The sun had climbed high into the sky by the time Mingzhi and Rou reached the paved trade road leading to the valley floor.

  Three miles back, at the "Third Marker" choke point, Li and Zhou sat concealed in a ditch, swatting at flies. They had been waiting for an hour, eyes glued to the path coming from the woods.

  "My leg is asleep," Li complained, shifting his weight. "Are you sure they didn't get eaten by the wolf? It’s been too long."

  "Shut up," Zhou hissed. "They’re weak. They probably walk slow. Just wait."

  Suddenly, Li stiffened. He pointed down the road, toward the city. "Zhou... look."

  Zhou squinted. Five hundred meters ahead of them, walking calmly toward the city gates, were two figures in grey robes. One carried a staff; the other had a blue sash.

  "That's them," Li whispered, his jaw dropping. "But... how? We’ve been watching the road the whole time. How are they behind us?"

  Zhou scratched his head, dumbfounded. "Did they fly? Did we fall asleep?"

  "You fell asleep!" Li accused.

  "I didn't! Maybe they’re ghosts!"

  While the lackeys bickered in confusion, their ambush completely dismantled by a simple shortcut, Mingzhi and Rou stepped into the blinding radiance of the valley.

  Silver-Leaf City was a assault on the senses. The massive forest of Spirit-Silver Maples shimmered in the afternoon light, casting a metallic glare that made the air feel electrified. The city walls, clad in polished steel, rose like a mirror from the sea of silver leaves.

  They passed through the massive gates, merging with the flow of silk-clad merchants and heavily armored caravan guards.

  "It’s incredible," Rou murmured, looking at the stalls lining the main street. They weren't selling cabbages; they were selling low-grade spirit ores, beast furs, and jewelry that glowed with minor enchantments. "The mortal world is richer than I thought."

  "This is the hub of the silver trade," Mingzhi noted, his eyes scanning the layout. "But wealth attracts trouble. Look at the patrols. They’re tense."

  He led her through the bustling market district toward the center of the city. The noise of haggling faded as they entered the Noble District, where the streets widened and the houses turned into walled estates.

  The Liu Manor dominated the northern block. It was a fortress of black stone and silver filigree, radiating an aura of old money and current desperation. Black banners hung from the eaves—a sign of impending mourning.

  Two guards stood at the heavy iron gate. They wore chest plates of refined steel, and their breathing was rhythmic and heavy. Rogue Cultivators, Level 4.

  They saw the two teenagers approaching in dusty, patched sect robes. The Guard Captain stepped forward, crossing his spear to block the path.

  "Halt," he grunted. His eyes flicked over Mingzhi’s grey tunic with open disdain. "The Liu Manor is not distributing alms today. Go beg at the temple."

  "We are not beggars," Rou said, stepping up and flashing her Azure Cloud Sect token. "We accepted the Urgent Mission. We are here to see the Young Master."

  The Captain laughed. It was a dry, humorless bark.

  "Another pair of 'Genius' disciples?" He looked at his partner. "That makes four this month. Listen, kid. The last 'Expert' from your sect tried to feed the Young Master a fire toad and nearly killed him. The Patriarch is done with children using his son as a test subject."

  He waved his hand dismissively. "Go home before you get hurt."

  Mingzhi didn't move. He looked at the closed gate, then at the guard. He took a deep breath, channeling Qi into his lungs.

  "IS THIS HOW THE LIU FAMILY CONDUCTS BUSINESS?"

  The shout boomed like a thunderclap, echoing off the stone walls and freezing pedestrians on the street.

  "YOU POST A REWARD TO SAVE YOUR SON," Mingzhi roared, his voice dripping with righteous arrogance. "YET YOUR DOGS BLOCK THE DOOR TO THE ONLY PEOPLE WHO CAN SAVE HIM! DO YOU WANT HIM TO DIE, OR ARE YOU JUST INCOMPETENT?"

  The Guard Captain turned purple. "You little—!"

  CREAAAK.

  Before the guard could strike, the heavy iron gates groaned open.

  A man stepped out. Patriarch Liu Yan.

  He was a man of average build, though his silk robes hung loosely on him as if he had lost weight recently. His face was gaunt, his eyes rimmed with dark circles of exhaustion. He didn't look like a greedy merchant; he looked like a father who hadn't slept in weeks.

  "Silence!" Liu Yan barked, his voice raspy but authoritative.

  He glared at the guards. "I told you to admit anyone who claims to be a doctor. We are not in a position to turn away hope, no matter how... unlikely it looks."

  He turned his gaze to Mingzhi. He looked at the patched grey robes, the dust, and the young face. Skepticism warred with desperation in his eyes.

