's evaporated," the man shook his head. "Rumors say he was snatched by 'Yin Spirits' in the valley for a sacrifice. Others say he truly escaped."
Lam Tich nodded slightly. This was the optimal outcome. Tam Tu's disappearance into the unknown created a vacuum of information. It solidified the legend of the heretic while eliminating a witness who could be broken. Whether Tam Tu lived or died, his role was fulfilled.
"Good," Lam Tich said. "Dismissed. Remember, from this moment on, none of you speak of the Dungeon, of Tam Tu, or anything related. You are porters, hunters, woodcutters... and former patients of Tich Tam. Live those lives."
The next morning, while the fog still clung to the rotting eaves of Van Trach, a familiar silhouette appeared at the end of East Street. This time, Truong Thiet wore no imposing patrol uniform, but a simple coat of rough brown linen. His gait still bore a slight, rhythmic hitch.
He entered Tich Tam Clinic with an expression more pensive than guarded. In his hand, he carried a small bundle wrapped in dried banana leaves.
"Physician Lam," Truong Thiet nodded in greeting, his tone polite yet maintaining a professional distance.
Van Khue, sorting herbs in the back, cast a wary glance. Dai Hung stopped his grinding in the corner. Both recognized that this was no routine inspection.
"Please, be seated," Lam Tich gestured to the stool, a soft, welcoming smile on his face. "My knowledge is modest, but if I can provide answers, I shall not withhold them."
Truong Thiet sat, placing the bundle on the table. "Some Ginkgo seeds I happened upon. I hear they are good for the lungs. A gift for the Physician."
"A precious gift," Lam Tich thanked him, though he did not touch it. "And what is it you wish to know?"
Truong Thiet leaned forward, his sharp eyes scrutinizing every twitch of Lam Tich's face. "Lately, while on patrol, I have encountered strange injuries. Some wounds seem to be more than physical trauma; they carry... spiritual impurities. As a former cultivator, I have some understanding, but I am illiterate in the medical arts. Has the Physician ever seen such cases?"
A trap. Truong Thiet was testing whether Lam Tich possessed knowledge of the cultivation world—knowledge an ordinary healer from the backwaters should not have.
Lam Tich did not answer immediately. He slowly reached out with his left hand, touching the teapot on the table to sense its warmth. "Spiritual impurities... You speak of wounds tainted by anomalous energy signatures? Deep-seated glacial essence, internal thermal toxins, or perhaps... the corrosive rot of Yin Qi?"
Truong Thiet flinched slightly. Lam Tich's phrasing avoided formal cultivation jargon, yet it was surgically precise. "Exactly. If a wound is invaded by, say, 'Glacial True Qi,' how would common medicine handle it?"
"First, one must distinguish between 'Environmental Cold' and 'Glacial True Qi,'" Lam Tich said, his voice as steady as a lecture. "Environmental cold can be expelled with warming herbs, heat compresses, and acupressure. But Glacial True Qi... that is energy with a will, a purpose. It roots itself deep, self-sustains, and resists conventional remedies."
He paused to let Truong Thiet digest the information. "In such a case, the first step is not confrontation, but... 'canalization.' Like a dammed river, digging deeper only causes the banks to burst. Instead, one carves a small canal to divert the pressure elsewhere before dealing with the source."
"How does one 'divert' it?" Truong Thiet asked, his curiosity now genuine.
"By finding the 'path of least resistance' within the patient's body," Lam Tich explained. "Every man has weaknesses, natural conduits. A master physician must read that internal map. For instance, cold energy tends to sink; it can be guided down to the soles of the feet through specific points and released there. But this requires a profound understanding of the meridian system and... the steel to drive needles into dangerous depths."
[ Reliability (Truong Thiet): 55% - Suspicion receding, Curiosity ascending ]
"Physician, your words are profound," Truong Thiet said, his tone still neutral. "But I remain curious about the source of such wisdom. This 'canalization' you speak of... even the famed doctors of the Great Sects might not fully grasp it."
The direct probe.
Lam Tich sighed, a sound heavy with exhaustion and nostalgia. "This knowledge... did not come from books or a master. it was forged in blood and tears." His voice dropped. "Where I once lived, war and pestilence were the only constants. We had no cultivators, no spirit elixirs. Only doctors struggling against a thousand types of trauma—including those caused by... specialized weapons that, in your tongue, would carry 'spiritual impurities.' We learned through trial, through observation, and at the cost of many lives."
The story, built on the scaffolding of Lam Tich's past life, was delivered with a sincerity that radiated pain. Truong Thiet, a veteran of many battlefields, could sense the raw truth in the tone.
