Underground Doctor

"Forceps."

Zhang Fusheng handed over the forceps.

The doctor steadily inserted the forceps into the wound and fiddled around for a while.

The girl's face had gone pale. She had clearly received no anesthetic, and the hand holding her gun trembled slightly. Zhang Fusheng wondered, What if it goes off?

Perhaps to distract herself, she spoke with difficulty:

"Doctor, your son?"

"Mm." The doctor nodded.

Chen Nuanyu looked at the handsome young man, who remained unflinching even with a gun pointed at him, and gave a slight nod.

"He's got guts."

She clearly did not recognize Zhang Fusheng, her schoolmate.

"He's nothing compared to you. You should be about the same age." The doctor remained expressionless.

Zhang Fusheng looked at Chen Nuanyu. Her wine-red hair hung loose and disheveled. She had taken off her shirt, with only strips of cloth wrapped around her chest. There was a gunshot wound in her shoulder, and a short sword was embedded in her upper abdomen.

There was not an ounce of excess flesh on her slender waist. The traces of blood only made her lower abdomen seem all the fairer and more delicate.

"Pretty lucky."

As he spoke, the doctor extracted a flattened bullet from her shoulder. His gaze then fell on the short sword lodged in her upper abdomen.

"The blade cut the artery in the abdominal wall, but it also happened to compress the break in the artery. If it had been even slightly off, or if you had pulled out the sword, you would have bled to death long ago. Of course, your blood vessels are also exceptionally tough. You ran all the way here without causing any further tearing."

Chen Nuanyu spoke calmly.

"If the sword can't be pulled out, what do we do?"

"You can't pull it out. I can."

The doctor set down the forceps and instructed:

"Vascular clamps, sterile gauze, sutures."

Zhang Fusheng handed them over one by one.

"This will hurt a little. Bear with it."

He activated the high-frequency cutting blade and sliced open the girl's upper abdomen.

Time trickled by bit by bit as the doctor steadily sutured the wound.

"This isn't a hospital, after all. I've only closed your abdomen temporarily. Watch out for complications like abdominal compartment syndrome and thrombosis afterward. You may be a martial artist, but it would still be best to visit a major hospital."

"Mm."

The girl slowly got off the operating table, draped her coat over herself, and picked up the large handbag. But then she paused, seeming to consider something.

The doctor said blandly:

"I implanted a life-monitoring chip. There are ten kilograms of high explosives in the hidden compartment beneath the floor, connected to that chip."

Chen Nuanyu froze for a moment. She put away her gun, opened her handbag, took out a small bag of powder, and tossed it over.

"The medical fee." The girl said coolly, "I've heard of Doctor Zhang. You're the most rule-abiding and tight-lipped person in the entire Lower-Level District."

Zhang Fusheng saw that the handbag was stuffed full of Fushou powder—there had to be thirty or fifty pounds of it.

After that "favored daughter of heaven" left.

"Again."

Zhang Fusheng said softly:

"Again, they're using this stuff as payment."

The doctor weighed the small bag of Fushou powder in his hand, tore it open, and poured it into the sink.

Just as Zhang Fusheng had said, his father Zhang Wentao was an underground doctor with principles. His clinic accepted business from anyone and treated anyone—wanted criminals, gangsters, thugs, cultists.

People regular hospitals dared not admit, he admitted. Injuries regular hospitals dared not treat, he treated.

But he absolutely would not touch Fushou powder. If he occasionally received it as payment, he would destroy it directly rather than resell it.

Yet he could not refuse it, either—otherwise, he would be treated as an oddity.

Oddities could not survive in the Lower-Level District.

But Fushou powder was hard currency in the Lower-Level District. Not half, perhaps, but at least a considerable portion of the thugs who came to this little clinic for emergency treatment would toss down a small bag of Fushou powder as payment.

And sending Zhang Fusheng to Linshu Middle School had nearly drained the family's entire savings. It was one of the few "elite schools" offering classes in Breathing Techniques and Visualization Methods.

That was also why it was so difficult to come up with one hundred thousand now.

"Dad, is she a regular customer?" Zhang Fusheng asked with a frown.

Zhang Wentao shook his head.

"She was an outsider. This afternoon, Chaimen had forty pounds of Fushou powder robbed. It was probably her."

As he spoke, he picked up the flattened bullet.

"A custom bullet for martial artists. High penetration, with a blood-suppressing toxin. Later, I'll see whether I can extract some residual toxin. That should be worth a bit, too."

Zhang Fusheng fell into thought.

Chaimen was one of the major gangs in the Lower-Level District. Forty pounds of goods, at the standard price of five hundred per gram in the Lower-Level District...

Ten million!

A sense of dissonance washed over him. It was hard to connect the "cold goddess" at school with a major Fushou powder robbery.

Was she desperately short of money?

So much so that she had to risk her life like this?

Wait.

Zhang Fusheng asked thoughtfully:

"Dad, was that a high-frequency cutting blade you used just now?"

"A scalpel couldn't cut through her skin, so I could only use a custom high-frequency cutting blade. She's probably a Second Refinement or Third Refinement expert, likely not at the Fourth Refinement. Otherwise, the bullet wouldn't have penetrated that deeply."

Zhang Fusheng was left dumbfounded.

The Twelve Refinements of Martial Artists consisted of three refinements of skin, three of flesh, three of tendons, and three of bone—twelve in total.

