Chapter 16 — The Patient Beneath the Third Bell

The fourth impact came from beneath their feet.

Boom.

Dust fell from the ceiling.

Qin Zhenguo tightened his grip on his cane.

Qin Ruoxi looked toward the cracked floor.

Jian Wei did not move.

Lu Chen watched him.

“You knew about this.”

Jian’s expression remained grim.

“I knew something was below the archive.”

“That is not the same answer.”

“No.”

“What is the same answer?”

Jian looked at him.

“I knew there was a patient.”

“For how long?”

“Five years.”

“And you neglected to mention the thirty-year-old patient beneath our feet?”

“I arrived ten minutes ago.”

“You had nine of those minutes.”

Ruoxi almost smiled.

Wrong moment.

Probably.

Another impact shook the chamber.

Boom.

Lu Chen’s hand moved toward the bronze key inside his coat.

The one recovered from Returning Spring’s hidden compartment.

Two tiny characters remained carved along its side.

Third Bell.

He took it out.

The moment the key entered the open air—

the floor reacted.

Golden lines spread outward.

Nine circles appeared beneath the sixteen archive pedestals.

At the center of the chamber, stone slowly separated.

A circular plate descended.

Not a trapdoor.

A mechanism.

Ancient gears groaned somewhere below.

Qin Zhenguo stepped backward.

“I thought this archive was thirty years old.”

“The archive is,” Jian said.

“The structure below it isn’t.”

Ruoxi looked at him.

“How old?”

“No idea.”

“Centuries?”

“Older.”

“Thousands?”

Jian said nothing.

Ruoxi looked toward Lu Chen.

“I am beginning to dislike unanswered questions.”

“You’ve been here four days.”

“That was enough.”

The circular opening widened.

Inside—

a bronze bell rose from beneath the floor.

Small.

No taller than Lu Chen’s knee.

Dark with age.

Nine medicinal leaves had been carved around its surface.

Unlike the archive doors, there was no Black Crescent mark.

No Nine-Lock symbol.

Only leaves.

And beneath them—

a keyhole.

Lu Chen looked at the key.

“Subtle.”

Jian frowned.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

He crouched beside the bell.

Returning Spring hummed at his back.

The half-jade became hot against his chest.

The Life Seed within his damaged dantian pulsed.

Three separate reactions.

All to the same object.

Jian noticed.

“The bell recognizes you.”

“Or dislikes me.”

“Knowing Master, possibly both.”

Lu Chen looked at him.

For one brief moment, it felt normal.

Senior Brother Jian beside him.

Their master somewhere close enough to complain.

The Valley still standing.

Then the cracked stone beneath the archive reminded him otherwise.

He inserted the key.

It fit perfectly.

Ruoxi moved closer.

“Before you turn it.”

Lu Chen looked back.

“What?”

“Do we know what happens?”

“No.”

“Excellent.”

“You’re learning.”

“I was being sarcastic.”

“So was I.”

Qin Zhenguo sighed.

“You two are becoming exhausting.”

Ruoxi stared at him.

“You escaped a cardiac ward to enter an ancient underground cultivation archive.”

“That has nothing to do with this.”

Lu Chen turned the key.

The bell rang.

Not loudly.

A single low note.

Yet Lu Chen felt it inside his bones.

The sound did not travel outward.

It traveled down.

The archive lights dimmed.

The blood ledger flickered.

Every sealed box became dark.

Then a voice spoke from the bell.

Old.

Weak.

Recorded decades earlier.

Lu Chen recognized it instantly.

His master.

“If the Third Bell has been rung…”

Lu Chen closed his eyes.

Of course.

Jian Wei’s expression changed too.

It had been five years since either man heard that voice.

The recording continued.

“…then either everything has gone according to plan…”

A pause.

“…or everything has gone terribly wrong.”

Lu Chen opened his eyes.

“That is not helpful.”

Jian almost laughed.

The voice continued.

“Knowing my disciples, assume the second.”

Jian actually laughed this time.

Quietly.

Painfully.

Lu Chen shook his head.

“Old bastard.”

Qin Zhenguo looked toward them.

“That was your master?”

“Yes.”

“I understand much more about you now.”

Lu Chen ignored him.

The recording continued.

“Do not panic.”

A mechanical crash came from beneath them.

Ruoxi looked at the bell.

“Poor timing.”

“The patient below is not your enemy.”

Everyone became quiet.

“Do not remove the nine needles.”

Lu Chen’s eyes sharpened.

Needles.

“Do not attempt to awaken him.”

Jian looked toward the floor.

That warning sounded important.

“And under no circumstances allow the Third Bell to ring three times.”

Silence.

Everyone slowly looked at one another.

The bell had rung once.

Jian whispered:

“We heard three bells earlier.”

Lu Chen shook his head.

“From below.”

“Difference?”

“I hope so.”

The recorded voice answered as though Lu Tianhe had anticipated the question.

“The warning chimes from the lower chamber do not count.”

Ruoxi stared.

“He anticipated that?”

Lu Chen sighed.

“He anticipated being surrounded by idiots.”

The message continued.

“The Third Bell itself must not ring three times.”

Good.

One ring.

Two remaining.

Lu Chen did not intend to test the rule.

“If the patient’s condition has changed, stabilize him. Do not cure him.”

Lu Chen frowned.

That sentence bothered him.

“Do not cure him?”

Jian’s expression tightened.

The recording continued.

