235: Fifth Incarnation: Heavenly Physician (Twenty-Seven)

The "Chart of Human Heart Trends" under Xu Yuan's pen also began to show new trends.

Initially, there were only faint marks of "Identification" and "Mutual Aid" in "Rat Alley" and a few points directly influenced by it.

Now, with the secret circulation of pamphlets and the word-of-mouth spread of self-rescue stories like the "Moldy Rice Incident," these marks began to appear in more places, such as the East City workshop district, the dock area, and the South City refugee camps. Although still weak and scattered, they began to have extremely secret connections with each other, established through individual figures.

An Elementary network, with "mutual medical aid" as its surface cover, the dissemination of specific ideas as its potential bond, and the collection of intelligence and observation of worldly affairs as its implicit functions, was quietly spreading its roots beneath the filthiest soil of the Empire.

Xu Yuan knew that this network was far from being tight or powerful; it was loose and fragile, relying entirely on a bit of instinctive trust and practical interests born from shared suffering.

But its existence itself was a miracle, a miracle of life force belonging to the very bottom of civilization, bursting forth in a desperate situation.

When he blew out the oil lamp and lay down, the touch of the charcoal pencil seemed to linger in his hand, and the map of information and human hearts that was constantly expanding and lighting up appeared in his mind.

"The world has been ill for a long time; where can the prescription be found?"

Xu Yuan silently recited the last sigh on the booklet. In the darkness, a faint, almost imperceptible curve appeared at the corner of his mouth.

The prescription, perhaps, was not in the high temples, nor was it in the distant Jianghu.

The prescription was right here in this muddy ground, among the grass roots that were quietly sprouting, and in the hearts of these sentient beings who had been ignored and trampled upon, yet were beginning to try to think and help each other.

And what he had to do was to make these grass roots grow denser and let this heart fire burn brighter, until... it illuminated this terminally ill world, or burned it to ashes, to nurture a new life within the ruins.

Autumn passed and winter came; the cold wind began to drill into every crack of "Rat Alley" without restraint.

Xu Yuan's network, however, was like roots accumulating strength before hibernation, quietly extending towards deeper and more critical soil.

His goal was no longer limited to the pure destitute.

The information brought back by A Niu and Xiao Qi showed more and more clearly that to truly understand how rotten this Dynasty was, and even to be able to "borrow" or "avoid" at critical moments, one must reach two groups: the low-level officials who executed the court's will at the very periphery, and the military households directly related to armed force.

The opportunity came from a seemingly accidental request for help.

Near the "Wounded and Sick Camp" in the South City, many wounded or elderly retired military households lived in clusters. The meager pension from the court had long been exhausted by layers of embezzlement and ineffective medicine. Most of them dragged around various chronic illnesses and old injuries left from the battlefield, struggling in poverty and sickness.

An old military household named Zhao Lao Guai, who was once a small squad leader, had a leg injury that had been festering for years. Hearing that there was a "Young Brother Su" in the West City who knew some herbs, he actually had his son drag him on a wooden cart, gritting his teeth to cross half of the outer city, and found "Rat Alley."

Xu Yuan examined Zhao Lao Guai's injured leg, which was almost exposing bone and emitting a foul odor, and was silent for a moment.

This injury had been delayed for too long, and the patient's own vitality was already waning. Even in the cultivation world, it would require a Medicinal Pill to recuperate; in this Spiritless World, it was almost hopeless to cure completely.

But Xu Yuan did not say discouraging words; instead, he cleaned the wound as cleanly as possible, applied anti-inflammatory and growth-promoting herbs, and gave some dietary prescriptions to replenish Qi and strength.

"Old man, was this leg injury sustained in the north?"

Xu Yuan asked casually while bandaging.

Zhao Lao Guai's face turned pale from the pain, but he said toughly: "Heh, isn't it! That battle at Black Mountain Fortress fifteen years ago, damn it, the barbarians' iron caltrops... charged three times, the fortress was saved, but this leg was lost."

Speaking of those years, a faint light flashed in Zhao Lao Guai's cloudy eyes.

"The court... is the pension still timely?" Xu Yuan handed over a bowl of warm water.

"Pension?" Zhao Lao Guai's son, a sallow and emaciated man, couldn't help but spit, "The first three years there was some old rice and rotten cloth, later? Later there was no word! Went to look for it, they just said the Ministry of War's accounts were unclear and told us to wait. Waited until my father's wound rotted again and again, waited until my mother died of illness, and still didn't see a single copper coin!" His voice choked with sobs, full of resentment.

Zhao Lao Guai pulled his son and sighed: "Forget it, it's all fate. Compared to those brothers who died under the fortress, at least I've breathed for more than a dozen years."

Xu Yuan listened quietly, his hands moving gently.

After bandaging, he looked at Zhao Lao Guai and his son, and said slowly: "The old man bled for the country and ended up with a body full of injuries and illnesses. The court has forgotten the old man's contributions, and is even stingy with the 'medicine money' for saving one's life and healing wounds." He paused, his voice not high, but like a cold needle, "Soldiers bleed for the country, has the court... ever healed the wounds in your hearts?"

This sentence was light, but it shocked both Zhao Lao Guai and his son.

Zhao Lao Guai's lips trembled, looking at his crippled leg, and then at his home with bare walls and his son's sorrowful face, the grievance, unwillingness, and anger that had been bottled up for over a decade seemed to be pried open by this sentence.

Wounds of the heart?

It was more than just a leg injury!

It was the wound of being forgotten, being abandoned, and having all dignity and hope ground away by this world!

"Young Brother Su..."

In Zhao Lao Guai's old eyes, turbid tears rolled down.

"My medical skills are shallow, and I cannot cure the old man's chronic injuries," Xu Yuan changed the subject, his tone peaceful but firm, "But at least I can make this wound ooze less pus and blood, and suffer less pain. Perhaps, it can also let the old man and the uncles and brothers like the old man know that in this world, besides waiting for the court to remember you, there is another way to live—helping each other, knowing some herbal folk remedies, at least suffering less while alive."

He didn't say any more, just letting Zhao Lao Guai's son come every few days to change the dressing, without charging a penny.

Zhao Lao Guai and his son left, thanking him profusely.

But this matter was like a stone thrown into stagnant water, and the ripples spread out.

Soon, it began to circulate in the residential area of military households near the South City Wounded and Sick Camp: there was a kind-hearted young doctor in Rat Alley in the West City who didn't mind their filth and stench, was willing to treat their injuries, didn't charge money, and his words... listening to them made one's heart feel both sour and hot.

Gradually, other military households, whether injured or sick, began to come, holding the mentality of giving it a try.

Xu Yuan turned no one away.

He still treated them carefully, distributed limited herbs, and more importantly, listened.

Listening to them curse the generals who drank the soldiers' blood, complain about the rusted blades and armor, describe the increasingly frequent harassment and increasingly arrogant plundering by barbarian cavalry, and fearfully recall the tragic scenes on the battlefield and the meaningless deaths of their comrades...

Xu Yuan meticulously recorded this information.

At the same time, at the end of every treatment, he repeated that core question with different words:

"What has the court given you?"

"What has your blood exchanged for?"

"Besides the wounds on your body, in your heart, haven't you contracted some other illness?"

These words, like slowly dripping water, eroded the last bit of illusory loyalty and expectation for the court in these veterans' hearts.

They began not only to complain about their injuries and poverty, but also to vaguely realize that the root cause of their suffering might not entirely be fate, but that temple they had once sworn to defend.