Chapter 475: Suture Removal

Qiu Ce Yuan.

When the morning second‑period bell rang, the Corridor of Elementary Department Class A resumed its usual clamor.

Lu Yu entered the classroom through the back door, and most eyes turned toward him. A gauze bandage was still wrapped around his left wrist, and the cuff of his school uniform was slightly rolled up, revealing half a strip of white bandage.

His complexion was pale, the skin around his eyes a bluish‑gray, and his whole demeanor exuded the weakness of someone just recovering from a serious illness.

Whispered gossip seeped into his ears from all directions. Lu Yu gave no response, lowered his head slightly, and walked back to his seat along the aisle closest to the wall.

As his steps passed the third row, his peripheral vision caught a middle‑aged man in a gray tracksuit standing by the flowerbed outside the window, clutching an unopened bottle of mineral water, his gaze drifting casually over the playground.

The disguise was good, and his posture was relaxed enough.

But the shoes were off. They were a Duowei special‑tactics model, the sole pattern designed for rapid maneuvering. A gardener watering the flowerbed wouldn't wear that.

Lu Yu's gaze did not linger; it glided past the window frame and kept moving forward.

While sitting down, he counted.

At the far end of the east‑side Corridor of the teaching building, the "electrician", a "temporary worker" smoking by the sports equipment room door, and the "cleaning aunt" wiping windows at the Cafeteria Second Floor window.

Six.

Three from the Federation, three from Eden Garden.

Their arrangement formed a cross‑overlapping pattern, so that any sudden incident from any angle could be encircled within eight seconds.

Su Ming's handwriting, supplemented by Chen Shao's placement.

Lu Yu placed his backpack on the desk, unzipped it, and took out his textbook.

The motion was natural, the expression neutral. It was no different from any ordinary student's behavior during a break.

The boy in the seat beside him leaned over: "Lu Yu, has that shoulder injury of yours healed? I heard you got a lot of stitches."

"Almost, I'm going to have the sutures removed today."

Lu Yu replied, his tone tinged with a slightly embarrassed smile.

Perfect, the shy embarrassment of a fourteen‑year‑old boy.

The boy said two more caring sentences, Lu Yu responded to each, then opened his textbook, took out a pen, and began copying the previous lesson's notes that were still on the blackboard.

His right‑hand grip on the pen was slightly stiff, but the characters he wrote were clean and tidy.

No one noticed the pause between his strokes, but deep in his pupils there was a fleeting shift in focus.

That was the Taotie performing a periodic passive scan.

Within a thirty‑meter radius, there were no abnormal energy fluctuations.

Safe.

When the third‑period bell rang, Lu Yu closed his textbook and stood up.

He walked to the classroom door and met the homeroom teacher who was about to enter. The teacher patted the uninjured side of his shoulder and reminded him to take care of his health. Lu Yu nodded obediently.

Then he walked down the Corridor toward the infirmary.

According to the special‑operations team's "safety protocol", postoperative suture removal and review must be completed on campus by the school doctor. The reason is to reduce the risk exposure of leaving school.

Lu Yu had no objection to this arrangement.

He even thought it quite reasonable.

The infirmary of Qiu Ce Yuan is at the innermost part of the first floor of the administration building, a standalone space with its own ventilation system and emergency exit. The windows face south, providing good lighting.

Lu Yu paused for a beat when he reached the doorway.

The door was ajar.

Afternoon sunlight slanted through the window, spreading a large patch across the off‑white floor tiles. Tiny specks of dust floated in the light, drifting lazily.

The air carried a faint scent of disinfectant, mingled with an oddly discordant earthy smell.

He pushed the door.

Chu Che was standing with his back to the doorway, by the workbench in front of the windowsill.

He wore his Doctor's Lab Coat impeccably, the collar folded precisely. In his right hand he held a pair of medical scissors, and his left hand rested on a flowerpot.

Inside the pot was a pothos plant. Its leaves were wilted, most turning yellow and curling, hanging over the rim with little vitality.

Chu Che was clipping the dead leaves piece by piece with the scissors.

The movements were slow and patient.

Each cut was right at the leaf stalk base, the angle precise, clean and neat, much like surgically excising necrotic tissue.

