Chapter 210: Test Subject
Even though Doctor Zhuang knew her external wounds weren’t the real issue, just those alone were already enough to give him a headache.
This wasn’t some simple “surface injury.” It was like trying to bring someone who could’ve gone straight to cremation back into a normal, living human being!
But without treatment, her body was far too fragile to withstand any experimental therapies. She looked like she could drop dead from losing a few drops of blood—that wouldn’t do at all.
Doctor Zhuang grabbed a pen and paper and began to scribble rapidly, filling the page with prescriptions.
“This one — three times a day, before meals.”
“This one — twice a day, morning and night, after meals.”
“This — for bathing, once a day.”
“This ointment — apply on the wounds twice daily, at least five hours apart.”
“This one — use with the salve. Apply it to the abdominal penetration wound ten minutes after taking the medicine.”
“Diet restrictions: no raw, cold, or spicy food. No exercise. Stick to soft food—your stomach’s damaged.”
“This patch — stick it to your forehead for one hour at a time, keep using until the fever subsides.”
“Come back in a week for a follow-up. If anything feels off, come immediately.”
He prescribed a whole mountain of medicine, and in the end, added one last thing—something all too familiar.
“I’ve got a wheelchair here too. Take it home. You won’t be able to walk for a while. Don’t force it—if your bones break again after they start healing, it’ll be a real mess.”
The faint smile at Xu Zhi’s lips vanished. Qi Yanxin noticed her unhappy expression and leaned in to comfort her softly.
“It’s okay. You’ll be walking again soon. It’s just temporary.”
Doctor Zhuang chuckled at that, thinking this girl must’ve been a proud, pampered young lady before she lost her memory—still so sensitive about her dignity.
He didn’t know that Xu Zhi was simply struck by a sense of cosmic irony.
Honestly, she didn’t even hate wheelchairs.
“Alright,” she sighed lightly, her tone faintly reluctant. Her pale gray eyes drifted out of focus for a moment, and Doctor Zhuang suddenly remembered—after being shocked by her so many times, he’d nearly forgotten.
“Your eyes…” he muttered after a pause. “Are you nearsighted?”
Xu Zhi shook her head. “I don’t know.”
“Xiao Man, where are your glasses? Let her try them,” the doctor called out.
The nurse, who was playing a mobile game, frowned but picked up a black-rimmed pair of glasses from the front desk with one hand while still holding her phone with the other.
“This isn’t an eye clinic, so I don’t have vision testing tools. Try these—see if they help.”
He placed the glasses in front of Xu Zhi. She looked through the lenses—and to her surprise, her vision did become a little clearer.
Doctor Zhuang caught her subtle reaction. “They work?”
“Yes,” Xu Zhi nodded obediently.
“Tch. That’s a problem then. Xiao Man’s glasses are custom-made—they’re specifically for eyes damaged by transcendent power. She got hurt before.”
“Transcendent eye injuries are the hardest to treat. I can’t promise success, and even if we heal them, there’ll probably be lasting side effects—like permanent vision loss.”
The fact that Xu Zhi could see a little better through Xiao Man’s glasses meant her eyes were indeed damaged by transcendent means. These glasses were specially designed, each pair customized with unique lenses and transcendent circuits tailored to the wearer’s condition.
The lenses looked clear, but fine transcendent runes were etched into them, drawing in ambient energy to activate their effects.
“Doctor, are these… expensive?” asked the woman who had stayed loyally by Xu Zhi’s side. Her voice was hesitant.
Xu Zhi turned toward her in surprise, not understanding why this woman cared so much—or was willing to spend so much—for her sake.
Doctor Zhuang nodded. “Very. It’s a transcendent item, even if just the lowest-grade kind. Only transcendent craftsmen can make them.”
Qi Yanxin didn’t give up. “How much exactly?”
“For Xiao Man’s pair? Her injury wasn’t severe, and it still cost twenty thousand.”
That injury had forced Xiao Man to spend a fortune and owe a few favors, which was why she worked here now—and still took side jobs to pay off the debt.
Twenty thousand. To Qi Yanxin, that was an astronomical sum. She’d scraped together a lifetime’s savings—barely eight thousand—and had already handed it all over to Doctor Zhuang. There was no way she could come up with twenty thousand more.
“If you don’t have the cash, attribute cores can be used as payment too,” Doctor Zhuang added. “Though honestly, I’d rather take the money.”
Of course—scavengers like them could hardly dream of getting their hands on an attribute core.
Xu Zhi, who had been listening quietly, fluttered her lashes. Attribute cores—that term stirred a deep sense of familiarity. She’d once had many of them. Now, not a single one remained.
At the moment, she was nothing but a penniless freeloader living off a kind stranger.
No. She had to get better fast—earn her own money—and stop leeching off others!
…Not that it was exactly up to her body to decide how fast she’d recover.
“Alright, Xiao Zhi, stay here for a bit. I’m going to buy some things,” Qi Yanxin said.
Ever since Ye Ran had started calling her “Sister Xiao Zhi,” and Xu Zhi hadn’t objected, Qi Yanxin had adopted the nickname too.
Doctor Zhuang’s clinic wasn’t in the slums proper, but not far from them—technically still within the industrial zone, just in a slightly better district. To Xu Zhi, it felt like one of those small, outdated federal towns.
While Qi Yanxin was gone, Doctor Zhuang busied himself measuring out the medications—there were simply too many. When he finished, he took out a tiny glass vial and dropped a single pink pill inside—the same kind he’d given her earlier.
“This one’s for emergencies. Take it if things get critical—it’ll keep you alive.”
It wasn’t generosity. He just couldn’t afford to lose such a perfect research specimen before he’d learned anything.
He already had several experimental treatment plans spinning in his head.
“This stuff’s not easy to get. I can only give you one, so don’t pop it at the first sign of trouble,” he warned.
“Doctor, what is that exactly?” Xu Zhi asked, squinting at the blurry glass vial.
“This?” He gave it a little shake. “Something the Celestial Heart Society cooked up. You could call it… a prototype?”
“The Celestial Heart Society?” Xu Zhi’s expression turned puzzled.
“Oh, right—you don’t remember.” Doctor Zhuang smacked his forehead.
“Doesn’t matter. It’s not something people like us need to worry about anyway.”
His tone was dismissive, clearly not wanting to elaborate.
But that only made Xu Zhi more curious—why did he have something from the Celestial Heart Society?
From the name alone, it sounded like something powerful—completely out of place in a slum doctor’s hands.