A Third Refinement martial artist.

Even Master Chen, whom the high school principal had hired at great expense, was only a Third Refinement martial artist!

But at school, Chen Nuanyu was supposedly a quasi-martial artist nearing the First Refinement—already a rare genius. After all, one could only begin cultivation after fully developing at sixteen or seventeen and gaining entry into both the Visualization Method and Breathing Technique.

A Third Refinement martial artist was likely on the level of an elite in Jiang University's Martial Arts Department, perhaps even some teachers.

Why would such a genius risk her life like this?

Zhang Fusheng's thoughts spun through countless twists and turns, and his eyes flickered slightly.

A Contract Book could not be signed through coercion. It required willing consent, even urgent need—if there was no need, then create one.

If there was no suffering, then manufacture suffering.

"Where did you go today?" Zhang Wentao asked casually as he removed his gloves and washed his hands.

"I went to sell balloons. Made less than a hundred."

"The family doesn't need that hundred. Stop running around outside so much these next few days."

Old Zhang frowned.

"Things haven't been stable lately."

As a "neutral" underground doctor, Old Zhang might not have been particularly formidable, but he dealt with all sorts of people every day. His information channels were still quite extensive.

In truth, if he had not been so principled, he should have become a wealthy man long ago. That small bag of Fushou powder he had just poured down the drain was probably worth three or five thousand.

Over the past ten years, Old Zhang had destroyed several bags of Fushou powder nearly every month.

Quite a few people had also approached Old Zhang to sell the stuff on their behalf and transport it to hospitals in the Mid-Level District, but he had refused them all.

"Your great-grandfather was killed by this stuff. I can't control other people, but I can control myself." Doctor Zhang often said that.

Zhang Fusheng shrugged.

"I'm just trying to scrape together tuition for a Martial Arts Academy, little by little. Getting off early today? Teacher Zhou said this morning that she's stewing pork ribs for dinner."

Zhou Guifang, a math teacher at an elementary school in the Seventh District, was Zhang Fusheng's biological mother.

At the mention of "Teacher Zhou," a smile finally appeared on Old Zhang's poker face.

"Mm, that works."

He quickly cleaned up the basement. This was Old Zhang's daily habit—Teacher Zhou knew nothing of these matters.

She only thought Old Zhang was an ordinary clinic doctor.

Zhang Fusheng had discovered it by chance. Afterward, his father had simply come clean with him and even taught him many ways to survive in the Lower-Level District.

Old Zhang suddenly said:

"If you really want to learn martial arts that badly, I'll transfer one hundred thousand to you tomorrow. Go pay the Martial Arts Academy tuition."

At good Martial Arts Academies, the school masters were actually far more formidable than university Martial Arts Department teachers. But one charged exorbitant tuition, while the other was free.

Yet likewise, Martial Arts Academies made it easier to establish a true master-disciple relationship—though that required exceptional talent.

"Dad, did you strike it rich?"

"Another regular customer came earlier. They paid in cash and settled all their previous medical bills as well."

Zhang Fusheng silently nodded.

Father and son walked side by side on the road home, the setting sun stretching their shadows long behind them.

"Dad, you seem like you really don't want me to practice martial arts."

"Among my regular customers over the years, there have been plenty of martial artists, but none lived long. The stronger they were, the larger the whirlpool they got dragged into. Martial arts is a road where you have to fight. And if you fight, you can lose."

"Dad, why don't we move to the Mid-Level District? You're a doctor, Mom's a teacher. With our family's circumstances, we wouldn't be considered poor even in the Sixth District, right?"

"At first, I entered this line of work to support the family. Later, I sank deeper and deeper, until I couldn't get out. Of course, there are other reasons. I'll tell you after you graduate from university."

"There are secrets too? Dad, could you be some peerless expert hiding from enemies? Or an unrivaled soldier king living incognito among common folk?"

"Read fewer overpowered protagonist novels and those ridiculous Dragon King shorts. Don't rot your brain. For generations, our family has produced only one proper university student—you."

"Got it, Dad. You even know about Dragon King shorts. You must watch plenty of them, huh?"

Old Zhang rubbed his head.

"My head has been feeling a little slow lately."

Zhang Fusheng grinned. Before they had even reached downstairs, he smelled the rich fragrance of stewed pork ribs.

An ordinary, uneventful life was actually pretty good.

But he still wanted to see the scenery from the mountaintop.

And he did not want his father to continue living like this, with guns pointed at him every day and high explosives buried underground to keep himself alive.

Ding-dong!

His phone vibrated faintly. It was a message from Old Zhu.

Zhu Xiaoming: Old Zhang, next month the school's holding a "Jiang University Banquet" to celebrate those of us who got into Jiang University.

Zhu Xiaoming: Hehe, only a few people from our school got into Jiang University. This is a great chance to build connections!!

Zhu Xiaoming: Old Zhang, are you going? Honestly, Lu Yao will be there too. I need a wingman!

Zhu Xiaoming: Reply as soon as you see this!

Zhang Fusheng silently replied with a single word.

"Sure."

Lu Yao was their classmate, and also Zhu Xiaoming's crush.

He put away his phone and pushed open the front door.

"Teacher Zhou, we're back!"

The aroma of pork ribs rushed straight into his nostrils.