Chapter 11 — The Sword That Burned With the Valley

At seven fourteen the following evening, Lu Xiaoxiao decided the faint Black Crescent stain on the clinic wall needed improvement.

Lu Chen discovered this when he came downstairs carrying a basket of clean towels.

His daughter stood on a chair.

A red crayon in one hand.

A blue crayon in the other.

She had drawn two large rabbit ears on the crescent.

Lu Chen stopped.

Xiaoxiao noticed him.

Neither spoke.

He looked at the wall.

Then at her.

Then back at the wall.

“What are you doing?”

“Fixing it.”

“Fixing what?”

“The bad people’s drawing.”

Lu Chen placed the towels down.

“They wrote that to threaten me.”

“I know.”

“And your solution was rabbit ears?”

She nodded.

“It looks less scary.”

Lu Chen stared at the crescent.

Unfortunately—

she was right.

The sinister mark now resembled an angry rabbit with poor artistic proportions.

Xiaoxiao added a blue mustache.

“Xiaoxiao.”

“What?”

“No more.”

“It needs eyes.”

“It absolutely does not.”

“But—”

“Down.”

She sighed.

Lu Chen lifted her from the chair.

She kept one crayon.

He took the other.

“Daddy.”

“Yes?”

“Are the bad people coming back?”

The humor disappeared.

Lu Chen looked at the wall again.

“They might.”

“Will you be here?”

“Yes.”

“Then okay.”

Simple.

Trust without calculation.

Lu Chen wished adults were capable of it.

Xiaoxiao looked toward the consultation desk.

“Pretty Auntie is late.”

“She is not coming for dinner.”

“She said she might.”

“She said she might come to discuss work.”

“That can happen during dinner.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

“That is still not a reason.”

Lu Chen sighed.

His daughter was going to become unbearable once she learned formal debate.

The clinic door opened.

Qin Ruoxi entered carrying a laptop case.

Xiaoxiao immediately pointed at her father.

“He said you’re not staying for dinner.”

Ruoxi stopped.

Slowly looked at Lu Chen.

“I said nothing of the kind.”

“You said you were coming for work.”

“Yes.”

Xiaoxiao nodded.

“We have chicken.”

Ruoxi took off her coat.

“I like chicken.”

Lu Chen closed his eyes.

His authority inside his own building continued declining.

Ruoxi placed her laptop on the consultation table.

“I have something.”

That changed the atmosphere immediately.

Xiaoxiao noticed.

She also noticed that adults became less fun whenever they used that tone.

“Can I watch cartoons?”

“Yes,” Lu Chen said.

“How long?”

“Thirty minutes.”

“Forty.”

“Thirty.”

“Thirty-five.”

“Upstairs.”

She disappeared before he could revise the deal.

Ruoxi watched her leave.

“She bargains like you.”

“She bargains like a criminal.”

“Perhaps also like you.”

Lu Chen ignored that.

“What did you find?”

Ruoxi opened the laptop.

The old photograph from Qin Zhenguo appeared.

Young Qin.

Lu Chen’s master.

And the half-turned stranger wearing the Black Crescent ring.

Ruoxi enlarged the stranger.

“The photograph was too damaged for a reliable facial reconstruction.”

“So nothing.”

“I didn’t say that.”

She opened another image.

The stranger’s hand.

Enhanced.

The dark ring was clearer.

So was the symbol beneath his sleeve:

a circle pierced by nine lines.

Lu Chen leaned closer.

“I remembered where I saw it.”

“The bronze door?”

“Yes.”

“You mentioned that yesterday.”

“Not only there.”

Ruoxi waited.

Lu Chen’s eyes remained on the image.

“There was an old portrait hall beneath the Valley library.”

“You were allowed inside?”

“No.”

Ruoxi looked at him.

“Yet you went.”

“I was fourteen.”

“That explains nothing.”

“It explains most bad decisions.”

Fair.

“What was in the hall?”

“Portraits of former Valley officers.”

“Officers?”

“People responsible for important parts of the sect. Herb gardens. Pill halls. medical archives. Defensive formations.”

“And that symbol?”

Lu Chen touched the screen.

“Nine-Lock Repository.”

Ruoxi frowned.

“What was stored there?”

“I don’t know.”

“You broke into the portrait hall but not the repository?”

“I preferred remaining alive.”

“That bad?”

“My master caught me touching the outer door once.”

“What happened?”

“He made me copy medical formulas for six days.”

“That doesn’t sound severe.”

“By hand.”

She waited.

“Still not severe.”

“Eleven thousand characters per day.”

Ruoxi winced.

“Cruel man.”

“Extremely.”

Lu Chen enlarged the image again.

“The people permitted to enter the Nine-Lock Repository carried this mark.”

“As a tattoo?”

“Some as a seal burned into a bracelet. Some embroidered inside robes. Senior keepers had it directly marked onto the wrist.”

Ruoxi looked toward the man’s partially exposed arm.

“So this man…”

“Had authorization.”

