The beast's crimson pupils swelled and shrank in the flickering candlelight, like two wells brimming with blood.
Lin Xuan's back tightened, his palms slick with sweat around the butcher's knife, knuckles turning white. In his sleeve, the cracked black gourd pulsed faintly, as if breathing in the shadows.
The giant wolf crouched low, then suddenly sprang! Wood chips and dust filled the air as a wave of foul heat rushed forward.
Lin Xuan shifted instinctively, slipping past its snapping jaws, his blade slicing toward the soft spot beneath its neck. But the fur was as tough as iron, cloaked in a shroud of black qi. The blade stuck, barely piercing. He rolled behind the medicine cabinet, fingers brushing drawers as if picking herbs, and grabbed a small pouch of powder. With a flick, the powder burst into a pale-blue smoke that made the wolf sneeze violently, halting its charge.
Musk dispersant… he realized. A remedy he had prepared for cleansing and clarity now threw the beast's mind into disarray.
The chance was narrow, but enough.
Ducking past the cabinet, Lin Xuan's robe tore under a claw strike, but he pressed forward instead of retreating. His blade found the earlier cut, slicing deeper. The gourd in his sleeve trembled awake, its mouth flashing with dim light, sucking out the black miasma that had been shielding the wound. Without the foul qi, the flesh gave way, his knife cutting an inch deeper. The wolf howled, stumbling back, its bloody eyes wavering with doubt.
Then another howl rose outside, long and chilling, like a bone flute blown by the dead. Two more shadows burst through the ruined doorway, wolves with arched backs and dripping jaws.
"Three of them…" Lin Xuan's chest sank. His gaze flicked to the unconscious youth on the bed—bandages damp, black wisps still leaking, only to be drawn back into the gourd. If this dragged on, the clinic would become a slaughterhouse.
No escape. Only a formation remained.
He flipped the medicine chest, grabbing powders—qichi grass, white peony, coptis, and coarse salt—mixing with alcohol, smearing each corner of the floor. He laid nine silver needles in a grid along the cracks.
"Three for blood, two for dispelling filth, four for calming qi… then kindle with fire…" he muttered like reciting a prescription. The gourd's cold breath seeped into his palm, trickling into the needles, lighting them with faint sparks.
"Come."
The first wolf stepped into the array, its paws sinking as if into mud. The second lunged—Lin Xuan thrust his hand forward, salt and powder smeared across its muzzle. The beast reeled, crashing into the wall. The wounded wolf leapt again. Lin Xuan sprang from the cabinet's edge, body like a silver needle, blade arcing toward its ear.
A sharp snap. Blood sprayed as an ear fell, black mist siphoned into the gourd, lessening the stench.
The formation held, but the powders would not last. Outside, the flute keened greedily, summoning more.
Break the flute, or die here, Lin Xuan thought grimly.
"Lin… doctor…" a hoarse voice murmured.
It was the youth on the bed, half-conscious, eyes red-rimmed but clenched against the surging corruption. "Go… run… the flute… draws evil…" His words trailed into sleep.
Lin Xuan's chest sank further. The third wolf was already breaking through the array, lunging close.
He had no spiritual power. His arms burned like fire, but retreat meant death.
He snatched a bundle of long needles, shaking seven into a fan, thrusting them into the wolf's muzzle, throat, and eye sockets. The needles weren't weapons—they were anchors. The gourd's glow surged, drawing black mist from each needle. The wolf staggered, slowed.
Lin Xuan's blade flashed, sweeping along the needle tails, severing the flow. Blood sprayed in a line, the wolf collapsing in a heap.
Outside, the flute's pitch dropped, earth trembling as a colossal shadow advanced.
The Wolf King.
A string of broken fangs hung at its throat. In its jaws, a bone flute etched with pulsing red veins, exhaling black mist with every breath.
Lin Xuan's heart clenched. The flute was the source. Unless it broke, the night would not end.
He wrapped his knife hilt with cloth soaked in liquor, ready to step outside—
"ROAR!"
The Wolf King entered, shaking the rafters. Its gaze was cold, calculating, not a beast's but iron-hard malice.
Lin Xuan paused, tossing his knife into the stove. The blade hissed in the fire. He spilled jars of herbs, thickening the scent, shouldered his medicine chest, sprinkled salt into his palm, and slipped along the wall toward the door.
The alley outside burned red with torchlight, shadows cutting through smoke. Figures darted across rooftops, talismans flashing like fireflies.
Cultivators… Relief pricked his chest, but he didn't slow.
"Clear the way!"
A sharp voice split the din. Swordlight sang, clean and crisp, carving through wolf thralls like moonlight on ice.
Lin Xuan turned. A young woman stood in the fire's glow, her black hair tied, eyes cold and steady. A short sword gleamed in her hand, understated but razor sharp.
Behind her, a burly man swung a crimson iron ruler, tiles crashing like rain. Another youth clutched talismans, pale and unsteady.
"Senior Sister Xu… my qi's unstable…" the youth gasped, blood on his lips.
Her eyes narrowed, blade forcing back wolves. "Fall back, Fang Yu. Guard your heart."
"Zhao Zhong, hold the line."
The armored man laughed, smashing beasts aside with his iron ruler.
But the flute's call drove the wolves madder still. The Wolf King's tail shattered a trough, its howl summoning more.
"It's the flute," Lin Xuan shouted. "Break it—the wolves scatter!"
The woman's eyes flicked to him, shock flashing—a mortal?