“Yes, Chen’er. I know what you are thinking.”

Lu Chen froze.

Ruoxi smiled.

The old man’s voice carried faint irritation even after decades.

“Not every condition should be cured the moment it is discovered.”

“Sometimes the disease is the cage.”

No one joked after that.

The recording ended.

The bronze bell sank slowly back into the floor.

And the chamber opened.

A spiral staircase descended from beneath the bell.

Cold white light glowed far below.

Not lantern light.

Something softer.

Jian walked toward the opening.

Lu Chen caught his arm.

“You first?”

Jian looked at him.

“You are the Memory Keeper.”

“And?”

“The archive accepted you.”

“That doesn’t mean I enjoy falling into unknown chambers.”

Jian almost smiled.

“I taught you better balance than that.”

“You threw me off cliffs.”

“Controlled cliffs.”

“There is no such thing.”

Ruoxi stepped between them.

“Who is actually going first?”

Lu Chen looked downward.

Then toward Qin Zhenguo.

“You stay.”

The old man’s expression darkened immediately.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“I have guarded this property for thirty years.”

“And had cardiac arrest four days ago.”

“Again with the heart.”

“It remains medically relevant.”

Qin pointed his cane toward Jian.

“He is injured too.”

Jian shook his head.

“I’m not seventy-four.”

Qin looked betrayed.

Lu Chen pointed toward the outer archive.

“Deng Hu is upstairs.”

“I know where my own security chief is.”

“Stay with him.”

“No.”

Ruoxi stepped beside Lu Chen.

“He’s right.”

Qin stared at his granddaughter.

“You too?”

“Yes.”

“Traitors.”

Jian coughed.

“Wrong word around this family.”

Qin glared.

But he stayed.

Mostly because Ruoxi took his cane.

“That is theft.”

“I’ll return it.”

“You are holding an old man hostage.”

“You can still walk.”

“That is irrelevant.”

Lu Chen was already descending.

Jian followed.

Ruoxi gave Qin one final look.

“Stay.”

Then descended after them.

Qin Zhenguo muttered something involving ungrateful descendants.

The staircase descended seventy-three steps.

Lu Chen counted.

Not intentionally.

His master had trained that habit into him.

Always know your distance from an exit.

Always know how many doors lie between you and daylight.

Always know whether the patient can be moved through them.

The temperature dropped with every ten steps.

At the bottom stood no door.

Only an arch.

Beyond it—

a medical chamber.

Ruoxi stopped.

“What is this?”

Even Lu Chen had no immediate answer.

The room was circular.

Approximately fifteen meters wide.

Ancient stone formed the walls, but the equipment inside came from several different eras.

Wooden medicine cabinets.

Bronze stands.

Glass tubing.

Old electrical monitoring equipment from perhaps thirty years ago.

Newer machines added much later.

Several no longer functioned.

Others continued humming quietly.

Cultivation formations had been carved underneath all of them.

Modern medicine and ancient medical arts fused together in a way that should have looked ridiculous.

Instead—

it looked deliberate.

A physician’s room.

Built by someone who cared only whether a method worked.

Lu Chen smiled faintly.

“Master.”

Ruoxi looked toward him.

“Your master built this?”

“Parts.”

“How can you tell?”

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

“He never respected boundaries between medical systems.”

Jian nodded.

“He once made me carry an electrocardiograph up a mountain.”

Ruoxi blinked.

“Seriously?”

“Three kilometers.”

Lu Chen looked at him.

“You complained for a month.”

“It weighed forty kilograms.”

“You were a cultivator.”

“That did not make it lighter.”

At the center of the room stood the patient.

The humor disappeared.

A man lay on a stone medical bed.

Not sealed in ice.

Not inside a coffin.

Nothing theatrical.

A simple bed.

White cloth.

One thin blanket.

Nine silver needles surrounded his body.

One at the crown of the head.

Two near the chest.

Two at the abdomen.

Two at the wrists.

Two at the ankles.

Each needle was connected to a golden thread disappearing into the floor.

The man looked thirty-five.

Maybe forty.

Long black hair spread beneath his head.

His face was thin.

Almost colorless.

No beard.

No visible injury.

If Lu Chen had not known better, he would have assumed the man was sleeping.

Then he noticed the hands.

Calluses.

Not martial calluses.

Needle calluses.

Thumb.

Index finger.

Middle finger.

Both hands.

A physician.

Lu Chen approached slowly.

Jian stopped at the edge of the formation.

“I never came this far.”

Lu Chen looked back.

“You knew the patient was here.”

“Yes.”

“But never saw him?”

“No.”

“How?”

“Master told me.”

“When?”

“The night the Valley fell.”

Ruoxi frowned.

“And this is not the person you carried away?”

Jian’s expression changed.

“No.”

Good.

One mystery remained separate from another.

Lu Chen stepped closer.

A small metal plate was attached to the bed.

He wiped away dust.

Words appeared.

THIRD BELL PATIENT

IDENTITY: SEALED

AGE AT ADMISSION: 32

ADMITTED: 31 YEARS, 7 MONTHS AGO

Ruoxi looked from the plaque to the man’s face.

“He hasn’t aged.”

“Yes.”

“That is impossible.”

Jian looked at her.

“You’ve had an unusual week for that word.”

She sighed.

“Fair.”

Below the admission information was a diagnosis.

Lu Chen read it silently.

Then again.

HEAVEN-LOCKED PULSE

He had never heard the term.