“To enter a part of the Valley outsiders couldn’t access.”

“Yes.”

“That makes him more than a visitor.”

“Much more.”

Ruoxi opened another file.

“I also searched old business archives.”

Lu Chen looked at her.

“You found a name?”

“Maybe.”

A scanned document appeared.

Shipping records.

Thirty-one years old.

Qin Family Transportation Company.

One shipment had been marked only:

Medical Equipment — Mountain Transfer Station 4

Three authorized receivers.

Two names had become unreadable.

The third remained partly visible.

Pei M—shan

Lu Chen went completely still.

Ruoxi saw it.

“You know him.”

He sat down.

“Pei Mingshan.”

“Who was he?”

Lu Chen did not answer immediately.

Because he had never met Pei Mingshan.

Not while the man was alive.

He had seen him in a portrait.

Long gray robe.

Thin face.

A sword across his lap.

One hand resting on the Nine-Lock seal.

Below it:

Pei Mingshan — Twelfth Keeper of the Nine-Lock Repository.

“Former Repository Keeper.”

Ruoxi’s expression sharpened.

“Former?”

“He disappeared.”

“When?”

Lu Chen searched his memory.

“Twenty-two years before the Valley was destroyed.”

“That means…”

“About seventeen years before I entered the Valley.”

“Was he presumed dead?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“No body.”

Ruoxi leaned back.

“Your sect had a concerning habit of declaring missing people dead.”

Lu Chen glanced at her.

“Cultivators disappearing for twenty years rarely return for tea.”

“And yet your master?”

“That remains unconfirmed.”

She nodded.

Fair distinction.

“Could Pei Mingshan have been the man in the photograph?”

“Age fits.”

“Height?”

“Possibly.”

“The face?”

“Too obscured.”

“So we still don’t know.”

“No.”

Lu Chen looked toward the ring.

“But if it was him, Pei Mingshan had contact with whoever used the Black Crescent decades ago.”

“And if he disappeared afterward…”

“He may have joined them.”

“Or been taken by them.”

“Yes.”

Ruoxi smiled slightly.

“You’re learning not to convict people immediately.”

“I am a physician.”

“You diagnosed a man as a traitor from a thirty-year-old photograph yesterday.”

“I said candidate.”

“Very medically precise.”

The clinic door opened.

Both looked up.

A delivery man stood outside.

Not unusual.

Except for what rested behind him.

A long black case.

Nearly one and a half meters.

Wrapped in weathered cloth.

And the man delivering it was bleeding.

He took one step inside.

Then collapsed.

Lu Chen was out of his chair before the case hit the floor.

Ruoxi reached for her phone.

“Ambulance?”

“Wait.”

The courier was around forty.

Ordinary clothing.

Motorcycle jacket.

Helmet still attached to his backpack.

Blood soaked the left side of his shirt.

Lu Chen rolled him carefully onto his back.

“Can you hear me?”

The man’s eyelids moved.

“Yes.”

“Name?”

“Ma…”

He swallowed.

“Ma Qiang.”

“Where are you hurt?”

“Side.”

Lu Chen opened the jacket.

A narrow wound beneath the ribs.

Not a gunshot.

Not quite a knife.

Something thin had entered at an angle.

Blood loss was significant.

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But not yet catastrophic.

Then Lu Chen saw the skin around it.

Gray.

His expression changed.

“Ruoxi.”

“Yes?”

“Emergency kit.”

She moved instantly.

Lu Chen checked the courier’s pulse.

Fast.

Weak.

And irregular.

He activated Life Meridian perception.

Golden threads appeared.

Most were ordinary.

No cultivation.

No tempered body.

No spiritual foundation.

Just a normal human being.

But a dark gray substance was moving from the wound into his bloodstream.

Poison.

The courier grabbed Lu Chen’s wrist.

“Package…”

“Forget the package.”

“Must…”

“Your delivery rating can survive this.”

The man almost laughed.

Then coughed.

“No…”

He looked toward the long case.

“…must reach Lu Chen.”

Ruoxi stopped.

Lu Chen’s expression sharpened.

“I am Lu Chen.”

Ma Qiang’s eyes focused.

Relief.

Pure relief.

“Delivered.”

Then he lost consciousness.

Lu Chen looked toward the case.

No shipping label.

No company sticker.

Nothing except six handwritten characters on the wrapping:

To the Keeper of Nine Leaves.

Ruoxi read them.

“That is for you.”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to open it?”

“No.”

She looked surprised.

“Why?”

“Because the man who carried it here is dying.”

That ended the discussion.

Lu Chen worked for twenty-three minutes.

The stab wound itself was manageable.

The poison was not.

Not because it was particularly sophisticated.

Because it had been designed to spread quickly through an ordinary body.

Ma Qiang had no cultivation to slow it.

No trained meridians.

No resistance.

Ruoxi held equipment when asked.

Pressed dressings.

Made calls.

Followed instructions.

She had stopped asking whether Lu Chen’s methods were conventional.

