Chapter Thirty-Two: Seeking the Way in the Bamboo Grove, A Guest of the Qin Family

Ling Qingzhu’s heart was in complete turmoil.

The realm displayed by the man before her had utterly surpassed her comprehension. He possessed not only the piercing vision to discern the subtlest details, but also the means to turn the ordinary into the extraordinary, and above all, that vast magnanimity of “teaching for the sake of protection.”

Compared to him, her previous questions about “the rules of seclusion” and “family honor” now seemed insignificant and laughable.

“Sir…” she wanted to say something, yet found all words to be pale and powerless.

“The sword on your back is quite impressive.” I suddenly turned the conversation, my gaze settling on the long sword behind her. “May I take a look?”

Ling Qingzhu instinctively guarded the hilt. This sword, named “Listening Rain,” was the treasured inheritance of the Ling family and never shown to outsiders. But confronted with my calm gaze, she hesitated for a moment, then slowly unfastened the sword and handed it over with both hands.

I received the sword, feeling its subtle weight. The scabbard was ancient, bearing traces of time.

With a soft metallic sound, I gently drew the blade. A cold gleam, clear as autumn water, instantly illuminated the entire clinic. The sword’s surface shimmered with faint flowing light, emitting a series of gentle chimes—it was evidently a sword of extraordinary spirit.

“A fine blade,” I praised.

“This ‘Listening Rain’ sword was forged by my ancestor from celestial iron, tempered with the essence of earth fire beneath Mount Shu, over seven years.” Ling Qingzhu spoke with a hint of pride.

I flicked my wrist; the sword spun and blossomed in my hand.

In that instant, the sword seemed to come alive. Its ringing grew clearer and more joyful, as if greeting a long-lost friend.

Ling Qingzhu’s eyes widened in shock.

This “Listening Rain” sword was fiercely proud—apart from her and the family head, anyone else who held it would find its energy subdued and unresponsive. Yet in this man’s hand, it was… exuberant?

“Your swordsmanship emphasizes ‘speed’ and ‘change,’ but lacks ‘force,’” I said, casually waving the sword as I spoke. “A sword is the extension of the arm, but more so, the extension of intent. Your intent is not pure enough.”

As I spoke, I walked to the rear courtyard, sword in hand.

“Watch closely. I’ll demonstrate only once.”

Standing in the courtyard, holding “Listening Rain,” my entire aura quietly transformed.

If moments ago I was a gentle healer, a loving father, now I was the sole master of this world.

I made no ornate starting pose—just a simple thrust forward.

The thrust was slow.

So slow that Ling Qingzhu could see every inch of the sword’s path.

But at the same time, it was fast.

So fast that her mind could not keep pace with its meaning.

In her eyes, as the sword moved, the entire world vanished. The courtyard, the sky, the earth—all disappeared, leaving only that sword light that seemed capable of piercing eternity.

Within that glow, she glimpsed spring rain nurturing life, summer thunder rolling, autumn wind mournful, winter snow desolate.

The cycle of seasons, life and death, the rise and fall of the cosmos—all contained within this single sword!

The tip finally touched a fallen leaf beneath the old locust tree in the courtyard.

No sound was made.

I withdrew the sword.

I was again myself—the peaceful master of the clinic.

But the leaf touched by the sword silently disintegrated in midair, vanishing into the finest ash.

The courtyard was deathly silent.

Yi Yi watched us curiously, not comprehending what had happened.

Ling Qingzhu stood stunned, her body chilled, cold sweat soaking her back. Her hands clutching the scabbard trembled without cease.

She was not afraid—she was… exhilarated!

She had seen it! She had witnessed that elusive realm she had dreamed of but could never reach!

It was not “controlling the sword with qi,” but rather… “the Way of the Sword!”

It was commanding the might of heaven and earth with one’s own path!

With a dull thud, the proud “Fairy Qingzhu” from Mount Shu’s Ling family dropped to her knees, offering the highest martial salute to my back.

“Sir, please accept Ling Qingzhu’s bow!” Her voice trembled with emotion and reverence. “Please… take me as your disciple!”