That worried him.

He had read nearly every restricted medical text available to the Valley.

Half illegally.

His master had caught him often.

This term was completely unfamiliar.

Ruoxi leaned closer.

“What does it mean?”

“I don’t know.”

“You?”

“Yes.”

“That seems bad.”

“It is.”

Jian examined the nine needles.

“Master said never to remove them.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Let’s find out.”

Lu Chen activated Life Meridian perception.

And stumbled backward.

Ruoxi caught him.

Again.

She sounded almost offended.

“Why does this keep happening?”

Lu Chen didn’t answer.

His eyes remained fixed on the patient.

Jian stepped closer.

“What did you see?”

Lu Chen slowly straightened.

“Nothing.”

Ruoxi frowned.

“Nothing made you almost fall?”

“No.”

He shook his head.

“That is the problem.”

He looked again.

Every human being had a Life Meridian.

Healthy or sick.

Cultivator or mortal.

Infant or elderly.

Golden channels differed in strength, density and complexity, but they existed.

This man had—

nothing.

Not empty meridians.

Not damaged ones.

Nothing.

A blank silhouette.

A human-shaped absence inside Lu Chen’s perception.

Except for nine golden points.

The needles.

Each needle created a tiny artificial pulse.

Nine lights.

Nine points of life.

Ruoxi lowered her voice.

“Is he dead?”

Lu Chen moved immediately.

Two fingers to the neck.

Pulse.

One beat.

He waited.

Nothing.

Ten seconds.

Twenty.

Then—

another beat.

Ruoxi stared.

“That slow?”

“Yes.”

Breathing?

One breath approximately every three minutes.

Temperature low.

But stable.

The man was alive.

Somehow.

Lu Chen checked ordinary pupils.

Reflexes.

Skin.

Muscle condition.

No severe atrophy despite three decades.

Impossible by conventional medicine.

Maintained by formation.

He turned toward the nine needles.

“The needles are functioning as substitute meridians.”

Jian’s expression changed.

“All nine?”

“Yes.”

“They’re keeping him alive?”

“More than that.”

Lu Chen followed one golden thread.

“It looks like his actual Life Meridian has been…”

He stopped.

“Removed?” Ruoxi asked.

“No.”

“Destroyed?”

“No.”

“What then?”

Lu Chen searched for the right word.

“Disconnected.”

“From what?”

That was the question.

His body existed.

The ordinary physical systems functioned at an impossibly reduced rate.

But the deeper network Lu Chen always saw—

the connection between vitality, spirit, cultivation, perhaps something beyond—

was gone.

As though someone had unplugged the man from the rules every other living body followed.

“Heaven-Locked Pulse.”

Lu Chen whispered the diagnosis again.

Maybe “locked” did not mean his pulse had been sealed.

Maybe Heaven itself could not reach it.

His Life Seed reacted.

Warmth spread through his reopened meridian.

Then—

one of the nine needles flickered.

Lu Chen’s expression changed.

“Back.”

Everyone moved.

The needle near the patient’s left wrist trembled.

Its golden thread dimmed.

Then brightened.

Dimmed again.

Jian’s face hardened.

“The Third Bell changed something.”

“Yes.”

A mechanical alarm began ticking from an old monitor.

Not electronic.

Bronze.

Lu Chen examined the inscription beside it.

AWAKENING SEQUENCE

His expression became cold.

“Someone activated a wake protocol.”

Ruoxi looked toward the stairway.

“The fresh prayer bead.”

“Probably.”

Jian’s jaw tightened.

“They thanked us for opening the archive.”

“Yes.”

“They wanted us to ring the Bell.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Lu Chen looked at the patient.

“To wake him.”

The first needle dimmed again.

This time the patient’s left hand twitched.

Ruoxi noticed.

“He moved.”

Jian drew his sword.

Lu Chen immediately looked at him.

“Put that away.”

“We do not know what he is.”

“He is a patient.”

“That does not mean harmless.”

“No.”

Lu Chen opened his needle case.

“But you will not greet him with a sword.”

Jian stared at him.

Then slowly sheathed the blade.

“You really haven’t changed.”

“I have.”

“Barely.”

The golden thread faded further.

Lu Chen studied the arrangement.

Nine needles.

Nine artificial meridian points.

One failing.

If it failed completely—

what?

Awakening?

Death?

His master had said stabilize, do not cure.

That meant the condition itself prevented something.

But the needle was not the disease.

It was treatment.

Important distinction.

The patient’s left fingers moved again.

Lu Chen checked the wrist.

Pulse increasing.

One beat every fifteen seconds now.

Too fast relative to the stasis.

The other organ systems were waking unevenly.

Dangerous.

“Ruoxi.”

“Yes?”

“Find anything labeled Ninefold Preservation.”

She looked around.

“Where?”

“Cabinets.”

Jian immediately moved too.

Lu Chen examined the old equipment.

One cabinet contained paper medical files.

Most decayed.

Several sealed.

He searched.

Third Bell.

Heaven-Locked Pulse.

Nothing.

Then a missing slot.

One label.

CASE RECORD — XVII

Empty.

Lu Chen froze.

Box Seventeen.

Of course.

Jian saw it.

“Damn.”

“The missing archive box.”

“Contained his records.”

“Probably.”

Not simply treasure.

Not weapon.

Medical documentation.

The infiltrator had removed the one thing explaining how to safely treat the patient.

That was why his master warned not to cure blindly.

