The old apothecary at the edge of Van Trach's East Street was even more dilapidated than Van Khue had described. It wasn't an "apothecary" in any professional sense, but rather a rickety three-room wooden shack, its roof tiles choked with moss and cracked to reveal rotting rafters. The thin wooden door groaned on its hinges, bearing an old, painted sign—"Lao Lu Hall"—whose characters had faded into illegibility.
Inside, dust and cobwebs reigned supreme. A wooden counter, riddled with termite holes, stood before a wall of empty medicine cabinets. All that remained were a few shattered jars and yellowed scraps of wrapping paper. The stench of long-standing mold mingled with the faint, briny odor of a dead rat in the corner, creating an almost unbearable air of stagnation.
"This is where we begin?" Van Khue frowned, brushing dust off the counter with his sleeve, his voice thick with skepticism.
Dai Hung had already cleared a small space in the innermost corner, easing Lam Tich into the sturdiest wooden chair available. "At least it has a roof. The Great One needs rest."
Lam Tich sat still, his breathing heavy but beginning to stabilize. The fever had momentarily retreated, thanks to a small amount of Void Energy he had spent to regulate his body temperature. He "surveyed" the room through sounds and scents: the wind whistling through the gaps in the planks, the smell of rotting wood, the dampness of the earth.
"It's not bad," he murmured, his left hand tracing the surface of the wooden counter. "This place was once a sanctuary of healing. There is still a lingering... aura of herbs. The intent of the previous physician was not poor."
Van Khue was surprised. "You can... sense that?"
"When you are blind, your other senses sharpen into blades," Lam Tich said, his tone tranquil. "And when you are a physician, you learn to 'smell' illness and 'hear' the state of a place. This place... holds a certain serenity. Regardless of its outward appearance."
[ Void Energy: 5/100 ]
[ Status: Infected Wound, Debilitation. Suggestion: Emergency treatment. ]
The cold prompt flashed. Lam Tich knew he was out of time.
"Van Khue, go to the market and buy the following," he commanded, his voice shifting into the clear, precise tone of a doctor writing a prescription. "The strongest liquor you can find. Clean cloth—no, better yet, undyed linen. Pure honey, if available. And some charcoal. Additionally, find or harvest these herbs: Honeysuckle, Dandelion, and Betel leaves. If possible, find some Frankincense."
Van Khue nodded, memorizing the list. "And the money..."
"Use our last silver," Lam Tich said. "This is a necessary investment."
Once Van Khue had departed, Lam Tich turned to Dai Hung. "Clean this room. But first, assist me with something."
"Anything, Great One."
"I need you to... re-dress my wound," Lam Tich said, his voice devoid of emotion. "And I need you to do exactly as I instruct, regardless of what you see."
Dai Hung nodded, his expression solemn.
Two hours later, when Van Khue returned with the supplies, the room had transformed. Dai Hung had scoured away the dust, cleared the cobwebs, and even managed a temporary repair of the counter. In the corner, Lam Tich sat on his chair, his right arm freshly bound in clean white linen, though his face remained deathly pale.
On the table before him lay Van Khue's purchases, neatly arranged.
"Good," Lam Tich nodded. "Now, watch closely. I will teach you the first lesson of true medicine—how to treat a septic wound without the need for spirit elixirs or cultivation."
Both Dai Hung and Van Khue watched intently. This was the first time they had seen their "Great One" in the role of a teacher, rather than a manipulator or a dying cripple.
Lam Tich began. He described each step with startling precision:
Boiling the liquor to sterilize the tools (a small, sharpened knife).
Washing hands with liquor and clean water.
Using the sterilized blade to make a shallow incision at the most swollen point of the old wound, allowing the toxic pus to drain.
Using clean cloth soaked in liquor to cleanse the wound, an action that forced him to grit his teeth in silence.
Applying a mixture of honey and powdered Frankincense (a resin with natural anti-inflammatory properties) to the wound.
Re-binding it with clean linen.
Throughout the entire ordeal, Lam Tich did not utter a single groan. His face twitched only slightly when the blade met flesh, but his voice remained steady and clear as he explained the function of each ingredient.
"Honey is more than just sweet," he said, his voice weak but articulate. "It possesses natural antibacterial properties, creating an environment where bacteria cannot thrive. Frankincense reduces inflammation. And the incision for drainage... sometimes one must accept short-term agony to avoid long-term necrosis."
Van Khue observed the process through the eyes of a strategist. He saw no magic, no miraculous qi, only a profound understanding of the body and the simplest of elements. It was a raw, effective truth, terrifying in its own logical way.
"Great One... this knowledge..." Van Khue began.
"Comes from a distant place," Lam Tich interrupted, knowing what he intended to ask. "A place without cultivation, without Divinity, where humans must still battle disease and death with pure intellect."
[ Reliability (Van Khue): 45% - Curiosity laced with Admiration ]
That afternoon, as the late sunlight filtered through the broken window into the now-cleaned room, a knock echoed at the door.
Dai Hung and Van Khue immediately went on high alert. Lam Tich signaled for calm.
The door creaked open, revealing a destitute woman in tattered, patched clothing. She was cradling a child of about four years old who was wheezing heavily, his face a sickly shade of purple. She peered inside, saw three strange men—a terrifying giant, a man who looked like a schemer, and a blind man sitting in a chair—and hesitated.
