Chapter 66: Dreaming of Hunting a Tiger

“Is this really a health check benefit from the Social Survey Team?”

Yin Fengxin looked nervously at the building before him, “If every sampled survey subject has to come for a checkup, how much government money would this waste?”

Fang Jun smiled faintly: “It’s a problem when budgets can’t be spent. Having an excuse to spend it is wisdom.”

“At least one-fifth of the people in government spend their days figuring out how to waste money.”

Yin Fengxin turned his gaze to the sports car behind him.

Is this why people like you get to drive sports cars?

He didn’t ask it aloud—he felt asking might expose some dark side of the staff.

Earlier, these two had asked him to come for a checkup, and he had repeatedly refused.

Then, this Mr. Fang made a phone call.

Less than thirty minutes later, his company’s boss returned to the office, enthusiastically declaring they would cooperate with the social survey, demonstrating good citizenry and a healthy, positive spirit.

It was past midnight.

Yin Fengxin had never seen that boss stay at the office past 4 p.m. Since the boss had spoken, he had no choice but to comply.

He had originally thought it strange, but now he was beginning to taste the truth.

It seemed there was a large budget that needed to be spent quickly, so they’d invented this social survey pretext.

Surface work must look as noble as possible, and they needed eye-catching topics—like inviting citizens who work late into the night for checkups, to show the survey’s rigor and humanitarian concern.

Even if this checkup were done a thousand times, its cost would still be a drop in the bucket compared to the real budget amount.

Yin Fengxin knew well that similar things happened in his own company.

“Alright, get inside quickly.”

Chu Tianshu spoke, jumping out from the back seat of the sports car.

Though the sports car had a back seat, it was cramped—unsuitable for adults, at least not comfortably.

Fortunately, the top was open; Chu Tianshu had stood directly behind, hand resting on the driver’s seat, watching the night scenery all the way.

Honestly, it felt strangely more free than sitting.

Because they’d messaged ahead, someone inside the Special Capture Bureau’s building immediately guided them to the examination area.

Yin Fengxin underwent testing inside, while several others watched through a one-way glass in an adjacent room.

“This man’s condition is truly grim.”

Dr. Jiang still wore her white lab coat and high ponytail with mask, but she seemed to be chewing something, releasing a whiff of mint gum.

She didn’t need the report—she’d already interpreted much from the curves on the instruments.

“Risk level: low. Injury severity: severe.”

“He appears energetic now, but it’s merely an intense facade formed by internal self-conflict.”

“According to the information you provided, his daily consumption of pure milk clearly indicates a distortion in some bodily function. If left untreated, he’ll perish alongside the malevolent spirit within him in about fifteen days.”

Fang Jun pulled out a cigarette, sniffed it at his nose: “Can this be treated here?”

“Per regulations, we are obligated to do our utmost to treat victims like this.”

Dr. Jiang’s voice was cold: “But we cannot treat him here.”

Chu Tianshu had expected this.

He didn’t know what new material devices the Special Capture Bureau had developed, but he understood well their medical research direction.

Aside from stabilizing cultivation progress and remedying cultivation hazards,

the Bureau’s internal research on treating injuries all leaned toward “efficiency.”

This bias came from their duty—they were responsible for the lives of their operational personnel; efficiency truly was life.

As long as they kept the patient alive, they could always transfer them later to another convalescent facility.

But Yin Fengxin’s condition was too fragile.

The Special Capture Bureau’s standard methods couldn’t be applied to him at all.

“My suggestion: tell him the truth.”

Dr. Jiang’s tone was calm: “At least don’t let his final days be wasted on overtime.”

Chu Tianshu said: “No. Revealing the truth now might cause him to die before even reaching fifteen days.”

Dr. Jiang glanced at him, then pondered: “That’s possible.”

“Sigh. The three malevolent spirit signatures have already formed a small closed loop. Our case’s conclusion now hinges only on Brother Yin. Let’s put some thought into this.”

Fang Jun sighed, slipped the cigarette back into the pack: “Find some excuse—not the truth—that lets him stop working overtime and relax for a while.”

Dr. Jiang pulled out a gum can and handed it to him, her voice still cool.

“Don’t smoke while monitoring this patient. If you can’t resist, chew gum.”

Fang Jun took it, thinking: “What excuse could we find?”

Chu Tianshu met his gaze.

After working together on several matters, they’d developed a strong rapport; they leaned close and whispered a few words.

When Yin Fengxin stepped out, he met the two investigators in the hallway.

“Hahaha!”

Fang Jun laughed: “Good news, Brother Yin—you really are sick…”

Yin Fengxin exclaimed: “What?!”

“Of course, being sick isn’t good.”

Chu Tianshu explained beside him: “But your illness is primarily hormonal. Left untreated, it’ll worsen; treated, it requires only rest and recuperation.”

“Our superior just came by and decided to make your case a model example.”

“You can take time off. All expenses during your recuperation will be reimbursed.”

Yin Fengxin was even more astonished: “So… you’re treating me for free?”

He hesitated: “But how long will this leave-taking last? If I’m gone too long, my boss will surely be upset.”

Chu Tianshu patted his shoulder and smiled: “Didn’t you hear? They’re making you a model example.”

“You’ll become a popular, positive public figure. As long as you stay at your company, they can leverage this image.”

“Don’t worry—your boss is a sensible man. He won’t do anything foolish.”

Yin Fengxin suddenly understood.

That made perfect sense!

They walked out of the building together, and only as they neared the sports car again did Yin Fengxin rub his face.

“I never thought something like this could happen to me. As a kid, when I played scratch cards, the most I ever won was fifty cents. As an adult, I’ve rarely even gotten a ‘free refill’ on a drink.”

