Chapter 87: Back to the Old Trade

He found a small inn on the edge of an urban village, its sign faded, looking like it had been there for years.

Zhang Jun emptied his pocket of a few crumpled bills; the deposit wasn't enough, and after much pleading he managed to get the cheapest room.

The room reeked of damp mildew, and the wallpaper at the corners was bulging.

He gently laid Lin Xue on an old bed.

She was asleep, her breathing so faint that the slight rise and fall of her chest was barely visible, her face pallid to a frightening degree.

Zhang Jun crouched beside the bed, no light on, watching her by the dim glow seeping in from outside the window.

The cold within her body was temporarily suppressed by his overbearing heat.

From his tattered backpack he pulled out the few herbs he'd plucked on the snow mountain, then found in the inn a glass cup whose usage history was unknown, scrubbed it repeatedly, placed the herbs inside, mashed them, added a little cool water, and stirred them into a murky green paste.

It was bitter, astringent, mixed with a plant's fishy odor, and a faint hint of warmth.

He extended a finger, mobilized the heat within his body, and forced out a tiny bead of warm, transparent fluid, dropping it into the herbal paste.

With a soft 'hiss', the color of the medicinal paste seemed to deepen.

He helped Lin Xue up, let her lean against him, then, using a finger dipped in the paste, carefully applied it to several spots on her chest and neck.

Next, he mixed the remaining paste with cool water and fed it to her bit by bit.

Most of it dribbled from the corners of her mouth, but she managed to swallow a little.

After finishing, Zhang Jun felt that much of his internal heat had been expended, and a wave of fatigue surged up.

He closed his eyes, and the words of that middle-aged man on the snow mountain echoed in his ears again.

——'Take you guys down the mountain, okay…'

Damn it, this indentured servitude contract, still blank, this debt will have to be repaid sooner or later, and Lin Zhen, Lin Yan… those two bastards, I'll absolutely not let them off!

The next morning, the sky was just beginning to lighten.

Lin Xue's eyelids twitched a few times, then slowly opened.

Her vision was still a bit blurry, but her mind finally cleared.

She tried to move her arms, still limp and weak, but the deep‑bone chill that felt like it could freeze her soul had largely dissipated.

'Awake?'

A voice sounded from beside her, heavy with fatigue and hoarseness.

Lin Xue turned her head and saw Zhang Jun leaning against the wall, his eyes bloodshot, a stubble ring on his chin, making him look considerably worn.

'How do you feel?' Zhang Jun said without getting up, casually handing her a chipped enamel basin from the nightstand, filled with cool boiled water.

Lin Xue took it, sipped slowly, her dry throat getting a little moisture, 'Much better.'

In the cramped room, the air seemed to congeal, suffused with an indescribable atmosphere.

'Those people…' Lin Xue broke the silence, her voice soft, 'What's their background?'

'I don't know.' Zhang Jun shook his head and continued, 'But they know Lin Zhen, and they're aware of our physiques… I'm afraid this muddy water runs deeper than we thought.'

'First tend to the wounds.' Zhang Jun stood, walked to the window, his back to Lin Xue, gazing at the bustling street outside, carriages and horses weaving through, full of life; the experience on the snow mountain felt like a nightmare, yet the restless heat within his body, and the herbs, acupoints, and healing methods that occasionally popped into his mind, reminded him it was real.

Lin Zhen, Lin Yan, and that band of mysterious mountain folk—his fingers unconsciously tapped the cold glass window.

'We need to find a place to settle,' he said in a low voice, as if talking to himself, 'open a clinic.'

Lin Xue's eyelashes on the bed twitched imperceptibly, but she neither opened her eyes nor responded.

She also sensed the changes within her body; the icy force, though suppressed, had not vanished, but seemed to sink into dormancy, forming a strange balance with the scorching power that had entered her.

At the same time, she was thinking about Zhang Jun.

This man really is different now.

It's not just a change in strength.

His former impulsive rashness, which would explode at the slightest provocation, seemed to have been smoothed out considerably, leaving behind something that made her feel somewhat unfamiliar.

Zhang Jun didn't wait for her reply, said nothing more, turned and left.

Relying on the last bit of cash in his pocket and the proceeds from selling the only still‑valuable belt buckle on his person, he rented a small street‑front shop on the edge of an old urban district.

The shop was tiny, about ten or so square meters, with water seeping in the corners, the air perennially carrying a stubborn mildew smell, the roll‑up door rust‑streaked, but the rent was cheap.

He spent two days buying the cheapest paint to coat the walls, then scavenged a table and several chairs from the second‑hand market, plus some bottles and jars.

Finally, he found a piece of scrap wood he'd picked up, and with black paint wrote three large characters in a crooked hand—'Huichuntang'.

He hung it on the shopfront, and that counted as opening for business.

In the first few days after opening, not a patient, not even a ghost, showed up.

Occasionally, passersby curious would peek inside, see a young man with a poor complexion and a somewhat fierce look sitting there, and shake their heads before leaving.

Who would dare come to a place like this for treatment? They must be tired of living.

Zhang Jun wasn't in a hurry either; most of the time he sat cross‑legged in the farthest corner of the shop, eyes closed, feeling the circulation of that internal heat.

He needed to gain control of this power as soon as possible.

He discovered that this heat could also let him faintly 'sense' things ordinary people cannot perceive, such as the weak flow of qi within a living body.

This sensation was vague, yet real.

One week later, the sound of a wheelchair rolling suddenly came from the doorway.

An elderly woman with completely white hair was pushed in.

The old woman was curled up in the wheelchair, her face twisted in pain, emitting weak moans from her mouth.

According to her son, the old woman suffered from stiff, painful joints all over her body, especially on rainy days when the pain was unbearable.

They had run the rounds of the city's major hospitals, undergone every conceivable test, yet found nothing; even renowned doctors and specialists were helpless, finally prescribing only painkillers and sending her home to recuperate—essentially a death sentence.

The family, truly out of options, heard from a neighboring resident that a new clinic had opened here, and came with a 'dead horse as a living horse' mindset to try their luck.

Zhang Jun stood, walked to the old woman's side, without asking about her condition, directly extended a finger and lightly placed it on her thin, icy wrist.

That warm current spontaneously flowed along his fingertip and penetrated inward.

In an instant, a blurred image formed in his mind——inside the old woman's body, several major joints and meridians had extremely sluggish qi and blood flow, emitting a cold, damp, rotting aura.