Hu Xiaotian said, "Brother Yang, may I take a look at your hand?"
Yang Lingqi hesitated at the request, but still held out his right hand. Hu Xiaotian supported it and examined it. The hand was curled like a bird's claw and could not straighten fully. From the blade scar on its back, he could infer that Yang Lingqi had used it to block a slash. The blade had cut deep into the flesh, severing the tendons of his middle and index fingers. Without timely treatment, the injury had left him disabled. If he underwent surgery followed by rehabilitation exercises, the function of his right hand should improve.
Hu Xiaotian said, "Brother Yang, there should still be a chance for your right hand to recover."
Yang Lingqi's eyes lit up, only to dim again a moment later. He had once been brilliantly talented, equally accomplished in calligraphy and painting, and had treasured his hands more than anything. Losing his left hand and having his right crippled had plunged him into such agony that he had even considered ending his life. But his parents' wrongful deaths had yet to be redressed. Even in death, he would have had no face to meet them. His desire for revenge had kept him alive. He had sought medical help before, but every physician had been helpless before his injured hand. Long since resigned to his fate, he took Hu Xiaotian's words as mere consolation. Shaking his head, he said, "There's no chance anymore. It's been injured too long, and it wasn't treated in time. At least I can still write and paint."
Hu Xiaotian said, "Brother Yang, I'm not merely saying this to comfort you. You must have heard of the Heavenly Mystery Hall's reputation." He had originally intended to offer to treat Yang