Yin Fengxin looked back at the building: “Why was I chosen as this model?”

“Aren’t there others in your survey with worse illnesses, more compelling images for the public?”

Fang Jun said: “These things depend on luck. Our superior happened to be out patrolling at midnight just as you were being examined. Honestly, any illness—if packaged well—yields roughly the same publicity effect.”

Yin Fengxin scratched his temple, lost in thought.

Chu Tianshu suddenly said: “Are you feeling guilty because you’re not suffering enough, yet still got this opportunity?”

Yin Fengxin hurriedly replied: “Not that bad—I’m actually glad to get this chance. It’s just… uh…”

Fang Jun stared at the steering wheel: “There are countless people worse off than you, but also countless others luckier. Don’t overthink it.”

“If you feel you’ve received something you didn’t deserve, consider instead how much you’ve lost in this society that you truly did deserve.”

“Society moves this way. We can’t interfere—so we might as well lie down and accept its duality.”

Chu Tianshu laughed: “Since when did you get so philosophical? In my view, you just know how to talk.”

His expression turned serious, and he spoke slowly.

“Yin Fengxin, you’re a good man.”

The moment he finished, he leapt into the back seat of the sports car.

Yin Fengxin quickly said: “I’ll stand in the back, Mr. Chu—you sit.”

Chu Tianshu had already ridden the wind all the way; another round wouldn’t be as enjoyable.

“Fang Jun!”

Chu Tianshu tapped the driver’s seat: “Can we switch cars?”

Fang Jun said: “Sure.”

He drove off in the sports car, and within minutes returned in a minivan.

The minivan looked familiar.

Of course—this was the Special Capture Bureau’s actual vehicle.

“Let’s first go to your home.”

Chu Tianshu said: “Let’s assess your living conditions.”

Fang Jun drove; Yin Fengxin gave directions from the front passenger seat.

Chu Tianshu hunched in the back, watching the two ahead.

‘The Special Capture Bureau can’t separate the Kidney Jade malevolent spirit—but that doesn’t mean I can’t try.’

Chu Tianshu mused, recalling the ancient annotations in the *Ghost Gate Medical Manual*—some predecessors had left a few lines of lifelong reflections.

The world is full of injustice, but healing the sick and saving lives, resisting death—these are the most upright acts of all, to be spoken plainly!

Chu Tianshu smiled.

In the future, he would add one more line: if you save a good person, that’s even more open-hearted, serene, and pure.

The minivan’s interior was indeed roomier than the sports car, but its ride felt less stable and cushioned.

Chu Tianshu sat slumped in the back, jostling slightly, his mind crowded with thoughts until he unconsciously lowered his eyelids.

Aaaoo!!

Chu Tianshu opened his eyes to see a lion pacing not far away.

“Did I fall asleep?”

He looked around and saw that in today’s dream, the number of lions, tigers, and giant serpents was unusually high.

In the sky, swarms of vampire bats flew in formation.

In the distance, there seemed to be a birdcage as large as a building; in another direction, a rectangular bronze mirror burned with firelight.

The visual manifestations of his external yin corruption in dreams were tied to the local feng shui environment.

These elements in today’s dream were all connected to the feng shui layout of the Ao District.

“I never realized my dreams could be this lively.”

As Chu Tianshu admired the scenery, a tiger charged toward him.

During those days at Wu Family Village, he had dreamed of tigers too—several times, he’d slid under its belly, but his foot was always snatched before he reached its underbelly.

These big cats were still quick to react.

But they had weaknesses.

Strike the head!!

Chu Tianshu punched the tiger’s forehead.

A slide wasn’t fast enough, but a punch was.

Wu Song once said: Grasp the crown of the head, strike the tiger first in the head.

Chu Tianshu’s punch sent the tiger reeling backward; he followed with a flurry of blows.

The tiger was left bleeding profusely from the face, its teeth knocked out, whimpering as it collapsed.

A lion lunged from the side.

Chu Tianshu seemed motionless, then suddenly shifted two meters sideways, appearing diagonally ahead.

He spun and kicked—his toe driving into the lion’s ear, toppling it.

His earlier footwork mimicked Zhu Heng’s “Barefoot Slash-and-Cut,” moving abruptly through sheer foot motion.

Since discovering he could resist in dreams, Chu Tianshu now saw them as a place to practice and refine his fist techniques.

Though the movements he replicated in dreams might not be fully replicable in reality, they carried enough realism to serve as useful reference.

After he had killed six lions, five tigers, and three serpents,

the wild beasts on the plain seemed to grow slightly wary.

Chu Tianshu knew this wariness was only temporary.

These creatures were merely faint manifestations of the Zhangyang ’s spirit-attuned artifacts and feng shui patterns from the outside world.

They lacked the true cunning of real beasts, unaware of when to advance or retreat.

He stood still, conserving his strength, continuing to observe the scenery—when suddenly he noticed a figure by the small river to his left.

A person?!

Chu Tianshu was astonished—his dreams had never before shown any human form.

Even when human-like ghostly auras manifested, they usually appeared as venomous snakes.

Yet this figure wore a soft-brimmed futou, a blue cotton robe, and a small black sash at the waist—not only human, but seemingly ancient.

Chu Tianshu cautiously circled to stand before the figure.

The man’s features were indistinct, but he appeared to have a beard and seemed to be speaking, his voice low.

Chu Tianshu strained to listen.

“If the divine has become a ghost, how can it be trusted?”

The man spoke as if to himself, or perhaps addressing many, intoning solemnly.

“Though humans suffer countless afflictions, they must tirelessly seek a hundred methods, a thousand medicines, to unravel ten thousand solutions—never turn to ghosts or gods…”

“Never turn to ghosts or gods!”

(End of Chapter)