Hearing the door chime, he turned around.

The Gold Thread Glasses caught a soft glow from the sunlight; the eyes behind the lenses curved, and the corners of his mouth lifted.

"Lu, we meet again."

His voice was gentle, his tone relaxed, indistinguishable from a regular teacher greeting students in the Corridor.

Lu Yu stood at the doorway, his gaze lingering on Chu Che for half a second.

The Doctor's Lab Coat, a Stethoscope hanging around his neck, two pens tucked in his chest pocket. The desk was tidy, the medical record book stacked in a pile. The disinfecting cabinet's indicator glowed green.

A standard, impeccable school doctor's office.

A standard, impeccable good person.

"Dr. Chu." Lu Yu entered, gently closing the door behind him, "I'm here for suture removal."

"Hmm, have a seat."

Chu Che placed the flowerpot back on the windowsill, set the scissors into the instrument tray, and walked to the sink to rinse his hands with running water.

He washed three times—between the fingers, under the nails, and the wrist joint—each step following surgical hand‑washing standards.

Lu Yu sat on the examination chair, unbuttoned his school uniform, and pulled the collar with his right hand toward his left shoulder.

The gauze on his shoulder had been changed several times, the outermost layer secured with medical tape.

Chu Che put on gloves, walked over, and sat on the round stool opposite Lu Yu.

"I'll first check the wound's healing condition, then decide whether I can remove the sutures today."

"Alright."

Chu Che's finger rested on the edge of the gauze and gently lifted it.

The movement was extremely steady, the pressure just right, without pulling any healing tissue.

After the gauze was lifted, the wound beneath was exposed.

Lu Yu tilted his head and glanced.

It's almost fully grown. Both the entry and Exit wounds are covered by pink new tissue, the sutures are evenly embedded in the skin, and there is no redness, swelling, or exudate around them.

The recovery speed is at least three times faster than that of a normal person.

Chu Che's eyebrows twitched slightly, but he didn't raise them.

He picked up the magnifying glass and held it close to the wound for a few seconds.

During those seconds, Lu Yu did something covertly.

He activated the Taotie.

It wasn't the Full Power Release used in combat, but a minimal passive perception. Like a Radar scan, it radiated an invisible detection wave from deep within his chest outward.

The signal covered the entire medical room.

Tables and chairs, instrument cabinets, sterilization lamps, curtains, walls.

All normal.

No Weird fluctuations, no Rules residue, and no trace of any supernatural energy.

Chu Che himself also was.

Pulse seventy‑two beats per minute, temperature thirty‑six point five degrees, muscle tone normal, and the mental field fluctuation zero.

A perfectly ordinary human.

Lu Yu withdrew his perception.

The last time he tried to bypass the firewall and was spotted by this person, he thought it would be a hassle. But Chu Che not only didn't report it, he instead covered him, allowing him to get away cleanly.

Lu Yu put that goodwill on his ledger.

Regardless of the other party's motives, if a different school doctor had been on duty that night, his identity would likely have been exposed on the spot.

"Dr. Chu."

"Hmm?" Chu Che was checking the tension of the sutures, his head not lifted.

"Thanks for what happened last time."

Chu Che's finger paused for a moment.

Then he smiled.

The smile was faint, natural, carrying a hint of an elder's relieved comfort after seeing a junior make a foolish mistake.

"You mean the firewall‑bypass incident that night?"

"Yes."

"No need to thank me," Chu Che continued examining the wound, his tone as casual as if discussing whether today's Cafeteria dishes were tasty.

He paused, then added.

"But next time, unless it's really urgent, don't bypass the firewall. If you fall, I'll still have to set your bones."

Lu Yu cooperatively gave a slightly embarrassed expression.

Chu Che put away the magnifying glass, picked up hemostatic forceps and suture removal scissors, and began removing the sutures one by one.

As the fingertips slid along the skin surface, Lu Yu noticed a detail.

Chu Che's finger temperature was slightly low.

Not the chill of hands washed with cold water and left damp, but a coolness emanating from the bone, like porcelain.

But that's the only difference. It could even fit a doctor. Many surgeons who spend long hours in air‑conditioned rooms have poor peripheral circulation.