There was very little point anymore.

At one stage she looked toward the long case.

Then back to Ma Qiang.

“Who attacked him?”

“Ask him after I stop him dying.”

“Can you?”

Lu Chen did not answer.

That worried her.

His Life Essence had partially recovered since the factory.

Seven golden seeds had strengthened the tiny point in his shattered core.

But only slightly.

He could use acupuncture to slow the toxin.

He could remove blood contamination.

But the poison had reached the heart.

One final push would be needed.

Life Essence.

Again.

The manuscript drawer became warm.

Lu Chen felt it.

Seven lives acknowledged.

Three remaining.

His hand paused over the needle.

Ruoxi noticed.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You do that before something dangerous.”

“I do many things before dangerous situations.”

“Such as?”

“Complain.”

“That is true.”

Lu Chen focused.

The golden point responded.

A thread of Life Essence moved through his damaged meridian.

Less painful than yesterday.

Noticeably less.

Healing others was healing him.

Slowly.

He guided the energy into the needle.

Gold flickered.

Ruoxi saw it.

She no longer reacted as dramatically.

That worried Lu Chen slightly.

People should not become accustomed to impossible things this quickly.

The golden energy entered Ma Qiang’s Life Meridian.

The gray poison resisted.

Then began breaking apart.

Not destroyed.

Transformed.

Cleaned.

The same pattern.

Lu Chen’s breathing became heavier.

A few seconds.

Then—

Ma Qiang’s heartbeat stabilized.

The gray discoloration around the wound faded.

Lu Chen removed the final needle.

The clinic became quiet.

Ruoxi checked the monitor.

“Stable.”

“Yes.”

“You did it.”

“Yes.”

A golden warmth came from beneath the desk.

The Nine Medicines manuscript opened by itself.

Lu Chen did not need to look.

He already knew.

A new seed had formed.

The eighth.

Eight lives acknowledged.

Two remaining.

But this time another line appeared beneath it.

Lu Chen opened the drawer.

Ruoxi could not see the characters.

Only the glow.

He read:

A bearer wounded for another’s path has been returned to his own.

Then:

Eight lives. Two remain.

The letters faded.

Lu Chen stared at the eighth golden seed.

The inheritance had accepted Ma Qiang immediately.

No payment.

No bargain.

No reward.

He had saved him because he was dying.

Simple.

Again.

Perhaps the First Medicine was teaching him through repetition.

Life did not need a complicated justification.

People did.

The ambulance arrived twelve minutes later.

Ma Qiang regained consciousness just before they moved him.

He grabbed Lu Chen’s sleeve.

“The case.”

“It’s safe.”

“Don’t…”

He struggled for breath.

“Don’t let them take it.”

“Who?”

“Two men.”

“Describe them.”

“Black car.”

That was not especially useful in Jiangzhou.

“Faces?”

“One young.”

His eyes fluttered.

“One old.”

“Anything distinctive?”

Ma Qiang closed his eyes.

Lu Chen thought he had lost consciousness again.

Then:

“The old one…”

His fingers tightened weakly.

“…said Elder Yan wanted it burned.”

Lu Chen became very still.

Ruoxi did too.

“Yan Wusheng?” Lu Chen asked.

Ma Qiang’s eyes opened.

Fear appeared.

“You know him?”

“Unfortunately.”

“They said…”

He coughed.

“…the sword should have stayed with the dead.”

The sword.

Ruoxi looked toward the case.

Lu Chen’s gaze followed.

His heart began beating differently.

“What sword?”

Ma Qiang looked confused.

“I don’t know.”

“You saw it?”

“No.”

“Who gave you the package?”

“Woman.”

Bai Shuyue?

“Describe her.”

“Old.”

Not Bai Shuyue.

“Where?”

“Bus terminal locker.”

“You didn’t meet her?”

“She called.”

“Number?”

“Blocked.”

“Payment?”

“Cash inside locker.”

“How much?”

“Twenty thousand.”

Ruoxi’s eyebrows rose.

“Twenty thousand for local delivery?”

Ma Qiang gave the faintest smile.

“I thought…”

He swallowed.

“…good day.”

Lu Chen looked at the blood on the man’s shirt.

“Poor assessment.”

“Yeah.”

“What happened?”

“Two cars followed me.”

“Where?”

“North bridge.”

“You knew?”

“Delivery riders know mirrors.”

“Good.”

“They tried to stop me.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Ma Qiang looked toward the black case.

“Customer said…”

His voice weakened.

“…if anyone tried to take it, keep going.”

“That is not worth dying over.”

“I know that now.”

Lu Chen’s expression hardened.

Somebody had used an ordinary courier in a cultivation conflict.

Someone knew Ma Qiang could be attacked.

Yet sent him anyway.

That anger felt different from revenge.

Cleaner.

“Did the customer warn you the attackers could kill you?”

“No.”

Of course not.

Lu Chen stored that detail.

Whoever returned the sword might be helping him.