Ruoxi called:

“Found something.”

She held a jade bottle.

Label:

Ninefold Preservation Powder

Lu Chen examined it.

Sealed.

Old.

Still active.

“How much?” Jian asked.

“Enough.”

“For?”

“I don’t know.”

Jian stared.

Lu Chen opened the bottle.

A medicinal scent filled the room.

Snow lotus.

Spirit ginseng.

Several ingredients he recognized.

Three he did not.

“Or possibly not enough.”

“Comforting.”

Lu Chen ignored him.

He mixed a tiny portion with water.

Tested it against one golden thread.

The medicine reacted.

Good.

Designed for this system.

But medicine alone wouldn’t restore the failing artificial meridian.

He needed energy.

Life Essence.

The Life Seed pulsed.

Lu Chen hesitated.

His master had said stabilize.

Life Essence healed.

Usually.

But what if “healing” this patient meant reconnecting something deliberately disconnected?

He could accidentally cure the cage.

No.

He needed precision.

Only support the needle.

Not repair beneath it.

He drew one ordinary acupuncture needle.

Placed it beside the ancient one.

The patient’s hand twitched.

Jian watched.

“You’re adding a tenth.”

“No.”

“That appears to be ten.”

“I am not adding a meridian point.”

“What are you doing?”

“Building a bridge.”

“To?”

“The failing needle.”

He guided one tiny thread of Life Essence into his own needle.

Gold appeared.

The ancient needle immediately pulled.

Strong.

Hungry.

Lu Chen’s eyes widened.

Too much.

He cut the flow.

The thread stabilized.

For five seconds.

Then began fading again.

“Interesting.”

Ruoxi looked at him.

“I have learned to dislike that word too.”

Lu Chen adjusted the angle.

Another tiny pulse.

This time slower.

The golden thread strengthened.

Good.

He was not treating the patient.

He was treating the treatment.

That satisfied his master’s warning.

Probably.

“Pulse?” Jian asked.

Lu Chen checked.

Slowing.

One every thirty seconds.

Better.

The patient’s fingers stopped moving.

Awakening sequence weakened.

Then a second needle flickered.

Lu Chen’s expression fell.

Jian sighed.

“That seems unfair.”

“Medicine often is.”

One became two.

Then three.

The wake protocol was cascading.

Someone had designed it to be irreversible once Third Bell activated.

Unless the patient was actively stabilized.

That was why someone needed Lu Chen to open the archive.

A normal intruder could ring the Bell.

But without a physician capable of maintaining the nine-point life system—

the patient would die.

Whoever orchestrated this wanted the man awake.

But not dead.

And needed Lu Chen to make that possible.

The realization made him angry.

“They’re using me.”

Jian stood beside the fourth needle.

“Yes.”

“You sound unsurprised.”

“Master used you often.”

“That was different.”

“How?”

“He fed me.”

Jian almost laughed.

Lu Chen worked.

Fourth point.

Fifth.

Each required a slightly different amount of Life Essence.

Chest points needed almost none.

Abdominal points required more.

The crown needle resisted him completely.

When he touched its golden thread—

a force pushed back.

Lu Chen’s hand went numb.

His Life Seed trembled.

For one heartbeat, something looked back at him.

Not consciousness.

Not exactly.

A sensation.

Sky.

Endless.

Cold.

Then gone.

Lu Chen withdrew immediately.

Jian noticed his face.

“What?”

“Nothing useful.”

“Which means?”

“Do not touch the crown needle.”

Jian looked at it.

“I was not planning to.”

“Good.”

Ruoxi examined an old monitoring chart.

“There are numbers here.”

“Read them.”

“Nine positions.”

“Yes.”

“Each has a target range.”

She listed them.

Lu Chen adjusted accordingly.

Modern monitoring.

Cultivation acupuncture.

Herbal stabilization.

Three systems working together.

Exactly how his master would practice.

Half an hour passed.

Then an hour.

Sweat covered Lu Chen’s forehead.

The Life Seed supplied energy steadily.

But slowly.

He understood its limitation now.

It was renewable.

Not infinite.

The more he drew, the weaker each output became.

His reopened meridian began aching.

He could continue.

Not indefinitely.

“Seven stabilized,” he said.

Jian looked toward the crown and heart.

“Two remain.”

“Yes.”

The heart needle flickered.

Bad.

Very bad.

The patient’s physical heartbeat sped again.

One beat every ten seconds.

Then five.

His breathing increased.

Lu Chen pressed two fingers against the sternum.

Physical heart healthy enough.

Spiritual artificial pathway failing.

He inserted a supporting needle.

Life Essence.

Small pulse.

Nothing.

More.

Still nothing.

“Why isn’t it taking?”

Ruoxi looked at the chart.

“Different target?”

“No.”

He checked again.

Then understood.

The heart thread wasn’t failing from lack of energy.

It was being rejected.

The patient’s own body was trying to wake.

“He is fighting the treatment.”

Jian looked toward the unconscious man.

“He is asleep.”

“Bodies don’t need permission to resist.”

The patient’s brow tightened.

First facial expression.

Pain.

Then—

his lips moved.

No sound.

Lu Chen leaned closer.

“What?”

Another movement.

This time a whisper.

“…bell…”

Everyone froze.

Lu Chen stared.

The patient had not spoken for thirty-one years.

Again:

“…third…”

Ruoxi stepped closer.

“Can he hear us?”

“Maybe.”