The suture removal process was swift.

Chu Che's technique was textbook‑level. Each thread's extraction angle was precisely calculated, and Lu Yu felt almost no pain throughout.

The final thread was cut and pulled out. Chu Che gently swabbed the wound with a povidone‑iodine cotton ball.

Then he spoke a sentence.

"Strange."

Lu Yu's eyelash twitched.

"What's wrong?"

"The way granulation tissue proliferates in your wound is quite interesting," Chu Che placed the hemostatic forceps back on the instrument tray, removed his gloves, his tone still the easygoing manner of a doctor chatting with a student about a case.

"In normal through‑and‑through wound healing, necrotic tissue is gradually cleared by white blood cells, after which fibroblasts begin to proliferate and fill the area."

He pushed his glasses.

"But your wound is different. The necrotic parts were cleaned too cleanly—so clean it's unreasonable. It doesn't seem like the immune system's work; it feels as if something directly 'ate' the necrotic tissue."

The last two words were spoken in a light, breezy tone, as if recounting an inconsequential medical anecdote.

Lu Yu's back was not stiff, his fingers not clenched, and his breathing rate unchanged.

In the same instant he completed three layers of judgment: first, Chu Che's statement was factual—the Taotie does actively break down necrotic tissue when repairing its host's body; second, the remark itself posed no threat, as an experienced surgeon noting an abnormal healing pattern is normal; third, there was no need to explain, nor to deny.

"It might be my constitution," Lu Yu said, "I've always healed wounds quickly since childhood."

Chu Che nodded, and did not press further.

He opened a drawer, took out a tube of topical ointment and a small bottle of oral anti‑inflammatory pills, placed them on the table and slid them over.

"Apply the ointment twice daily, once in the morning and once at night. Take the anti‑inflammatory pills after meals, two tablets each time, for three days."

"Alright. Thank you, Dr. Chu."

Lu Yu takes the medicine, stands up, and re‑buttons his school uniform.

He walks two steps toward the doorway, then stops and looks back.

"Dr. Chu, can that pot of pothos still live?"

Chu Che is writing the suture‑removal record; hearing that, he lifts his head and follows Lu Yu's gaze to the windowsill.

The pot, trimmed down to just a bare stem, sits quietly in the sunlight.

"Yes," Chu Che smiles, "clean away the dead parts; the roots are still fine. Give it time and it will grow again."

Lu Yu hums in acknowledgement, pulls the door open and walks out.

The door closes.

The footsteps in the Corridor grow farther away.

The infirmary falls silent again. Sunlight remains, the scent of disinfectant lingers, and the neatly trimmed pothos on the windowsill is still there.

Chu Che does not continue writing with the pen in his hand.

He puts the pen down.

On that warm, gentle face, the smile recedes like receding tide, silently vanishing from his features.

The pupils behind his glasses change.

They are not the color a human eye should have.

Deep within the iris a faint, flowing golden glow ripples, like lava slowly churning beneath a sheet of ice.

Those hands, praised worldwide as a surgeon's, with slender knuckles lightly rest on the desk surface.

His index finger taps once.

Something beneath the wood grain of the desk shines.

Crimson.

Fine rune code sprouts from the point where his fingertip meets the desk, spreading, branching, and weaving like capillaries, silently constructing an intricately precise micro‑structure within the wood's grain that makes the scalp tingle.

Chu Che lifts his head and looks out through the window glass.

On the playground, Lu Yu walks along the covered walkway toward the teaching building. Sunlight falls on his thin silhouette, making him look like an ordinary student just out of the infirmary.

His finger taps again.

The crimson code solidifies silently beneath the desk, forming a rice‑grain‑sized crystal that pulses with dark red light.

Chu Che withdraws his gaze, lowers his eyelids, and watches the newly formed object at his fingertip.

His lips move.

The voice is very soft—soft enough that it cannot be heard from a step away.

Yet each word is steady and clear.

"Take my blessing and struggle hard."

He pauses.

"Little mouse."

On the windowsill, the pot, trimmed down to just the stem, bathes in the noon sun.

It looks as if nothing remains.

But the root is still alive.