Li Yuan rose and walked to the edge of the veranda, gazing at Yangzhou as dusk settled over the city. Somewhere out there, soldiers from both sides were training—honing their skills, perfecting techniques designed to destroy their enemies with ruthless efficiency.
Somewhere out there, mothers were waiting for their sons to return from military drills. Sweethearts were knitting warm clothes for lovers who would soon march to war. Small children, blissfully unaware, did not yet know that their fathers might never come home.
If war truly comes, countless lives will be lost, Li Yuan thought, his heart heavy.
Not just lost in the ordinary sense, but erased in unnatural ways—by powers that could make the human body… vanish.
"Li Yuan," called Doctor Huang from behind. "Are you alright?"
Li Yuan turned. The old man's face was still damp with tears, but his expression had calmed.
"I… am thinking about what I can do," Li Yuan said.
"To stop the war?"
Li Yuan shook his head. "The war will happen. Too many interests are already at stake, too much hatred has been allowed to grow. One person cannot stop momentum of this size."
"Then what?"
Li Yuan looked at his hands—hands that could heal, yet could also destroy.
"I can go to the front lines. To the places where the new Zhang Weis will be wounded. And when they are wounded…" He paused. "At least there will be someone there who will not see them as enemy soldiers, but as sons who just want to go home."
Doctor Huang looked at him with eyes bright—not from tears, but from something long absent in his life.
"You would go into battle… to treat the wounded from both sides?"
"Yes."
"That's dangerous. You could be seen as a traitor by both armies."
"Perhaps."
"You could be killed."
"Perhaps."
Doctor Huang was silent for a long time. "Why would you do something so dangerous?"
Li Yuan sat back down beside him.
"Doctor, in these past few days, you've seen what's happened here. Patients recover faster. Nurse Jin works more efficiently. You yourself have found your spark again."
Doctor Huang nodded.
"That didn't happen because I had some miracle medicine or secret technique. It happened because there was a presence here… reminding the body how to become whole again."
"Your presence."
"The presence of something flowing through me," Li Yuan said, his voice calm but resolute. "And if that presence can make a peaceful place like this better… perhaps it can make a violent place like the battlefield just a little more human."
The sun was nearly gone now, and the sounds of night began to rise from the city.
"Li Yuan," Doctor Huang said at last, "I've lived sixty years. I've seen war, poverty, disease, death. I've seen the worst of humanity."
Li Yuan listened.
"But today, hearing you speak about going to the battlefield to heal friend and foe alike… it reminds me of something I had almost forgotten."
"What is that?"
"That there are still people in this world who see humans as humans. Not as allies or enemies, not as useful or useless, but as fellow beings who can feel pain."
Tears welled again in the old man's eyes, but this time they were not born of sorrow.
"Zhang Wei, the young man I told you about," he said. "If someone like you had been there, maybe he wouldn't have died in pain and fear. Maybe he could have died peacefully, knowing someone understood he just wanted to go home."
Warmth and weight filled Li Yuan's chest—warmth because he knew he was on the right path, weight because he knew the burden he was about to carry.
"Doctor," he said softly, "if I go, who will help here?"
Doctor Huang smiled—the first genuine smile Li Yuan had seen from him.
"Li Yuan, in the past few days, you've taught me something I haven't learned in thirty years of practice. You've reminded me that healing isn't just about medicine and technique—it's about presence."
He looked toward the clinic, where small lamps were beginning to glow.
"I'll be fine. Nurse Jin will be fine. The important thing is that now we know our duty isn't just to mend bodies, but to remind souls they are not alone."
That night, Li Yuan packed his few belongings.
Doctor Huang handed him a small bag of basic medicines and bandages.
"For the road," he said. "It may not help much with the wounds you'll see on the battlefield, but… at least you'll have something for hands that cannot stay idle."
Li Yuan accepted the bag gratefully.
"Doctor," he said, "thank you for telling me about Zhang Wei. It reminded me why I must go."
"And thank you for reminding me why I must stay," Doctor Huang replied. "Many will come to this clinic in the weeks ahead—those fleeing the war, injured in riots, sick because there is no one left to care for them."
"And they will receive care from a doctor who has remembered why he chose to heal."
The next morning, Li Yuan stood in front of the clinic one last time.
Nurse Jin, several recovered patients, and even the children who often played in the yard came to see him off.
"Be careful, Li Yuan," Nurse Jin said, her eyes glistening. "And… thank you for teaching us that healing can be done in many ways."
A little child handed him a small flower picked from the back garden.
"For Uncle Li Yuan. So you won't be lonely on the road."
Li Yuan took the flower and kissed the top of the child's head. "Thank you. And remember—you must share the kindness you've learned here with others. Like a flame lighting another flame."
Doctor Huang walked with him to the end of Bamboo Street.
"Li Yuan," he said as they parted, "if you come back from the battlefield, return here. This place will always be open to you."
"And if I don't?"
Doctor Huang met his eyes, his gaze shining with newfound wisdom. "Then I'll make sure your way of healing—through presence, unconditional kindness, and seeing humans as humans—lives on here."
Li Yuan smiled and bowed. "That is enough, Doctor. More than enough."
He left Yangzhou as the morning sun climbed higher.
Behind him, he left a clinic transformed—not just by the passive effects of his understanding, but because its people had learned that healing was more than medicine.
Before him stretched the road to the front lines—the place where new Zhang Weis would be wounded, would bleed, would hope to return home for next year's harvest.
Li Yuan walked with steady steps, his heart heavy yet his resolve unshaken.
Nine of his Ganjing understandings thrummed softly with deeper harmony. Each step brought him closer to the greatest test he had ever faced.
Not a test of strength or martial skill, but of whether humanity could survive in the most inhuman place in the world.
A test of whether water could still run clear even when it flowed through blood.
A test of whether a healing presence still had meaning when surrounded by destruction.
But Li Yuan no longer doubted.
The story of Zhang Wei—the young man who dreamed of returning for next year's harvest—was enough to silence all uncertainty.
There were new Zhang Weis waiting on the battlefield.
And someone had to be there to make sure that, when they died, they did not die alone.
Someone had to be there to remind them that, even as the body failed, the soul remained whole.
Someone had to be there to whisper: "It's alright. You've done enough. You can go home now."
Water flows to where it is most needed.
And now, the place that needed it most was the battlefield
Where death waited.
But also where life, in the form of a final kindness, could still be given.