The man’s eyes remained closed.

His mouth moved.

“…don’t…”

Lu Chen leaned closer.

“Don’t what?”

The heart needle dimmed sharply.

The patient gasped.

All monitors reacted.

Jian reached forward.

Lu Chen blocked him.

“Do not touch the needles.”

“What do you need?”

“Medicine.”

“Which?”

Lu Chen looked toward the cabinet.

Then at the preservation powder.

Not enough.

The patient’s heart pathway needed something to convince the body not to wake.

A sedative?

No.

Physical sedation would not affect spiritual awakening.

Something that lowered Life Essence activity.

Cold herb.

Moon-Sleep Mold?

Too toxic in this state.

There had to be—

He smelled the room.

Old medicine.

Cedar.

Preservation powder.

And beneath it—

something familiar.

Lu Chen turned.

A dried plant grew from a crack beneath the stone bed.

Tiny.

Silver leaves.

He stared.

“Impossible.”

Jian followed his gaze.

“What?”

“Quiet Heart Moss.”

“Useful?”

“Extremely.”

“Why impossible?”

“It only grows around active spiritual springs.”

Ruoxi looked toward the floor.

“So there is one beneath us.”

“Yes.”

Another secret.

Later.

Lu Chen scraped a tiny amount of moss.

Crushed it.

Mixed it into the preservation medicine.

Placed one drop beneath the patient’s tongue.

Waited.

The heart needle brightened.

The patient’s heartbeat slowed.

Ten seconds.

Twenty.

Thirty.

His expression relaxed.

Lu Chen exhaled.

“Eight.”

Only the crown remained.

And Lu Chen did not want to touch it.

The crown needle began vibrating.

Not dimming.

Vibrating.

Jian stepped backward instinctively.

Ruoxi whispered:

“That is different.”

“Yes.”

The golden thread attached to it pulled tight.

Then a second thread appeared.

Black.

Lu Chen’s expression changed.

Not Death Essence.

Not poison.

Something else.

Thin as hair.

Running upward.

Through the ceiling.

Through the archive.

Beyond.

He activated Life Meridian perception.

The patient remained blank.

But the black thread was visible.

A connection.

To somewhere outside.

Someone was pulling.

Trying to wake him remotely.

“Cut it,” Jian said.

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t know what happens.”

“Usually that hasn’t stopped you.”

“Growth.”

Jian stared.

Lu Chen ignored him.

He examined the thread.

Not attached to the needle.

Attached to what the needle was suppressing.

If he cut it—

he might sever something essential.

If he followed it—

perhaps identify who was pulling.

His reopened cultivation meridian carried a tiny amount of qi.

He touched the black thread with one golden pulse.

The world changed.

A room.

Dark.

A hand holding something.

A red prayer bead.

Then—

an eye.

The vision shattered.

Lu Chen jerked backward.

Blood ran from his nose.

Ruoxi caught his arm.

“I hate when you do that.”

“So do I.”

Jian’s expression hardened.

“What did you see?”

“Someone is connected.”

“Who?”

“No face.”

“Location?”

“No.”

“Anything?”

Lu Chen wiped the blood.

“A prayer bead.”

Jian’s face darkened.

“My cover.”

“Or Shen Tuo’s.”

“Same problem.”

The black thread pulled again.

The patient’s eyelids fluttered.

Lu Chen made a decision.

He could not cut the connection.

So he would block it.

Not permanently.

A temporary barrier around the crown needle.

He removed three needles.

Placed them in a triangle around the head.

Jian’s eyes narrowed.

“Valley Mind-Calming Formation.”

“You remember.”

“You used it on me once.”

“You deserved it.”

“I had insomnia.”

“You had consumed twelve cups of tea.”

“Same thing.”

Lu Chen circulated Life Essence through all three.

The golden triangle formed.

Black thread hit it.

Stopped.

The patient’s body relaxed.

The crown needle stabilized.

Nine points.

All bright.

Awakening sequence halted.

The chamber became quiet.

Lu Chen sat on the floor.

Ruoxi looked at him.

“Finished?”

“Yes.”

“Certain?”

“No.”

She sighed.

Jian offered Lu Chen a hand.

He looked at it.

“You disappeared for five years.”

Jian stared.

“Are we still doing this?”

“Yes.”

“Take the hand.”

“No.”

Lu Chen stood by himself.

His knees almost failed.

Jian caught him anyway.

“Idiot.”

“You could have let me fall.”

“And listen to Master complain in the afterlife?”

Lu Chen became quiet.

Jian did too.

Neither knew whether their master was dead enough to be in an afterlife.

Neither wanted to say it.

A faint golden pulse spread from the patient’s bed.

Lu Chen looked back.

The Life Seed inside him answered.

Then words appeared in his perception.

Not from the Nine Medicines manuscript.

From the archive formation.

LIFE STABILIZED.

Below it:

THIRD BELL PATIENT — CONTINUATION SUCCESSFUL.

Then:

ACKNOWLEDGED LIFE: 11

Lu Chen stared.

Eleven.

So even after the First Gift, the count continued.

One hundred for the First Gate.

Eighty-nine remaining.

Ruoxi noticed the change in his expression.

“It counted?”

“Yes.”

“Eleven?”

“Yes.”

Jian frowned.

“Counted what?”

“Complicated.”

“That is my line.”

“No.”

Lu Chen looked at the unconscious patient.

He had not cured him.

Had not even truly awakened him.