That did not make them good.

The paramedics moved Ma Qiang toward the ambulance.

Before leaving, the courier looked at Lu Chen.

“Did I deliver it?”

“Yes.”

A weak smile.

“Five stars?”

Lu Chen stared.

Ruoxi laughed.

“I’ll make sure.”

Ma Qiang closed his eyes.

Satisfied.

The ambulance doors shut.

Xiaoxiao appeared halfway down the stairs.

“Is the patient okay?”

“Yes.”

She continued down.

“Did he bring the big box?”

“Yes.”

“What’s inside?”

Lu Chen looked at the case.

“I don’t know.”

Ruoxi looked at him.

“You know more than you’re admitting.”

Lu Chen said nothing.

Xiaoxiao approached the case.

“Can we open it?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I need to check whether it is dangerous.”

She immediately stepped backward.

“Okay.”

Finally.

A sensible response.

Then:

“Can Pretty Auntie open it?”

Ruoxi stared.

“Why me?”

Xiaoxiao shrugged.

Lu Chen almost smiled.

“No one opens it yet.”

He retrieved a pair of old wooden tongs from the herb cabinet.

Ruoxi watched.

“What exactly are those meant to protect against?”

“I don’t know.”

“Reassuring.”

He examined the wrapping.

No wires.

No obvious talisman.

No strong spiritual residue on the exterior.

But the half-jade against his chest had become warm.

Very warm.

His shattered core also reacted.

Not like the manuscript.

Different.

A pull.

Familiar.

Impossible.

Lu Chen stopped breathing.

Ruoxi noticed.

“What?”

He reached for the cloth.

Carefully.

One knot.

Then another.

The wrapping loosened.

Beneath it lay a dark wooden sword case.

Blackened along one edge.

Burn damage.

Lu Chen knew the wood.

Ironheart cedar.

His master had insisted on it because Lu Chen had broken three cheaper sword cases in two years.

A crack ran diagonally across the lid.

Near the handle—

two characters had been carved by hand.

Badly.

Very badly.

Lu Chen.

Ruoxi looked at him.

“You recognize it.”

He did not answer.

His fingers moved toward the characters.

He had carved them himself at seventeen.

His master had stared at the result for several minutes and said:

You have the handwriting of a dying chicken.

Lu Chen had argued that swords did not care about calligraphy.

His master had made him copy prescriptions for a week.

Again.

He touched the lid.

Memory hit harder than expected.

Training yard at sunrise.

Senior disciples laughing.

His master throwing a sword toward him.

If you insist on learning how to fight, at least learn properly.

A younger Lu Chen catching it.

Nearly dropping it.

His master pretending not to notice.

Lu Chen opened the case.

Nobody spoke.

Inside lay a sword.

The scabbard was charred.

Almost half the original lacquer had burned away.

The hilt wrapping was blackened.

The guard carried a crack along one side.

But the blade—

the blade remained whole.

Lu Chen reached down.

Slowly.

Wrapped his hand around the hilt.

The moment his fingers touched it—

the clinic disappeared.

Fire.

Everywhere.

The Valley burned.

Not a memory from the sword.

His memory.

Five years ago.

Lu Chen ran through smoke.

Blood covered his robes.

His left arm no longer moved properly.

The sword in his hand was red.

Not from heat.

From blood.

A figure attacked.

Lu Chen cut once.

Another.

Someone screamed behind him.

“Junior Brother!”

He turned.

Too late.

A palm struck his chest.

His dantian cracked.

Pain beyond language.

Lu Chen fell.

The sword left his hand.

It struck stone.

His master appeared through the flames.

Older.

Bleeding.

Terrifying.

The world seemed to break around him.

Lu Chen remembered trying to stand.

Master.

His master grabbed him.

Pressed one hand against his shattered cultivation core.

Lu Chen screamed.

Someone approached through the smoke.

A man.

Tall.

Ring on one hand.

Black Crescent.

Lu Chen had never remembered the face.

Only—

The sword.

His sword lay between them.

The man stepped over it.

His master looked at him.

Not surprised.

Not confused.

He said one sentence.

Lu Chen had forgotten it.

Until now.

So it was you.

The memory ended.

Lu Chen staggered.

Ruoxi caught his arm.

“What happened?”

He stared at the sword.

His hand shook.

“Nothing.”

“That was not nothing.”

Xiaoxiao looked worried.

“Daddy?”

He steadied himself immediately.

“I’m okay.”

She looked suspicious.

“Promise?”

Lu Chen crouched.

“Yes.”

This time he could say it.

He was physically fine.

Emotionally—

less certain.

He lifted the sword from the case.

The blade slid halfway from the scabbard.

A soft metallic note filled the clinic.

Ruoxi stared.

Even without knowing weapons, she could tell it was unusual.

The blade was pale.

Almost silver-white.

A narrow green line ran along its center.

Near the base were two small characters:

Returning Spring.

Ruoxi read them.

“That’s its name?”

“Yes.”