The Wolf King turned its gaze on Lin Xuan, flute trilling faster. Two wolves lunged from the sides. Lin Xuan sprang onto a windowsill, hurling salt and powder into their jaws, his other hand reaching into his sleeve. The gourd hummed, cold power flowing to his grip.
"Now!"
He dove straight at the Wolf King's jaws. The beast swung its tail like an iron whip—
But a flash of swordlight intercepted, shattering the blow. The woman's wrist trembled, but she held. The armored man rammed from the flank, his iron ruler smashing down.
The Wolf King roared, staggering, its jaws loosening.
Lin Xuan leapt, butcher's knife slashing up—
CLANG!
Not iron, but sharper. The flute's red veins snapped, black mist bursting and scattering. The wolves froze, eyes losing their crimson haze.
"Good!" Zhao Zhong bellowed, pressing the Wolf King back.
The woman's sword struck like falling ice, thirteen thrusts piercing throat to heart. The Wolf King collapsed with a last defiant howl, its bulk crashing through a wall.
Without the flute, the pack scattered like stray dogs.
The alley reeked of blood and smoke. Lin Xuan's knees buckled, nearly falling. The gourd dimmed in his sleeve, faint silver threads stitching its cracks shut.
The woman sheathed her sword, stepping before him. "A mortal, yet you dared to sever the Wolf King's flute. Not faint of heart."
Lin Xuan gave a tired smile. "If my heart were small, I wouldn't have survived."
Zhao Zhong grinned, clutching his ribs. "Young doctor, fine hands you've got. You really are a healer?"
"Healer," Lin Xuan nodded, but his eyes drifted to Fang Yu. Black threads crawled beneath his skin, creeping toward his heart.
"He's tainted by evil qi."
Fang Yu paled.
The woman frowned. "Can it be treated?"
"Suppressed, not cleansed."
Lin Xuan mixed herbs into a salve, pressed it to key points, then drove seven needles in sequence. The gourd hummed, coldness trickling down, drawing black threads out to the surface. Fang Yu exhaled, relief flooding him.
"Better… much better."
Zhao Zhong gaped. "Those needles… they pulled out the corruption?"
"Not cleansed, only held back," Lin Xuan replied.
The woman tossed him a jade vial. "Clear Spirit Dew. Use it."
Three drops steadied Fang Yu, color returning to his cheeks. "Thank you."
"You live here?" she asked Lin Xuan.
"Clinic, in the front alley."
"Any other wounded?"
"Yes. One gravely injured—his qi is unstable. I've suppressed it for now."
"Lead us," she ordered. "I am Xu Ning. This is Zhao Zhong, and Fang Yu. Outer disciples of the Heavenly Path Sect."
"Lin Xuan," he replied, gathering his medicine chest. But his eyes lingered on the old locust tree at the alley's end, now shattered, children's laughter gone, claw marks gouged deep. He lowered his gaze. "Let's go."
Back at the clinic, Xu Ning examined the unconscious youth. "His blood is torn between righteous and evil qi."
Lin Xuan nodded. "I held it down. With Clear Spirit Dew and gentle herbs, it can be stabilized."
"Use it," Xu Ning said. She stationed Zhao Zhong at the door, Fang Yu with talismans, while Lin Xuan worked.
Herbs, needles, and the gourd's quiet hum drew the black mist thread by thread, sealing it away. The youth's breathing steadied.
Xu Ning's eyes lingered on Lin Xuan's hands, the calm precision of a healer. Not spirit power, but steadier than many disciples.
"Family teaching," Lin Xuan said simply.
At last, the patient rested, and silence fell. Xu Ning broke it: "Tonight's chaos—you severed the flute. We owe you."
"I only saved lives," Lin Xuan said.
Zhao Zhong laughed. "And risked yours. Not bad for a mortal."
Fang Yu bowed. "Lin brother, you saved me as well." He turned to Xu Ning. "With hands and heart like his, the sect should take him."
Xu Ning studied him quietly, then said, "The Heavenly Path Sect values not just cultivation, but heart. Will you come with us? In the sect, you'll find medical scrolls and alchemy classics. No need to remain a village doctor."
Lin Xuan hesitated. But looking at the broken town, the blood and ruin, he realized that had help not come, none would have survived.
"If I go… can I still heal people?"
"You can," Xu Ning answered. "But keep that thing hidden." Her gaze lingered on his sleeve. "Don't use it recklessly. Sometimes, not knowing what you hold is the greatest danger."
Lin Xuan's chest tightened. "Understood."
By dawn, the wolves lay in heaps, smoke rising at the town's edge. Lin Xuan packed herbs, his father's old scales, and a hand-copied Compendium of Formulas, binding them with the shattered clinic sign.
At the threshold, he paused, taking one last look at the clinic that had carried half his life. Then he stepped out.
"Let's go."
They pushed a cart with the wounded youth, leaving Greenstone Town as the horizon brightened.
The sect's mountain gate loomed faintly ahead, descending from the clouds like a shadow of heaven itself.
Zhao Zhong chuckled, "Lin brother, once you join the sect, don't just brew medicine. Train your fists too. Tonight, medicine wasn't faster than steel."
Fang Yu smiled. "If he keeps us alive, fists won't matter."
Xu Ning said nothing, her steady gaze brushing his sleeve before moving on.
Lin Xuan's hand tightened around the gourd hidden there. Cool and heavy, like a second heartbeat.
Save if you can, his father's voice echoed.
So he stepped out of the shadow of the broken locust tree and into the dawn, toward the sect's gate.