But he had prevented a death.

That was enough for the First Medicine.

Then another message appeared.

WARNING: LIFE REMAINS BORROWED.

His eyes narrowed.

Borrowed.

From whom?

The message vanished.

Before he could think further—

the patient’s hand moved.

Fast.

It grabbed Lu Chen’s wrist.

Ruoxi gasped.

Jian drew his sword halfway.

Lu Chen raised his other hand.

“Stop.”

The grip was weak.

But deliberate.

The patient’s eyes opened.

They were gray.

Not clouded.

Not confused.

Clear.

Painfully clear.

He looked directly at Lu Chen.

For several seconds, his expression contained no recognition.

Then his gaze moved toward Lu Chen’s lower abdomen.

The Life Seed.

His pupils widened.

“…first…”

His voice was rough from decades of silence.

Lu Chen leaned closer.

“What?”

“…medicine…”

Jian stared.

The patient knew.

Lu Chen’s grip tightened around the man’s hand.

“Who are you?”

The patient’s gaze moved toward his face.

For a moment—

emotion appeared.

Not recognition of Lu Chen.

Recognition of someone he resembled.

“Lu…”

Lu Chen’s heartbeat changed.

“Lu Tianhe?”

The patient’s eyes sharpened.

“…disciple?”

“Yes.”

A faint, exhausted smile.

“So…”

He swallowed painfully.

“…the stubborn bastard succeeded.”

Lu Chen almost smiled.

Definitely someone who knew Master.

“What is your name?”

The man’s eyes drifted toward the ceiling.

Fear appeared.

“Bell…”

“It rang once.”

“No.”

He tried to sit.

Lu Chen stopped him gently.

“Do not move.”

“Third Bell…”

“Once.”

The patient grabbed Lu Chen harder.

“Not… for me.”

Lu Chen frowned.

“What?”

The man’s breathing accelerated.

The heart needle flickered.

Lu Chen immediately pressed him back.

“Stop talking.”

“No.”

Thirty-one years asleep and already difficult.

Definitely associated with his master.

The man forced the words.

“The Bell…”

Breath.

“…doesn’t wake me.”

Everyone became still.

Lu Chen’s expression changed.

“Then what does it wake?”

The patient looked toward the floor.

Below his bed.

Deeper.

His face carried a fear that thirty-one years of sleep had not erased.

“The gate.”

Silence.

Jian slowly looked downward.

Ruoxi did the same.

Lu Chen’s Life Seed pulsed.

“The Heavenly Gate?”

The patient’s eyes snapped back to him.

“Who told you that name?”

“Bai Shuyue.”

Recognition.

Then anger.

“Upper Court.”

“She left them.”

The patient laughed once.

Dry.

Weak.

“You think…”

He coughed.

“…people leave?”

Lu Chen remembered the death seals.

The knowledge restrictions.

The layers of control.

“Some try.”

The patient looked at him for a long time.

“Good answer.”

His grip loosened.

Lu Chen checked his pulse.

Still stable.

Barely.

“Who are you?”

The man closed his eyes.

Lu Chen thought he had lost consciousness.

Then:

“My name…”

His face tightened.

Nothing came.

He opened his eyes again.

Confusion.

“I…”

He tried once more.

No name.

His breathing quickened.

A spiritual mark appeared at the base of his throat.

Lu Chen saw it immediately.

Seal.

Identity suppression.

He stopped him.

“Do not force it.”

The patient looked furious.

“My own…”

Breath.

“…name.”

“Later.”

“No.”

“Later.”

The man looked at Lu Chen.

Then something in Lu Chen’s tone apparently reminded him of Lu Tianhe.

He stopped fighting.

“Fine.”

Good.

“Why were you placed here?”

The patient’s eyes became distant.

“Because…”

Long pause.

“…I came back.”

“From where?”

Fear again.

Not of the archive.

Not of Upper Court.

Something larger.

“The other side.”

Jian’s expression changed.

“The Heavenly Gate?”

The man looked toward him.

“Who are you?”

“Jian Wei.”

Recognition flashed.

“You were…”

He searched memory.

“…a child.”

Jian stared.

“I was twelve thirty-one years ago.”

The patient’s expression softened faintly.

“Loud.”

Jian looked offended.

Lu Chen almost laughed.

The man’s gaze returned to Lu Chen.

“The Gate…”

He breathed slowly.

“…was already failing.”

“Thirty-one years ago?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“No.”

“What?”

The patient shook his head.

“Wrong question.”

Lu Chen stared.

He was beginning to hate that phrase.

The man continued.

“Everyone asks why the Gate is failing.”

His eyes became very serious.

“No one asks why it was built.”

Silence.

Ruoxi stepped closer.

“Then why was it built?”

The man looked at her.

“Mortal?”

“Yes.”

He almost smiled.

“Good.”

Ruoxi frowned.

“Why is that good?”

“Fewer assumptions.”

Lu Chen liked him slightly.

The man looked back at Lu Chen.

“The Upper Court…”

His voice became quieter.

“…was not created to rule cultivators.”

That aligned with nothing Lu Chen had heard.

“What was it created for?”

“To guard.”

“The Gate?”

“Yes.”

“From what?”

The patient’s face went pale.

The crown needle flickered.

Lu Chen immediately saw the danger.

“Enough.”

The man ignored him.

“Upper Court…”

Breath.

“…were wardens.”

The heart needle dimmed.

Lu Chen placed his fingers against it.