“Returning Spring?”

Xiaoxiao looked disappointed.

“That’s not scary.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be.”

“What does it mean?”

Lu Chen ran his thumb along the scabbard.

“My master said a physician’s weapon should remind him why he draws it.”

Ruoxi’s expression softened.

“Which is?”

“To make sure there is still a spring to return to.”

Xiaoxiao thought about that.

Then nodded.

“I like it.”

Of course she did.

Lu Chen pushed the blade fully back into the scabbard.

Then something moved inside his shattered core.

A violent pull.

His expression changed.

Dark energy seeped from the burned scabbard.

Not active spiritual force.

Residue.

Death.

Five years of it.

The sword had lain amid slaughter.

Fire.

Dying cultivators.

Shattered formations.

It had absorbed traces of Death Essence.

His core recognized it instantly.

Hungrily.

Black threads began moving toward his hand.

Lu Chen froze.

Power entered him.

A tiny amount.

But the effect was immediate.

One damaged meridian opened.

A fraction.

Pain and strength arrived together.

His knees nearly buckled.

Ruoxi moved.

“What’s wrong?”

“Don’t touch me.”

She stopped.

The sword pulsed.

Death Essence flowed faster.

His shattered core wanted all of it.

Years of accumulated residue.

Enough—

perhaps—

to restore an entire major meridian.

Maybe more.

Lu Chen’s breathing changed.

He could feel power.

Real power.

Not a thin thread of Life Essence earned one patient at a time.

This was enormous by comparison.

The seventh life had given him a drop.

The eighth another.

The sword offered a river.

All he had to do was take it.

The manuscript drawer began glowing.

Xiaoxiao saw it.

“Daddy…”

Lu Chen heard nothing.

His attention had turned inward.

Black energy surrounded the golden point.

Not attacking.

Offering.

The same temptation as before.

Only stronger.

Take it.

His damaged meridians burned.

You need strength.

Xiaoxiao.

Upper Court.

Yan Wusheng.

His missing master.

A traitor.

Enemies who could reach his clinic.

Take it.

The sword’s Death Essence surged.

Then Lu Chen noticed something.

Inside the energy—

impressions.

Not memories.

Fragments.

Fear.

Pain.

Hatred.

Regret.

Lives ended around this blade.

Some enemies.

Some Valley disciples.

Maybe his friends.

Maybe his family in everything but blood.

This strength did not belong to him.

It came from the dead.

His hand tightened around Returning Spring.

“No.”

The flow stopped.

The core pulled harder.

Pain exploded through him.

Lu Chen gritted his teeth.

“I said no.”

The sword trembled.

Dark energy tried to enter again.

He reached toward the tiny Life Essence surrounding his core.

Golden threads moved.

Weak.

Pathetic compared with the darkness.

But his.

Earned through lives returned.

Lu Chen forced the gold into his arm.

Then into the sword.

The effect was immediate.

Golden light spread along Returning Spring’s scabbard.

Black residue erupted.

Ruoxi stepped back.

Xiaoxiao gasped.

Not frightened.

Amazed.

“Pretty!”

Lu Chen almost laughed.

Of course.

Gold and black fought across the weapon.

No.

Not fought.

The Life Essence began cleansing it.

Just as it had purified poison.

Just as it had transformed harmful energy inside patients.

The Death Essence changed.

Black became gray.

Gray became white.

Then disappeared.

Not absorbed.

Released.

The temperature in the clinic rose.

A faint smell appeared.

Medicinal flowers.

Impossible.

For one second, Lu Chen smelled the Valley in spring.

Wild herbs.

Mountain rain.

His master’s terrible medicinal wine.

The sword became quiet.

The Death Essence was gone.

His core protested.

Then settled.

Ruoxi watched him.

“You just refused something.”

He looked at her.

“What?”

“I don’t know what.”

Her eyes moved toward the blade.

“But whatever came out of that sword, part of you wanted it.”

Lu Chen stared at her.

“You are becoming excessively observant.”

“That is not a denial.”

“No.”

“What was it?”

“Power.”

“And you refused?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Lu Chen looked down at Returning Spring.

“Because it belonged to dead people.”

Ruoxi said nothing.

Xiaoxiao walked closer.

Then placed one hand on the scabbard.

This time Lu Chen let her.

She smiled.

“It’s warm.”

He looked at her tiny fingers against the burned wood.

“Yes.”

“It likes you.”

“That is not how swords work.”

“How do you know?”

He opened his mouth.

Then closed it.

Ruoxi smiled.

“Excellent question.”

Lu Chen looked betrayed.

A clicking sound came from the sword case.

All three turned.

The interior lining had shifted.

A hidden compartment opened beneath where the sword had rested.

Ruoxi’s expression sharpened.

Lu Chen placed Returning Spring on the desk.

Inside the compartment lay three things.

A folded piece of scorched cloth.

A small bronze key.

And a metal plaque.

The plaque bore the same symbol from the photograph.

Circle.

Nine lines.