"Forgive me..." the woman stammered. "I heard... there was a new physician here?"
Van Khue moved to turn her away, but Lam Tich spoke first, his voice gentle and entirely different from before: "Come in, sister. What is wrong with the child?"
That voice—warm, patient, and brimming with empathy—ebbed the woman's fear. She stepped inside, gently laying the boy down on an old bamboo cot Dai Hung had just fixed.
"Sir... Physician, he has had a fever for three days. His breathing grows harder by the hour. The medicine from old Master Lu didn't help..."
Lam Tich approached without needing guidance. He knelt beside the cot, his left hand gently resting on the child's forehead before pressing his ear to the boy's chest.
The room fell silent, save for the child's weak, rattling gasps.
"Pneumonia," Lam Tich said after a moment, his voice dropping an octave. "Complications have set in. If left untreated, he will not survive the night."
The woman burst into tears. "Physician, please save him! I... I have no money, but I will do anything..."
"Be silent," Lam Tich said, soft but firm. "We will speak of payment later. Van Khue, bring me cooled boiled water and the cleanest blanket we have. Dai Hung, light the stove; we need warmth in this room."
He then turned back to the mother. "Do you trust me?"
The woman looked into those sightless, empty eyes that nonetheless radiated an uncanny calm. She nodded through her tears.
"Then do exactly as I say. First, remove some of his layers, but keep his chest and back warm. Second..."
For the next three hours, Lam Tich directed a battle against death using the most primitive means. He employed "percussion therapy"—instructing the mother to gently clap the child's back in a specific posture to loosen the phlegm. He prepared a light saline solution for the child to sip. He used the steam from a boiling pot to help him breathe easier.
Throughout it all, he never stopped reassuring the mother, speaking to her of the progress, highlighting even the smallest positive signs.
"Listen," he said, his hand still on the boy's chest. "The crackling has diminished. His lungs are clearing. Continue."
[ Collected Void Energy from "Trust and Gratitude" (The Mother): +10 points ]
[ Void Energy: 15/100 ]
By nightfall, the crisis had passed. The child drifted into a deep sleep, but his breathing was now rhythmic and deep, his skin returning to a healthy flush. The mother knelt before Lam Tich, sobbing with relief.
"Physician... a life-saving grace..."
"Stand up," Lam Tich said, his voice weary but kind. "It is not over. He needs care for at least three more days. Take him home, keep him warm, give him plenty of fluids, and return tomorrow morning for a check-up."
"But... the fee for the medicine..."
Lam Tich shook his head. "I am a newcomer with no reputation. Your bringing your son here was an act of trust. Consider that your payment. But if you wish, tell your neighbors that there is a blind physician here, willing to treat children and the poor."
The mother left, overcome with gratitude, clutching her child tightly.
The room fell quiet once more. Lam Tich sat back, gasps of air escaping him as his body trembled from exhaustion. Yet, a faint smile played on his lips.
Van Khue stepped forward, his voice tinged with complexity. "You truly saved that child. Without needing... 'That Thing.'"
"Sometimes, the simplest truth is the most effective," Lam Tich replied. "And sometimes, genuine kindness... is the perfect camouflage."
Dai Hung nodded vigorously. "The Great One is as benevolent as he is divine!"
But Van Khue stared into Lam Tich's blind eyes. In that moment, he caught a glimpse of the staggering complexity behind the frail exterior. This was not just a physician, nor just a manipulator. This was a paradoxical entity: a man who could slice his own flesh without flinching, yet tenderly soothe a dying child.
"Tomorrow," Lam Tich said, breaking the silence. "We will hang a new sign. The name shall be... 'Tich Tam Duong' (The Still-Heart Clinic)."
"Still-Heart?" Van Khue repeated.
"To still the heart," Lam Tich explained, his voice dropping low. "A place for diseased and restless souls to find a temporary peace."
That night, while Van Khue and Dai Hung slept in the side room, Lam Tich sat alone in the darkness of the Tich Tam Duong. His arm still ached, but the newly acquired Void Energy flowed silently through him, bolstering his resolve.
He thought of the child. Of the mother. Of the raw gratitude in their voices.
[ Reliability (The Mother): 100% - Absolute Faith ]
[ Note: Energy from this type of trust is pure and stable, though weaker than energy derived from fear. ]
"Trust..." Lam Tich whispered to the shadows. "There are many kinds. Fear, awe, gratitude... each is a fuel. I must learn to harvest and blend them all."
He looked toward the room where Van Khue slept. The schemer, the skeptic. A sharp tool, but a potential threat.
"Tomorrow, I will show you another piece of the 'truth,'" Lam Tich muttered. "Enough to make you believe you are beginning to understand me. Enough to make you walk willingly deeper into the web."
Outside, through the broken window, the Argent Moon shone down on the desolate streets of Van Trach.
In a shadowed corner, a man in a patrol uniform—Truong Thiet—silently observed the wooden house where a new light burned. He noted in his ledger: "New blind physician arrived. Healed the son of the Vuong widow. Took no payment."
Inside the Tich Tam Duong, Lam Tich smiled faintly, as if sensing that prying gaze.
The game of cat and mouse had truly begun. And this time, the mouse was masquerading as a harmless grain of dust.