“Stop.”

“They forgot.”

“What?”

The patient’s eyes filled with something between grief and disgust.

“They forgot…”

His voice fell to a whisper.

“…which side of the door they were supposed to guard.”

Then his body convulsed.

Lu Chen moved instantly.

Life Essence.

Heart support.

Crown stabilization.

The patient’s eyes rolled upward.

Jian reached toward the preservation medicine.

“Here.”

Lu Chen took it.

“Ruoxi, chart.”

She read target numbers.

Lu Chen adjusted.

One needle.

Two.

The patient’s heart slowed.

His breathing returned to the stasis rhythm.

The nine points brightened.

His eyes closed.

Back into sleep.

Not full thirty-year sleep.

Something lighter.

Lu Chen checked again.

Stable.

The black thread above the crown had disappeared.

Whoever had been pulling—

stopped.

For now.

The chamber became silent.

Jian slowly sheathed his sword.

“Well.”

Ruoxi looked at him.

“That is all?”

“What would you prefer?”

“A useful explanation.”

“I don’t have one.”

Lu Chen looked at the patient.

The Upper Court was originally a guard force.

Heavenly Gate was not simply a path upward.

It was a barrier.

And someone had forgotten—or deliberately changed—the reason it existed.

That fit Bai Shuyue’s limited knowledge.

Maybe she had only served the modern Upper Court.

An organization whose original mission had been buried under centuries of power.

But from what were they guarding the Gate?

Or—

what was the Gate guarding Earth from?

Too early.

Too little information.

And the only man who might explain had just nearly died after three sentences.

Lu Chen hated responsible pacing.

His master would approve.

That made him hate it more.

Ruoxi pointed toward the empty case-record slot.

“Box Seventeen.”

“Yes.”

“If we find it…”

“We get his complete history.”

“Maybe his identity too.”

“Maybe.”

Jian looked away.

Lu Chen noticed.

“You know something.”

“No.”

“You looked away.”

“I have eyes.”

“You also have terrible lying habits.”

Jian sighed.

“I know something Master told me.”

“What?”

“Box Seventeen wasn’t only a medical record.”

Lu Chen waited.

“What else?”

“A map.”

“Of?”

“I don’t know.”

“Senior Brother.”

“I really don’t.”

Jian lifted both hands.

“Master said if Box Seventeen ever disappeared, nobody should pursue it.”

“That sounds exactly like something designed to make me pursue it.”

“Yes.”

“He knew that.”

“Yes.”

“Then why say it?”

Jian gave him a tired smile.

“Perhaps he hoped fatherhood would improve you.”

Ruoxi laughed.

Lu Chen stared at both of them.

“My daughter is not part of this conversation.”

Jian’s smile vanished.

Too quickly.

Again.

Lu Chen noticed.

“Why do you react every time Xiaoxiao is mentioned?”

Silence.

Jian’s jaw tightened.

“Not here.”

“We are thirty meters beneath a secret archive.”

“Exactly.”

“Then where?”

Jian looked toward the sleeping patient.

Then toward the ancient formation under the bed.

“The person I carried out of the Valley is connected to him.”

Lu Chen went very still.

Finally.

A piece.

“Who?”

“I said not here.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t know whether he can hear us.”

The patient?

Or the archive?

Lu Chen looked around.

“Who?”

Jian’s expression remained serious.

“The person below.”

“You mean the patient?”

“No.”

Silence.

Ruoxi stared.

“There’s someone else?”

Jian shook his head.

“Not someone.”

The floor beneath the medical bed gave a faint vibration.

Once.

Everyone looked downward.

Jian’s voice became quiet.

“The patient is not what the Valley was guarding.”

Another vibration.

“The patient was the physician assigned to guard it.”

Lu Chen stopped breathing.

He looked at the unconscious man.

Needle calluses.

Of course.

The plaque had said Third Bell Patient.

Not prisoner.

Not seal.

Patient.

Physician.

The distinction mattered.

Ruoxi slowly asked:

“Then what is beneath him?”

Jian looked toward Lu Chen.

“I think…”

He swallowed.

“…that is why Master ordered me to take the child and run.”

There it was.

The child.

Qin Zhenguo’s sealed instruction.

Preserve the child if the Valley falls.

The person Jian carried away.

Not an artifact.

A person.

A child.

Lu Chen’s chest tightened.

“Where is that child now?”

Jian said nothing.

“Senior Brother.”

He looked at Lu Chen.

For the first time, there was no evasiveness.

Only fear.

“I lost her.”

Silence.

Lu Chen stared.

“When?”

“Five years ago.”

“During the escape?”

“No.”

Jian’s voice became rough.

“Three days after the Valley fell.”

“What happened?”

“I was injured.”

“Who attacked you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Upper Court?”

“Maybe.”

“Black Crescent?”

“No mark.”

“What happened to the child?”

Jian looked down.

“She disappeared.”

“Age?”

“An infant.”

Lu Chen froze.

An infant.

Five years ago.

His mind immediately tried to make connections.

He stopped it.

No.

Too easy.

Too dangerous.

Do not force facts into the shape you want.

Physician first.

Evidence.

“When was she born?”

Jian’s expression changed.

“I don’t know.”

“How old approximately?”

“Maybe months.”

“Boy or girl?”

“Girl.”

The archive record:

Secondary task: Preserve the child if the Valley falls.

Release condition: Daughter of Unwritten Fate.