The seal of the Nine-Lock Repository.

Lu Chen picked it up.

His heart sank.

On the reverse—

a name.

PEI MINGSHAN

Ruoxi leaned closer.

“So he really was connected.”

“Yes.”

“This confirms the man in the photograph?”

“No.”

She frowned.

“It has his name.”

“It confirms the plaque belonged to him.”

“Not that he was wearing it.”

“Exactly.”

Ruoxi nodded.

Careful.

Better.

Lu Chen unfolded the scorched cloth.

Writing appeared.

Brown-black.

Probably dried blood mixed with ink.

Only part of the message had survived.

…do not trust the photograph…

His eyes narrowed.

Ruoxi read over his shoulder.

“That seems relevant.”

The next line had burned away.

Then:

Pei Mingshan discovered the breach before…

Missing section.

Another fragment:

…he was not the traitor.

Silence.

Ruoxi slowly looked toward the laptop.

The man they had just identified as their first candidate.

Cleared by a message hidden inside Lu Chen’s sword.

Maybe.

If the message was genuine.

Lu Chen continued reading.

The Keeper died protecting the Ninth Lock.

His jaw tightened.

So Pei Mingshan was dead.

Or someone wanted him to believe that.

The final surviving line:

The hand wearing his seal belonged to—

Burned.

Gone.

Ruoxi stared.

“You have terrible luck with incomplete messages.”

Lu Chen almost threw the cloth.

Instead, he breathed.

Once.

Twice.

His master would have told him impatience killed more physicians than ignorance.

He looked at the bronze key.

Small.

Old.

The top shaped like a medicinal leaf.

“Does that open the repository?” Ruoxi asked.

“No.”

“How do you know?”

“The repository keys were larger.”

“Then?”

“I don’t know.”

Xiaoxiao pointed.

“There’s writing.”

Lu Chen looked.

“Where?”

“On the side.”

He turned the key.

Nothing.

Xiaoxiao reached toward it.

“Here.”

Her fingernail touched a tiny groove.

Lu Chen brought it close to the light.

There were indeed characters.

So small he had overlooked them.

Two words.

Third Bell.

Ruoxi frowned.

“Does that mean anything?”

Not immediately.

Then—

Lu Chen remembered.

Three bells stood inside the Valley.

Morning Bell.

Medicine Bell.

Mourning Bell.

No.

There had been a fourth.

An old bronze bell behind the abandoned east herb furnace.

His master called it the Third Bell even though it was not used in the daily order.

Why?

Because it predated the others.

Nobody rang it.

Children were forbidden to go near it.

Which naturally meant Lu Chen had gone near it repeatedly.

He remembered a small keyhole at the base.

His eyes widened.

“This opens something in the Valley.”

Ruoxi looked at him.

“The place your master explicitly told you not to return to.”

“Yes.”

“And you are thinking about returning.”

“No.”

She stared.

“You are.”

“I am thinking.”

“Same expression.”

Xiaoxiao nodded.

“Thinking face.”

Lu Chen looked between them.

“This household is becoming hostile.”

Ruoxi smiled.

Then her phone rang.

She checked it.

Her expression changed.

“What?”

“My people found something related to Ma Qiang.”

“The courier?”

“Yes.”

She answered.

Listened.

Then turned on speaker.

The security officer’s voice came through.

“Miss Qin, we traced the attack route using traffic cameras.”

“Vehicles?”

“Two.”

“Plates?”

“False.”

“Drivers?”

“Faces partially obscured.”

“Where did they go?”

“One vehicle disappeared in the old north freight district.”

“And the other?”

The officer hesitated.

“It entered Qin Medical Center’s underground parking garage.”

Silence.

Ruoxi’s expression became cold.

“When?”

“Twenty-eight minutes ago.”

“Is it still there?”

“No.”

“Who got out?”

“We’re reviewing internal footage now.”

Lu Chen looked at her.

“Your hospital again.”

“Yes.”

This was becoming a pattern.

Qin Zhenguo’s poisoning.

Zhou Kai’s access.

Now people connected to Yan Wusheng using Qin Medical Center.

Either someone inside the hospital remained compromised—

or the Upper Court had access deeper than they understood.

“Lock down nothing,” Lu Chen said.

Ruoxi looked at him.

The officer on speaker went silent.

“Why?”

“If they know you discovered the vehicle, everyone involved disappears.”

She understood.

“Quiet surveillance.”

“Yes.”

Ruoxi spoke into the phone.

“Do not alert hospital administration. Pull camera copies externally. Identify everyone who entered or left the vehicle. No arrests.”

“Yes, Miss Qin.”

The call ended.

Lu Chen looked toward Returning Spring.

A sword returned.

An eighth life acknowledged.

Pei Mingshan apparently cleared.

A key pointing back toward the Valley.

And Yan Wusheng’s people inside Qin Medical Center.

Too many threads.

Someone was either helping him carefully—

or constructing an elaborate path designed to lead him somewhere.

The question was the same as before.

