Chapter 71: Bai Ziming and Fang Heng

The Town-Sealing Office, Medical Ward.

About thirty pavilions stood in sequence, and every passing Captain bore wounds.

A plain bamboo hut nestled among them looked strikingly out of place.

Occasionally, figures stepped inside—each draped in a black greatcoat, the symbol of a Deputy General.

The burly youth was an exception; he wore no uniform, only a simple short tunic.

He hung his right arm, using his left to push open the small door.

Facing the figure in white robes, seated behind a low table, he bowed respectfully: “Brother Bai.”

“Can’t you stop coming to me with that gloomy face every day?”

The youth called Brother Bai had a face like polished jade, two strands of hair falling at his temples, and clean hands swiftly counting a tray of fragrant herbs.

He didn’t look up, speaking coolly: “Place your arm on the table.”

Fang Heng sat cross-legged obediently and lifted his right arm onto the table.

Brother Bai withdrew several fine cow-hair needles, stabbed them in without glancing, then resumed organizing the precious herbs: “Bear it. By today’s end, it’ll be nearly done.”

Fang Heng kept his head lowered, eyes dull.

His broad back resembled a grizzly bear.

The agony of mending meridians could make even battle-hardened Captains grind their teeth, yet it left him unmoved.

“No need to worry.”

Brother Bai returned the herbs to the cabinet and finally looked up: “Their strike wasn’t severe. No lasting damage.”

“Thank you, Brother.”

Fang Heng snapped back to himself, his thoughts clearly not on his arm, yet offering no further explanation.

At that moment, two men entered the bamboo hut quietly, carrying earthen jars, and bowed respectfully to the white-robed elder.

Bai Ziming, third disciple of the Regional Commander, served as Deputy General in the Town-Sealing Office, and thirty years ago had already reached the peak of Jade Liquid realm.

Moreover, he was the Town-Sealing Office’s finest physician.

“Go in.”

Bai Ziming nodded gently, gesturing for the two to enter the inner room.

In an instant, he noticed his junior’s eyelid twitch, then the sturdy youth rose abruptly, seized one man’s wrist, and his voice turned icy: “Why are you here?”

Under the gaze of those sharp, bloodthirsty eyes, it felt as if a ferocious beast had locked onto them.

Liu Xiujie and Li Xiaoer’s hearts pounded, their earthen jars clattering, voices strained as if gasping for air: “F-Fang my lord…”

Before they could finish, Fang Heng, ignoring the needles still piercing his arm, strode toward the inner room.

Brother Bai’s clinic only treated Deputy Generals or those with injuries beyond repair elsewhere—among them, only Li Xinhan, as a prospective Deputy General, qualified.

As expected.

No sooner had he lifted the curtain than Fang Heng saw Li Xinhan, wrapped like a dumpling on the bed.

His pupils contracted, his jaw clenched, and he strode forward, yanking the man upright with a roar: “Where is he?”

Li Xinhan’s face, barely regaining color, turned deathly pale again. Confusion flickered in his eyes, but he spat out coldly: “Are you insane?”

“I asked you—”

Fang Heng’s voice dropped like a thousand-pound weight, his grip tightening, face dark: “Where is he?!”

Suddenly, a silver needle shot forth, piercing his major acupoint with perfect precision.

Overwhelmed by sudden weakness, Fang Heng released Li Xinhan, staggered back, and collapsed against the wall, helplessly turning to the youth outside.

Brother Bai tucked away his needle case, waved his hand to signal the furious Liu Xiujie and Li Xiaoer to leave, then cast a casual glance at him: “Come, sit. Slowly tell me—who are you looking for?”

Fang Heng stepped closer and sat down, muttering: “Shen Yi. I fear something’s happened to him.”

“Who is Shen Yi?” Bai Ziming turned his gaze away.

The brute sighed, began from Sister Lin, and recounted everything—from Shen Yi’s arrival at the Regional Commander’s mansion to his departure—detail by detail.

“So your arm was broken by him?” Bai Ziming smiled faintly, intrigued.

“Too careless,” Fang Heng closed his eyes, unwilling to speak of it further.

“You didn’t like him anyway. Let him go. Why search for him?” Bai Ziming wasn’t particularly concerned. Qingzhou was vast; talents were countless, wonders endless—even a man born with divine eyes mastering the Meridian Observation Art in a single day wasn’t extraordinary.

“The disciple Sister Lin recommended—whether to keep him or not is Master’s decision. I may dislike him, but he must not overstep.” Fang Heng struggled to control his right arm.

“You didn’t stop him that day. Master wouldn’t have kept him either,” Bai Ziming smiled faintly, glancing thoughtfully toward the inner room.

The Town-Sealing Office isn’t the Demon-Suppressing Office. Demons are monsters.

Yet warriors, too, can be called demons—it’s merely a label, placed wherever needed.

The Town-Sealing Office clears its path with blades, then lures Qingzhou youths with precious treasures.

Here lie the finest martial arts and elixirs, driving them to slay demons and monsters, consuming both sides until a delicate balance is reached.

As for sects and clans unwilling to send their disciples, the Songhe Sect is the clearest example.

When rogue martial artists run rampant, their deeds rival those of demons.

None of the Regional Commander’s five disciples came from noble families. The best background among them was merely a silk merchant. The same held true for the Town-Sealing Generals of the twelve districts.

With no family backing, they could only rely on the imperial court—willing to risk their lives to slay demons and suppress monsters. That was Master’s foremost criterion for taking disciples.

Talent came second. After all, with enough resources poured in, unless one was a once-in-a-millennium genius—or truly a fool who couldn’t grasp even basic martial arts after decades—everyone else was roughly equal.

“Regardless, this decision isn’t mine to make. Besides, Sister Lin wants to keep him for reasons beyond mere recommendation. There’s trouble in Baiyun County—he can’t wander freely.”

Fang Heng stood, pulled out the needles from his arm, and bowed: “I’m a crude man. I beg you, Brother, instruct me.”

Bai Ziming looked up: “Speak plainly. Act properly.”

Fang Heng blinked: “Could you be more specific?”

“...”

Bai Ziming sighed helplessly: “Bring gifts to his door. Bow low and apologize. Watch yourself. Don’t come back wrecking my precious herbs—you’re not a Deputy General, and the medicine’s expensive. It’ll be deducted from my share.”

“I’ll remember. Thank you, Brother, for your teaching.”

Fang Heng seemed to understand, turned, and walked out of the bamboo hut. He paused, watching the two men squatting outside, lost in thought: “May I ask—”

“May I ask?” Liu Xiujie rose awkwardly.

“Where is Shen Yi?” Fang Heng frowned, uncomfortable with the phrasing.

“He’s—” Liu Xiujie instinctively pointed, but Li Xiaoer yanked his arm hard.

Damn it, he’s being polite—almost forgot this guy’s a martial madman. Last time they fought, he nearly killed Head Li.

Fang Heng glanced at the two, then walked away.

An hour later.

The sturdy figure slowly entered the courtyard, standing before the only closed door.

He hesitated, then raised his hand and knocked.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The door opened to reveal a fat, burly man taller than him by a head.

Zhang the Butcher rubbed his sleepy eyes, staring at the youth holding an orange in his left hand and dried meat in his right.

He blinked in surprise: “Who are you? Is this… visiting relatives?”

The youth’s face was expressionless: “Fang Heng.”

(End of Chapter)