Day seven after Lin Che joined the group.
Ye Lingyun could already walk normally and regulate his breathing.
The stabbing pain in his left shoulder had faded to almost nothing.
This surprised Sunri.
According to Ye Lingyun’s earlier description,
an internal injury caused by inner force should take at least a month to heal—
and would likely leave a lingering weakness.
But Lin Che’s treatment had clearly worked wonders.
“It’s not my credit,”
Lin Che said as he sorted the newly grown herbs in the infirmary.
“Even if the cause of the injury is beyond medical science,
the body’s response still follows biological principles.”
“And with the special nature of this space,
plus his own recovery ability…”
He picked up a plant whose leaf edges glowed faintly gold.
“Look at this. In my world it’s just ordinary astragalus,
but here it has… some kind of active property.
I checked it with an instrument—
well, a simple microscope I imagined into existence—
and its cellular structure is completely different.”
Lin Che had used microscopes daily in the hospital;
he remembered their structure, weight, texture, and operation in detail.
Sunri looked around the infirmary.
The newly formed room was about five paces wide,
three walls lined with wooden storage compartments
filled with bandages, bottles, and instruments.
The most striking part was the northeast corner—
a three?foot square herb bed,
its soil dark and moist,
glowing faintly.
Seven or eight kinds of herbs grew there,
some Sunri recognized,
others completely foreign.
“This is the main ingredient for Golden Wound Salve,”
Lin Che pointed at a cluster of thick green leaves.
“And this is elderwood for Bone?Setting Paste,
but it’s growing three times faster than I remember.”
He paused.
“But the strangest is this one—”
He gently pushed aside the other herbs,
revealing a small purple plant at the center.
It had only three leaves,
their veins silver,
as if liquid flowed within them under the stone chamber’s starlight.
“I don’t know what this is,” Lin Che said.
“It grew on its own. I tested a drop of its sap—
it contains a substance that promotes cellular repair at an astonishing concentration.
I added a trace of it to Ye Lingyun’s medicine.
The effect was immediate.”
Time in the stone chamber seemed to flow differently;
the plants grew far faster than normal.
“This space is helping us,” Sunri murmured.
“In its own way.”
“Or rather, it responds to our needs.”
Lin Che adjusted his glasses—
also imagined into existence, identical to his old pair.
“I found that as long as I strongly need a medical resource,
and I’ve personally handled something similar before,
the stone chamber may grow a plant with similar properties
or produce a finished item in the storage compartments.”
He walked to the west wall and opened a drawer.
Inside were dozens of glass test tubes filled with liquids of various colors.
“These are basic disinfectants and nutrient solutions I recreated from memory.
But this—”
He held up a tube glowing faint blue.
“This is made from the new herbs here.
I call it Starlight Extract.
It works wonders for tissue repair and skin regeneration.”
Sunri watched the light in Lin Che’s eyes.
It was the light of a healer discovering a new frontier—
pure, focused, alive.
The brokenness he carried from the hospital had faded a little.
The dark circles were still there,
but his gaze had purpose again.
“By the way,” Lin Che said suddenly,
“the ingredients for Golden Wound Salve and Bone?Setting Paste are about seventy percent complete.
But the Rejuvenation Pill needs Ice?Heart Grass and Sun?Flame Flower.
Those haven’t appeared yet.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
My guess is we need a stronger need…
or actual contact with the real thing.”
“We’ll get the chance,” Sunri said.
“The ancient book shows the next world may have clues about Yueqiao.”
Lin Che nodded.
A shadow leapt lightly onto the herb cabinet.
It was Modou.
The black cat surveyed the herb bed from above,
its golden eyes narrowing into thin slits under the starlight.
Then it hopped down gracefully,
landing at Lin Che’s feet
and rubbing its head against his white coat.
“Again?” Lin Che sighed helplessly.
This had become a daily routine.
As long as Lin Che stayed in the infirmary for more than a minute,
Modou would appear.
It especially liked the scent on Lin Che—
a mix of disinfectant, herbs,
and something uniquely his.
Sometimes it slept on his lap.
Sometimes it followed him silently,
like a wordless supervisor.
Modou seemed able to sense the flow of life energy,
and the infirmary was the most active place in the stone chamber.
“It thinks you’re its personal servant,” Sunri joked.
“More like a walking scratching post and heater,”
Lin Che crouched and scratched Modou’s chin.
The cat purred contentedly,
its tail curling elegantly.
“But honestly, having it around helps me focus.
Its… absolute calmness is contagious.”
Just then, Pardy toddled into the infirmary,
holding a stone slate covered in crooked charcoal lines—
a rough drawing of a herb.
“Lin… Lin,” Pardy held up the slate.
“Look.”
Lin Che’s eyes lit up.
“You drew Golden Thread Orchid?
The leaf veins are surprisingly accurate.”
He took the slate and pulled out another charcoal stick—
a teaching tool the stone chamber had produced
after he began teaching Pardy to read.
“Here, the leaf tip should be sharper—like this.”
A few strokes,
and the herb looked vivid.
Pardy watched intently,
his little head leaning close.
Sunri felt a mix of joy, relief, and a faint ache.
If Lunelle could see someone teaching their child…
she would be so happy.
“Pardy learns fast,” Lin Che said.
“Yesterday I taught him ten characters.
This morning he remembered all of them.
His visual memory is incredible—
he can sketch a herb after seeing it once.”
“Thank you,” Sunri said sincerely.
“I… I’m not good at teaching.”
“I adapted the method I use for first?year med students,” Lin Che said.
“Start with images, then connect them to words and meaning.
Pardy’s cognition is unique—
he seems to feel the essence of something
before learning its name.”
He paused.
“For example, when I taught him the word ‘pain’,
he touched Ye Lingyun’s old wound first…
then nodded like he understood.”
Sunri’s heart tightened.
Pardy had always had this ability—
to sense emotions, injuries,
and something deeper.
Was it Lunelle’s bloodline?
Or simply who he was?
“Breakfast is ready,” Lin Che said,
glancing at the wall—
there was no clock,
but he somehow knew the time.
“I made egg porridge today,
with a nutrient blend.
Easy to digest.”
The kitchen area had appeared three days ago—
a recessed space opposite the infirmary,
with a stone stove (powered by who?knows?what),
a water basin,
and pots and utensils.
When Lin Che first saw it, he froze.
Then murmured:
“This space… copied my childhood kitchen.”
From that day on,
the group’s meals improved dramatically.
Sunri only knew basic roasting and boiling.
Ye Lingyun had never cooked in his life.
But Lin Che could make vegetable soup, medicinal porridge,
even handmade noodles from imagined flour.
“Eat!”
Pardy tugged Sunri’s hand,
imitating Lin Che’s tone.
Mini?Theater: “The Ancient Book’s Bribe (Part 2)”
Late at night, Sunri and Lingyun were awakened by faint sounds.
The ancient book glowed again.
Lin Che walked toward it, drawn like a moth to flame.
The book opened.
Dim golden light seeped out,
condensing into a frozen dessert on the stone table.
Sunri sighed—he was used to this.
Lingyun whispered:
“This time it’s Lin Che’s turn.”
Lin Che picked up the ice cream—
but instead of eating it, he began analyzing:
“Artificial ingredients… not healthy.”
“Color too saturated—excessive food dye.”
“And also—”
The book slowly dimmed…
and closed.
Then—
A bucket of cold water dumped from above.
Lin Che froze, staring at the starry sky,
speechless.
Lingyun leaned on Sunri’s shoulder,
shaking violently with suppressed laughter.
Sunri smiled.
Compared to this,
the single drop of water he once received
was practically affectionate.