Invitation?

Trap?

Probably both.

Ma Qiang returned to the clinic the next afternoon.

Against medical advice.

He entered slowly with a hospital band around one wrist.

Lu Chen stared at him.

“What are you doing here?”

Ma Qiang held up his phone.

“Five stars.”

Ruoxi, seated nearby, burst out laughing.

Lu Chen closed his eyes.

“I was joking.”

“I wasn’t.”

He showed the screen.

A delivery application.

Completed job.

Payment received.

Then a five-star rating request.

Lu Chen stared.

“You nearly died.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re worried about a delivery rating.”

“My account was already at 4.8.”

“That is your concern?”

“4.8 is dangerous.”

Xiaoxiao looked up from a coloring book.

“Daddy, give him five.”

Lu Chen stared at her.

“Why?”

“He delivered your sword.”

Ma Qiang pointed.

“She understands business.”

Lu Chen looked betrayed.

Ruoxi took the phone.

“Give me that.”

She entered the rating.

Five stars.

Then added a tip.

Ma Qiang stared at the number.

“Miss…”

His eyes widened.

“This is too much.”

“Medical compensation.”

Lu Chen looked toward her.

“Do not steal my phrases.”

She smiled.

Ma Qiang handed the phone back.

“I came for another reason.”

His expression became serious.

“The woman called again.”

Lu Chen’s eyes sharpened.

“When?”

“This morning.”

“What did she say?”

“She asked whether the package reached you.”

“And?”

“I said yes.”

“Anything else?”

“She apologized.”

Lu Chen frowned.

“For what?”

“For not knowing people would attack me.”

Interesting.

Perhaps she had not knowingly sacrificed the courier.

Still careless.

But different.

“Did she give a name?”

“No.”

“Number trace?”

“Blocked again.”

“Anything distinctive about her voice?”

“Old. Maybe sixty.”

“Accent?”

Ma Qiang thought.

“Mountain region maybe.”

“Which mountain region?”

He shrugged.

“I deliver boxes. I’m not a linguist.”

Fair.

“Message?”

“Yes.”

Lu Chen waited.

“She said…”

Ma Qiang frowned, remembering.

“‘Tell the physician that Returning Spring remembers the hand that dropped it.’”

Lu Chen became still.

Ruoxi looked at the sword.

“What does that mean?”

Lu Chen knew.

He remembered the final moments.

His sword falling.

The man with the Black Crescent stepping across it.

His master saying:

So it was you.

“Anything else?”

Ma Qiang nodded.

“‘The sword saw what the boy could not.’”

Lu Chen stared.

“A sword cannot see.”

Ma Qiang shrugged.

“I agree.”

Ruoxi looked less dismissive.

“Can spiritual weapons store memories?”

Lu Chen looked at Returning Spring.

“High-level ones can retain impressions.”

“Is yours high-level?”

“It wasn’t.”

“Wasn’t?”

He examined the pale blade.

Five years inside unknown hands.

Five years exposed to death.

Then purified by Life Essence.

Something might have changed.

He reached toward the hilt.

Stopped.

The first time he touched it, memory had returned.

His memory.

But what if the sword carried more?

Ruoxi understood.

“You’re going to try.”

“Not yet.”

“Why?”

Lu Chen pointed toward Ma Qiang.

“Because he is still here instead of recovering.”

The courier sighed.

“I knew that was coming.”

“Hospital.”

“I hate hospitals.”

“You were poisoned.”

“I feel fine.”

“You nearly died yesterday.”

“Technically I didn’t.”

“Hospital.”

Ma Qiang looked toward Xiaoxiao.

“Help?”

She thought.

Then pointed at the door.

“Daddy is scary about medicine.”

Betrayed by everyone.

Ma Qiang left.

That evening, after the clinic closed, Lu Chen sat alone in the treatment room.

Returning Spring rested across his knees.

Xiaoxiao slept upstairs.

Ruoxi had gone back to the hospital.

The building was quiet.

Lu Chen placed one hand on the sword.

No immediate reaction.

He closed his eyes.

Instead of drawing spiritual qi—

he used Life Essence.

Slowly.

A single golden thread entered the hilt.

The sword trembled.

Then a sound appeared in his mind.

Steel.

Fire.

A heartbeat.

Not his.

The scene came slowly.

Fragmented.

As though viewed through broken glass.

Returning Spring lay on the stone floor.

Flames surrounded it.

Boots approached.

A man stepped over the blade.

Dark robe.

Black Crescent ring.

Nine-Lock plaque at his waist.

The man bent.

Picked up the sword.

For the first time—

Lu Chen saw his face.

Not clearly.

But enough.

Older.

Deep scar across the right cheek.

One eye clouded.

Not Pei Mingshan.

Someone else.

The man looked toward Lu Chen’s master.

His master’s voice:

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

The stranger smiled.

“And none of you noticed.”

Lu Chen’s heart slammed.

The image shifted.

His master attacked.

The sword flew.