“The title of master and disciple is but a worldly shackle. If your heart seeks the Way, you may come here to meditate whenever you wish. How much you comprehend depends on your own fate.”

With these words, I left her be.

Ling Qingzhu seemed to understand; she did not insist but truly settled herself in the rear courtyard under the old locust tree, found a stone, and sat cross-legged to begin her meditation. She neither ate nor drank, her breath long and steady, as if she merged with the tree itself, entering a mysterious state.

Yi Yi was intrigued, often dragging a small stool to sit nearby, keeping the “pretty sister” company while playing. This peculiar scene brought an added touch of serenity to my tranquil courtyard.

But such tranquility was doomed not to last.

One morning, a week later, a Red Flag limousine with special plates quietly stopped at the entrance to “Anhe Hall.”

The car door opened. Xiao Jing Tian personally helped an elderly man from the vehicle, dressed in a Zhongshan suit, with gaunt features but the commanding presence of one long accustomed to authority. Behind them followed a strikingly beautiful woman in her early thirties.

She wore a pale yellow dress, her skin fair as snow, features delicate as a painting. Her manner was gentle and graceful, like a newly blossomed jasmine, though a persistent worry lingered between her brows as she tightly supported the old man’s other arm.

“Master,” Xiao Jing Tian greeted me respectfully.

I nodded, directing my gaze to the elderly man.

“Doctor Jiang, forgive my intrusion,” the old man’s voice was weak but retained vigor. “I am Qin Zhenbang. Commander Xiao told me your medical skill is miraculous. I have come to seek your help.”

Qin Zhenbang. Though I had long withdrawn from worldly affairs, his name was legendary. He was one of the last founding fathers of China, a pillar of the nation.

“Elder Qin, you are too polite.” I ushered them to their seats. “Please, sit.”

The girl named Qin Muyao, Elder Qin’s granddaughter, looked at me with large, anxious eyes full of hope.

I did not rush to take his pulse, but quietly observed him for a few seconds.

“In your youth, you suffered three fatal injuries on the battlefield—one to your left chest, one to your right abdomen, and one to your head. Am I correct?” I spoke calmly.

Qin Zhentian trembled, his eyes suddenly shining with intensity. Xiao Jing Tian seemed to accept this as a matter of course.

Qin Muyao, astonished, covered her mouth. These old wounds were top secret, barely mentioned even within the family. How could this young doctor discern them at a glance?

“Sir… you are remarkable!” Qin Zhenbang sincerely exclaimed.

“These old wounds, when your vitality was strong, could be suppressed. But now, with age and declining qi and blood, the ‘killing death energy’ that entered your body years ago is beginning to consume your lifeforce.” I continued. “Western medicine cannot find the cause, only telling you it is natural deterioration. Is that so?”

“Yes! Precisely!” Qin Muyao stood up in agitation. “Doctor Jiang, we’ve had all the best hospitals in the capital check him, but they say nothing can be done except rest. Yet my grandfather grows weaker by the day. You… do you have a way?”

Her voice was choked with plea and despair.

Her earnest, anxious gaze stirred something deep within me, reminding me of long-forgotten memories.

“Death energy entangles the body—no medicine can cure it,” I said slowly.

Qin Muyao’s face turned ashen; she nearly collapsed.

“But,” I continued, “I can treat it.”

Those four words were like celestial music, rekindling immense hope in her eyes. She looked at me with boundless gratitude and admiration.

“Doctor Jiang, if you can heal my grandfather, the Qin family will agree to any condition!” she exclaimed.

I waved this aside and produced a set of silver needles.

“Healing the sick is a doctor’s duty—no conditions are necessary.”

I approached Elder Qin. “The process will be painful; please bear with it.”

I took a silver needle, not piercing any regular acupuncture point, but directly into the center of his old scar on the left chest.

Unlike ordinary acupuncture, my fingertips were wreathed in a faint, invisible golden current, which I slowly channeled into Elder Qin’s body along with the needle.

That was a trace of my “Golden Core Qi.”