Bad News Arrives, From the Future to the Present

On the other side.

As night fell, Qin Wangchuan went to visit Eldest Brother Jiang.

When he left the Jiang family's house, he was carrying two oil paper packages.

A packet of braised meat and a packet of peanuts were stuffed into my hands by Sister-in-law Jiang.

He shook his head and smiled helplessly.

"My sister-in-law is so hospitable; she never lets anyone leave empty-handed."

"The kindness shown is immense."

The smile lingered on her lips for a moment before fading away.

He raised his eyes and gazed into the deep twilight in the distance.

"It is precisely because of this kindness that we must seek revenge."

Back then, it was a very ordinary mission for the martial arts school to go up the mountain to kill a tiger.

Although the tiger was fierce, it outnumbered the others, so theoretically nothing should go wrong.

The martial arts school took a few young disciples with them, just to give them some experience.

No one expected that the tiger was almost a spirit.

Instead of running away or hiding when surrounded by the crowd, it ambushed them halfway and specifically targeted the younger members of the team.

The situation was critical that day. The tiger pounced out from the shadows and charged straight at the disciples.

Before anyone could react, Eldest Brother Jiang's son stepped forward and stood in front of everyone.

In the ensuing struggle, he only managed to slash the tiger's left eye.

The moment the knife broke, the tiger's teeth also bit into him.

The person was dragged deep into the Dense Forest and never came out again.

The group chased them all night, but by dawn they only found a pool of blood and the broken knife.

No remains were found.

If the bandits are to die, then this tiger must die too.

Days passed by one after another.

When Qin Wangchuan had orders, he would forge iron; when he had free time, he would study formations, read books, and forge swords.

If you're not satisfied with the sword blank you forged, you can reforge it.

Again and again, day after day.

White Dew lay under the Jujube Tree, occasionally opening her eyes to look at him, then closing them again.

The Jujube Tree in the yard bore green fruit, which slowly grew from the size of a mung bean to the thickness of a finger. They were hard and could not be eaten yet.

Several months passed like this.

That day, Qin Wangchuan was squatting in the courtyard, hammering a sword blank, when White Dew suddenly stood up from the ground, her ears perked up, and sniffed in the direction of the door.

Someone has arrived.

Footsteps sounded at the alley entrance, hurried, not from one person, but from several people, running in this direction in a chaotic manner.

Qin Wangchuan put down the hammer and looked up.

They were several children from the private school, running around in a sweat and completely out of breath.

"Qin, Qin Chuan... Master, Master has fallen ill!"

The master's family lived in an alley behind the school.

When Qin Wangchuan arrived, several people were already standing at the entrance.

They were all neighbors, peeking into the house and whispering among themselves.

Qin Wangchuan ignored him and walked straight in.

The room was dimly lit.

Master Chen lay on the bed, covered with a faded quilt. His face was sallow, his eyes were sunken, and his cheekbones protruded high.

Several adults and children were gathered around.

The doctor sat on the edge of the bed, three fingers resting on the doctor's wrist, his brows furrowed deeply.

Qin Wangchuan didn't push forward; he simply stood at the back of the crowd and waited.

The doctor stopped, packed his medical instruments into his medicine box, stood up, nodded slightly to everyone, and then shook his head.

No one spoke.

The doctor carried his medicine kit out, and several adults hurriedly followed, their voices hushed, but a few words still escaped their lips.

"What illness?"

"It's hard to say... it could be tuberculosis..."

"Tuberculosis! That's not..."

The children, unaware of the seriousness of the situation, gathered around the bed, chattering. "Teacher, Teacher, when will you get better? Will you still have class tomorrow?"

Master Chen opened his mouth, but had no strength to respond.

Qin Wangchuan stepped forward, bent down, and said to the children, "The teacher is tired; let him rest for a while."

"You can go back now, there's no class tomorrow."

Although he didn't go to the school often, he was familiar with all the children.

After hearing what he said, they dispersed in twos and threes.

The room suddenly felt empty, and the light was brighter than before.

"Qin Chuan is here... Oh, no, that's not right."

"It's the Wangchuan..."

Master Chen opened his eyes, saw Qin Wangchuan, and a smile appeared on his lips. "Look at my memory, I was the one who went with you to change your name."

"It's alright, Master." Qin Wangchuan sat down on the edge of the bed and reached out to hold the Master's hand.

The moment I touched it, I instinctively did so.

Too thin.

That hand was like a withered twig, with protruding knuckles, skin covering bone, and it felt no different from touching a handful of dry firewood.

When did the Master's hands begin to look like this?

He never even noticed.

"The Wangchuan."

Master Chen's voice was soft, like an autumn leaf falling from a branch, slow and gentle, without much strength, "Of all the children in the school, you are the one I worry about the most."

"I tell you to study every day, but in this small town, studying is the most useless thing; a good mouth is more effective."

Qin Wangchuan looked at him without saying a word.

"You're so sensible, never fighting or arguing no matter what happens. What will you do if you suffer injustice in the future?" Master Chen said, his gaze falling on the top of the tent, his cloudy eyes reflecting the light filtering through the window paper. "Your parents passed away early. If I were to pass away too, there would truly be no one to look after you."

"Master, you will be alright," Qin Wangchuan said.

Jiang Zhuo and the Master were not related to him by blood at all.

Over the years, she has taken care of everything for him, given him countless instructions, and done everything she should and shouldn't have done.

Qin Wangchuan saw it all and kept it in mind.

He could ignore anyone else in this world if something happened to them, but these two people absolutely could not be allowed to get into trouble.

Master Chen smiled but did not reply.

He knows his own body best.

Qin Wangchuan sat for a while, then got up and went out.

Several adults were still standing in the courtyard. The doctor's medicine box was placed on the stone steps, and he was squatting to the side with his head down, seemingly lost in thought.

I went over and asked about the Master's health.

The doctor looked up, stood up, and dusted off his knees.

"The old man is getting on in years, and his health is severely compromised. I've prescribed all the medications I could; let's see how it goes." He paused, then added, "Don't expect too much."

Qin Wangchuan didn't ask any more questions and turned to go back into the house.

Master Chen was still lying there, his eyes closed, his breathing very light.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, holding the teacher's withered hand, and suddenly realized something.

Formations and sword forging—those are things we'll only need once we return to the Immortal Court.

But Master Ke lies here, right before my eyes, and could leave at any moment.

Qin Wangchuan realized he was thinking too far ahead, his head held too high, so high that he forgot he was still standing on the ground.

Focus on the present moment, and worry about the future later.

The most important thing right now is--

"Master, I want to study medicine."

Master Chen opened his eyes, glanced at him, and said nothing.

The light filtering through the window paper reflected in his cloudy old eyes, revealing neither surprise nor relief, or perhaps both.

After a while, he suddenly laughed.

"Studying medicine is better than blacksmithing."

"Blacksmithing is so tiring! You swing a hammer all day long, and your arms get all thick from it. Unlike studying medicine, where you sit there, take pulses, and write prescriptions, protected from the wind and rain. It's so much easier."

The Master paused as he spoke, as if he were thinking about something, or perhaps he was catching his breath.

"I have a few medical books with me; you can take them later."

Qin Wangchuan listened and replied, "Okay."

The teacher wasn't thinking about having him learn medicine to heal himself; he was thinking that if the child could have an easy skill in the future, he wouldn't starve, which was better than anything else.

Forging iron is too tiring, and he felt sorry for the worker.