Another fragment.

The stranger speaking:

“The Repository was never breached from outside.”

Fire.

Then:

“You opened it yourself.”

The vision shattered.

Lu Chen’s eyes opened.

He was breathing heavily.

Returning Spring lay quiet across his knees.

But now he understood the message hidden in the scorched cloth.

Pei Mingshan had not betrayed the Valley.

Someone had killed him.

Taken his seal.

And impersonated his authority for more than two decades.

An infiltrator inside the Valley.

Not five years.

Not ten.

At least twenty-two.

Lu Chen stood.

The scale of the betrayal changed instantly.

Someone had lived inside his home.

Walked its halls.

Entered its restricted repository.

Possibly watched Lu Chen grow up.

For decades.

His phone rang.

Ruoxi.

He answered.

“I saw him.”

She paused.

“Saw who?”

“The man in the photograph.”

“You identified him?”

“Not by name.”

“But?”

“He has a scar across the right cheek.”

Ruoxi became silent.

Then:

“Lu Chen.”

“What?”

“We just recovered the internal hospital footage.”

His expression sharpened.

“And?”

“The man who stepped out of the vehicle that attacked Ma Qiang…”

She inhaled.

“…has a scar across his right cheek.”

Lu Chen said nothing.

For one moment, even the city outside seemed silent.

The same man?

Impossible.

Thirty-one years ago, he had already been an adult.

He should now be elderly.

Unless cultivation had preserved his appearance.

Or the scar belonged to someone else.

Ruoxi continued.

“He entered the hospital under a registered visitor name.”

“What name?”

“You’re not going to like it.”

“Say it.”

A pause.

Then:

“Pei Mingshan.”

Lu Chen’s grip tightened around the phone.

The real Pei Mingshan was supposedly dead.

The infiltrator had worn his authority for twenty-two years.

Now someone was still using his name.

The same stolen identity.

The same game.

For decades.

Lu Chen looked down at Returning Spring.

His master had not merely hidden clues.

He had been fighting an enemy who changed names, faces, and roles.

An enemy capable of living inside institutions for years without being discovered.

Valley.

Upper Court.

Qin Medical Center.

Perhaps everywhere.

Ruoxi’s voice came again.

“Lu Chen?”

“Yes.”

“What do we do?”

He looked toward the faint Black Crescent rabbit Xiaoxiao had drawn on the wall.

For the first time, the symbol no longer looked like the enemy.

Only a mask.

One of many.

Lu Chen’s expression became calm.

“Nothing.”

Ruoxi went silent.

“Nothing?”

“Tonight.”

“You just learned the infiltrator may be in my hospital.”

“Yes.”

“And your plan is nothing?”

“For tonight.”

“Why?”

“Because he wants us to chase the name Pei Mingshan.”

Ruoxi understood slowly.

“A false trail.”

“Maybe.”

“So we watch.”

“Yes.”

“And wait for him to make a mistake.”

“Yes.”

She sighed.

“You are becoming annoyingly patient.”

“My master would be shocked.”

“He sounds like he spent most of your childhood disappointed in you.”

“Correct.”

Lu Chen ended the call.

Then looked toward Returning Spring.

Eight golden lives.

Two remaining before the First Gift.

A returned sword.

A dead man’s stolen identity.

And somewhere in Jiangzhou—

someone connected to the destruction of the Valley had just walked willingly into a Qin family hospital.

Lu Chen ran one finger along the sword’s burned scabbard.

“Twenty-two years.”

His voice was quiet.

“You lived in my home for twenty-two years.”

Returning Spring gave a faint metallic hum.

Lu Chen’s eyes became cold.

“Let’s see how long you can hide in my city.”

Far beneath Qin Medical Center, in a maintenance corridor that did not appear on modern building plans, a man with a scar across his right cheek removed a hospital visitor badge.

The name printed on it read:

PEI MINGSHAN

He placed it inside a small flame.

The plastic curled.

Blackened.

Disappeared.

Another man stood behind him.

“You allowed the cameras to see you.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

The scarred man smiled.

“Because Lu Chen has finally remembered my face.”

“Is that wise?”

“No.”

The smile widened.

“That is why it is useful.”

He opened a metal door.

Beyond it lay an old stone staircase descending deeper beneath the hospital.

Much older than the building above.

At the bottom stood a bronze door.

A circle pierced by nine lines had been carved into its surface.

The same symbol once used by the Nine-Lock Repository.

The man placed his palm against it.

The door opened.

Inside—

hundreds of sealed wooden boxes lined the walls.

Medicinal records.

Valley artifacts.

Things believed destroyed five years ago.

And at the center sat one empty pedestal.

A label beneath it read:

RETURNING SPRING

The scarred man looked at the empty space.

“So the sword returned to its owner.”

His companion bowed.

“What now?”

The man walked toward another pedestal.

On it rested a sealed jade bottle.

Inside floated a single drop of golden liquid.

“Now?”

He smiled.

“We wait for the tenth life.”