Lu Chen’s heartbeat accelerated.

Ruoxi saw it.

She understood where his mind was going.

Neither spoke the thought.

Not yet.

Jian continued.

“Master gave her to me less than an hour before the western barrier opened.”

“What did he say?”

Jian closed his eyes.

Five years disappeared from his face.

“He said…”

His voice became quieter.

“‘Whatever happens tonight, she must not be seen by Heaven.’”

Lu Chen’s Life Seed pulsed.

Hard.

And beneath the patient’s stone bed—

something answered.

Not a knock.

A heartbeat.

One.

Deep.

Impossible.

Ancient.

The nine needles surrounding the sleeping physician lit simultaneously.

The man’s lips moved.

Though he remained unconscious.

Three words escaped.

“Found…”

Breath.

“…the…”

His face tightened.

Then the final word:

“…daughter.”

The entire chamber went dark.

Emergency lights came on three seconds later.

Ruoxi’s phone began ringing.

Then Jian’s.

Then Lu Chen’s.

Qin Zhenguo’s voice shouted from the staircase.

“Lu Chen!”

They ran upward.

Deng Hu was waiting in the upper cellar.

Weapon drawn.

“Movement outside.”

Ruoxi looked at him.

“How many?”

“Six vehicles.”

“Qin?”

“No.”

“Plates?”

“False.”

Of course.

“How far?”

“Less than two minutes.”

Jian’s expression hardened.

“They felt it.”

Lu Chen looked back toward the hidden staircase.

“What?”

“The lower pulse.”

“You know what that was?”

“No.”

“But someone else does.”

A security monitor showed headlights moving through the trees toward the old house.

Six vehicles.

Fast.

Organized.

No attempt at subtlety.

Lu Chen placed Returning Spring at his side.

His one functioning meridian filled with qi.

Still weak.

But better than yesterday.

Jian removed the old-man disguise completely.

No reason to hide now.

Qin Zhenguo looked between them.

“What happened below?”

Lu Chen answered:

“A patient.”

“That tells me nothing.”

“He is stable.”

“That tells me slightly more.”

Ruoxi looked at her grandfather.

“We are discussing it later.”

Deng Hu checked his weapon.

“Orders?”

Qin immediately said:

“Defend the house.”

Lu Chen said:

“No.”

Everyone looked at him.

He watched the approaching headlights.

Whoever was coming believed the Third Bell had awakened something.

They expected access.

Perhaps they expected Lu Chen to stay and fight.

He thought of the patient.

The archive.

The missing Box Seventeen.

The unidentified child.

Xiaoxiao waiting at home.

He would not fight an unknown force on ground the enemy had selected.

Not with Qin Zhenguo present.

Not with Ruoxi.

Not while the archive itself contained things he did not understand.

“Evacuate the people.”

Qin frowned.

“And the archive?”

Lu Chen looked toward the blood ledger.

“It survived thirty years.”

Then toward the sealed lower chamber.

“If they could open it without me, they wouldn’t have tricked us into ringing the Bell.”

Jian’s eyes sharpened.

“You think this attack is another push.”

“Yes.”

“To force you deeper.”

“Or make me reveal something.”

Ruoxi nodded slowly.

“Then we don’t give them what they want.”

Lu Chen looked toward her.

“Exactly.”

Jian smiled faintly.

“Fatherhood did improve you.”

“Say that again and I’ll hit you.”

“There he is.”

The first vehicle reached the outer gate.

Deng Hu spoke into his radio.

“Teams fall back to interior positions. No engagement unless necessary.”

Qin Zhenguo looked deeply unhappy.

But he nodded.

Lu Chen took one last glance toward the underground chamber.

The sleeping physician.

Thirty-one years.

A gate below him.

An infant taken from the Valley five years ago.

And three words.

Found the daughter.

He did not know whether those words referred to the lost child.

Xiaoxiao.

Someone else entirely.

He would not decide without evidence.

That was what his master’s entire archive had been built to teach him.

Verify the life before judging the name.

Faces lied.

Names lied.

Memories lied.

Fear lied most of all.

Lu Chen drew Returning Spring only three centimeters from its scabbard.

The blade gave a quiet hum.

Outside—

car doors opened.

Footsteps entered the courtyard.

Then a man’s voice called through the darkness.

“Ghost Physician!”

Lu Chen’s expression became calm.

Jian moved beside him.

Ruoxi stood behind Deng Hu.

Qin Zhenguo finally accepted a chair, though he looked offended by it.

The voice came again.

“We are not here to fight.”

Jian whispered:

“They brought six cars.”

Lu Chen nodded.

“Very peaceful.”

The man outside continued:

“We came for the patient beneath the Third Bell.”

Lu Chen stepped toward the front door.

“And if I say no?”

Silence.

Then:

“Then the man beneath your clinic dies.”

Everything inside Lu Chen stopped.

His clinic.

Xiaoxiao.

Madam Zhou.

No.

The caller continued:

“You have fifteen minutes.”

Lu Chen’s eyes became colder than Jian had ever seen.

“Who?”

A soft laugh from outside.

“Go home, Doctor.”

The line of Lu Chen’s reopened meridian burned gold.

The Life Seed pulsed.

“Who is beneath my clinic?”

The answer came quietly.

“Someone your master buried there five years ago.”

Lu Chen stared into the darkness.

Another hidden patient.

Another buried secret.

This time beneath his home.

And his daughter had been sleeping above it every night.