"I see," he nodded, his eyes softening. "Then... has the Physician ever encountered a chronic meridian injury? One not caused by direct force, but by a lingering, frigid malice that prevents all recovery?"
The probe had turned personal. Lam Tich decided to show his hand.
"You are speaking of yourself, are you not?" Lam Tich asked bluntly.
Truong Thiet started, but he did not deny it.
"Then allow me to diagnose you directly," Lam Tich said, standing up. "Speak no more. Simply sit still."
Lam Tich did not merely use his hands this time. He requested Truong Thiet place his palms up on the table. He laid his index and middle fingers lightly upon Truong Thiet's wrist—a pulse-reading gesture, but not quite.
"I am not reading your pulse in the common way," Lam Tich explained. "I am sensing the 'flow' beneath the skin. The pulse is but a fraction of the story. There is the migration of blood-qi, the temperature gradients, the tension of the dermis..."
He closed his eyes, his mind focusing entirely on his fingertips. In his mind's eye, the meridian system he had gleaned from this body's memories merged with his modern medical knowledge. He visualized the network of energy conduits.
"The Governing Vessel... severely obstructed at the lumbar level," Lam Tich murmured. "Not a total blockage, but as if an... 'ice cork' has been driven into the flow. Above the cork, blood-qi stagnates, causing tension and a dull ache. Below, the flow fails to reach the destination, causing the weakness and numbness in your right leg."
Truong Thiet said nothing, but his gaze had transformed. The description was terrifyingly accurate.
"And that 'cork'..." Lam Tich continued, his voice dropping to a whisper, "it is not natural. It possesses a will. It is... very slowly eroding the surrounding tissue, leaching a toxic chill into your blood. This is not the remnant of a simple injury. This was implanted."
Crack!
Truong Thiet's hand reflexively clenched into a fist, his knuckles popping. His face went ashen. The secret he had suspected for years was now being laid bare by a blind stranger.
"Are you... certain?" Truong Thiet's voice trembled.
"I am," Lam Tich said, withdrawing his hand and sitting back with a grave expression. "Because the 'signature' of that thing is too... pure in its malice. It is not chaotic like a natural impurity. It has structure. It is a parasite living off your frame."
The room went silent. Van Khue and Dai Hung held their breath.
Truong Thiet gasped, his eyes squeezed shut. Memories of the ambush years ago flooded back: the night he was struck by a streak of glacial light from the shadows. He had always thought himself merely unlucky. But now...
"Is there... a way?" His voice was weak, stripped of his authority as a Patrol Chief.
Lam Tich shook his head slowly. "To remove it? No. It has integrated into your meridian structure. To tear it out would shatter the Governing Vessel entirely; you would be paralyzed from the waist down instantly."
Despair clouded Truong Thiet's eyes.
"However," Lam Tich continued, "I can help you co-exist with it. We can build 'levees' around it, preventing its spread. Gradually, your body may adapt, or... we may find a specific neutralizing agent in the future."
"How?" Truong Thiet asked, grasping at the straw.
"Through a long-term regimen," Lam Tich said. "Periodic acupuncture to maintain the bypass flow. Herbs to fortify your blood and warm the meridians. And... specific breathing and meditative exercises so you may learn to 'observe' and 'partially constrain' that energy mass, rather than letting it control you."
Lam Tich laid out a detailed plan—no promises of a miracle cure, but a promise of a better life. It was a humble, realistic proposal, and for that reason, it was utterly believable.
Truong Thiet sat in silence for a long time. Finally, he stood and bowed deeply—the bow of a subordinate to a superior in the world of cultivation.
"Physician Lam... this debt, I shall not forget. From this day, if there is anything you require in Van Trach, you need only speak."
"There is no need for such formality," Lam Tich replied, returning to the gentle tone of the old healer. "I merely fulfill my duty. But if you truly wish to repay me, keep this neighborhood at peace. And... should anything unusual occur in town, let me know. A physician must understand the environment of his patients."
A reasonable, non-suspicious request. Truong Thiet nodded. "Naturally. I shall be your eyes and ears."
As Truong Thiet departed, his heart heavy yet strangely unburdened, Van Khue finally spoke. "Will you truly help him, Great One?"
"I will help him, but only to a point," Lam Tich said, his face turning cold the moment they were alone. "I need him healthy enough to be useful, but not enough to become a threat. More importantly, he now believes I am the only person who understands his suffering. He is bound to me by both hope and fear."
"And the 'implant'... was it true?"
Lam Tich nodded. "Highly likely. The pathology is too surgical for an accident. And that serves us well. A Truong Thiet fueled by suspicion and resentment is a far more potent ally than a Patrol Chief who merely follows orders."