Five days after the meeting with Commander Chen, the changes at the field clinic could no longer be ignored.
Patients who once needed a week to recover from fever were now well in just three days.
Wounds that should have festered closed cleanly.
Children who had arrived with empty, trauma-stricken eyes were now smiling and playing again.
Nurse Jin worked with astonishing efficiency—her hands seemed to know exactly which medicine to choose, which cloth to take, and which patient needed extra attention. Even she seemed surprised by her newfound ability.
And Doctor Huang… the man who had spent years looking weary and nearly hopeless now worked with bright, focused eyes—as if he had rediscovered the reason he became a doctor thirty years ago.
That afternoon, after examining the last patient, Doctor Huang sat with Li Yuan on the back veranda.
"Li Yuan," he said as he lit his tobacco pipe, "there's something I've been wanting to ask you."
Li Yuan, who was peeling fruit for the children, looked over. "Please, Doctor."
"Do you… know martial arts?"
The question made Li Yuan pause mid-peel. "Why do you ask?"
"Because of the way you move. The way you stand. The way you breathe." Doctor Huang's gaze was sharp and curious. "I've seen people who've mastered high-level martial arts. They move like you—efficient, calm, as if every motion has meaning."
Li Yuan resumed peeling the fruit, though his mind wandered to memories of the past—training with his father, his time at the Qinglong Academy, and his new Ganjing-based understanding of the body.
"A little," he replied at last. "But not in the way you might imagine."
"What do you mean?"
Li Yuan looked down at his hands—hands that could peel fruit with perfect precision, yet also do things far beyond what ordinary humans could.
"In this world," Li Yuan said softly, "high-level martial arts can shatter a tree to dust. It all begins with the right breath and the right step. With understanding how energy flows through the body."
Doctor Huang frowned. "Are you serious?"
"Very serious." Li Yuan set down the knife and the peeled fruit. "I've seen people split stone with a bare palm. I've seen people leap as high as three trees in a single bound."
"Incredible…" Doctor Huang looked both fascinated and doubtful. "And you can do things like that?"
Li Yuan was silent for a long time. "I can. But I've never done them."
"Why not?"
Li Yuan glanced toward the treatment room, where children were playing joyfully. Their laughter rang clear in the afternoon air.
"Because the hands that can shatter a tree to dust are the same hands that peel fruit for these children," he said quietly. "The breath that can blast apart stone is the same breath that calms the frightened. The strength that can kill is also the strength that can heal."
Doctor Huang listened intently.
"And once these hands are used to destroy," Li Yuan continued, "they may never again peel fruit gently."
"You're afraid of losing the ability to heal?"
"I'm afraid of losing the ability to see people… as people."
They sat in silence for a moment. The evening breeze carried the scent of flowers from the small garden behind the clinic.
"Li Yuan," Doctor Huang said finally, "may I tell you something?"
"Of course."
Doctor Huang took a deep breath, as if preparing to speak of something heavy.
"Ten years ago, during the last war between Qin and Lu, I was working in a military hospital. I saw things that…" He hesitated, "…things that should never happen to a human body."
Li Yuan sensed the shift in his tone—from curiosity to sorrow, from light to heavy.
"The soldiers who came to the hospital were not only wounded by ordinary swords or arrows. They were hurt by… unnatural power. Ribs not merely broken, but crushed into powder. Arms not just severed, but… gone. As if evaporated."
"Doctor…" Li Yuan began, but Doctor Huang raised a hand.
"Let me finish. This is the first time I've told anyone about this."
Li Yuan nodded and listened.
"What I remember most," Doctor Huang continued, his voice trembling, "was a young man, twenty years old. A soldier of Lu. His name was Zhang Wei. He came in with… half his body missing. Not cut off, Li Yuan. Missing. As if it had never existed."
Tears began to slide down the old doctor's cheeks.
"He was still conscious when they brought him in. Still able to speak. And do you know what he said to me?"
Li Yuan shook his head slowly, his chest already tightening.
"He said, 'Doctor, please send a letter to my mother. Tell her I can't come home for the harvest this year. But next year for sure.'"
Doctor Huang stopped speaking, his body trembling. Li Yuan gently placed a hand on the old man's shoulder.
"He died five minutes later," Doctor Huang whispered. "Still believing he would go home next year. Still hoping to help his mother harvest the rice."
"Doctor…"
"And he wasn't the only one, Li Yuan. There were dozens. Hundreds. Young men from small villages who never harmed anyone. Who only wanted to go home, help their parents, marry their sweethearts."
Doctor Huang turned to Li Yuan, his eyes brimming with tears.
"All because of people with abilities like the ones you described. People who can shatter a tree to dust. Who can split stone with their bare hands."
Li Yuan felt a cold weight settle in his chest. He knew the martial world's power well. With his Ganjing understandings, he himself might do things far beyond human limits.
But hearing Doctor Huang's story—hearing about Zhang Wei, who hoped to return for next year's harvest—made Li Yuan truly understand the reality of that power when it was used to harm.
"And now," Doctor Huang went on, "war is coming again. In a month. And I know there will be more Zhang Weis. More young men brought to the hospital with bodies that…" He could not finish the sentence.