  "You have a loud voice for a boy in rags," Liu Yan said wearily. "But shouting does not cure illness. Why should I let a child near my dying son?"

  Mingzhi didn't answer the Patriarch immediately. He took a step forward, walking straight toward the Guard Captain who was still blocking the path.

  As he brushed past the guard, Mingzhi spoke casually, as if commenting on the weather.

  "By the way, Captain. That stabbing pain in your left shoulder when it rains? It’s not arthritis. It’s a Gallbladder Meridian blockage from that old puncture wound you never treated properly. Clear the metal qi, or you'll be stuck at Level 4 forever."

  The Guard Captain froze. His jaw dropped, and he stared at Mingzhi’s back in utter shock. "How... how did you know that?"

  Patriarch Liu Yan saw his guard's reaction—the genuine, terrified surprise. His eyes snapped back to Mingzhi.

  He diagnosed a hidden injury in a passing glance?

  The skepticism in Liu Yan’s eyes evaporated, replaced by a flicker of intense hope.

  "Wait," Liu Yan said, his tone changing instantly. He stepped aside, gesturing to the open courtyard. "Young Master... please. Come in."

  The Main Hall

  The interior of the manor was warm, but it smelled of sickness—that cloying scent of bitter herbs and burning incense used to mask the odor of decay.

  They were led into the Main Hall. An older man in green robes sat by a table filled with scrolls and dried herbs. He had a long white beard and the haughty air of an established professional.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  "Patriarch," the old man sighed, standing up as they entered. "More children? I told you, the boy needs rest, not interruptions from sect disciples playing hero."

  "This is Physician Mo," Liu Yan introduced curtly. "He has been attending my son for two months."

  Physician Mo looked at Mingzhi and Rou with open disdain. "I suppose you think you can solve in five minutes what I have studied for weeks? Go on then. Tell me your theory. Is it a curse? A poison?"

  Mingzhi ignored the hostility. "Tell me the progression."

  Physician Mo scoffed, but answered. "It began with a fever. High heat. Three days later, the heat inverted. His body temperature dropped. Frost began to form on his skin. We treated it with Fire-attribute Yang Pills to counteract the cold."

  "And?" Mingzhi asked. "Did the temperature rise?"

  "Briefly," Mo admitted, frowning. "But then it dropped lower. It was as if the cold... devoured the heat."

  Mingzhi’s eyes narrowed.

  "Energy absorption," Mingzhi murmured. "You fed it Fire, and the Cold got stronger. That isn't a sickness, Physician Mo. That is a reaction."

  Physician Mo bristled. "A reaction? Are you suggesting my treatment made him worse?"

  "I'm suggesting you were trying to boil a fish to keep it warm," Mingzhi said coldly. "You treated the symptom, not the cause."

  He turned to the Patriarch. "Take me to him."

  Liu Yan looked at the Physician’s outraged face, then at Mingzhi’s certainty. He nodded.

  "This way."

  They walked down a long corridor. As they approached the end, the temperature began to drop. Frost coated the doorframe of the last room. The air was biting, visible puff of white mist appearing with every breath.

  They stopped before the heavy wooden door.

  "He is in there," Liu Yan whispered, his hand trembling as he reached for the handle. "My son."

  Patriarch Liu Yan pushed open the heavy wooden door, and a wave of unnatural cold rushed out, biting at their skin.

  The interior of the Young Master’s bedroom felt less like a living space and more like a crypt. Frost coated the silk curtains, making them stiff and brittle. The windows were sealed shut, but the air was so frigid that the three maids tending the room were shivering violently despite their heavy fur coats.

  In the center of the room lay a massive bed piled high with blankets. Sitting beside it, weeping silently, was a beautiful woman whose face was pale with grief—Madam Liu.

  She looked up as they entered, her eyes red-rimmed. "Husband? Has the physician found a solution?"

  Liu Yan didn't answer. He looked at Mingzhi. "This is my son, Liu Feng."

  Mingzhi stepped forward. He looked at the boy in the bed.

  Liu Feng was fourteen, skeletal and pale. His skin had a terrifying blue tint, and faint crystals of ice clung to his eyelashes. He wasn't just sleeping; he was frozen in a suspended animation, his chest barely rising.

  On the bedside table sat a steaming bowl of dark red medicinal soup. A maid was preparing to spoon it into the boy's mouth.

  Mingzhi moved instantly.

  "Stop," he ordered, his voice sharp.

  The maid froze, the spoon hovering inches from the boy's blue lips.

  Mingzhi leaned over the bowl. He didn't touch it; he waved his hand to waft the scent toward his nose.

  "Spirit," he whispered. "Deconstruct."

  "Ugh. I can smell the ignorance from here. They call this medicine? They are essentially feeding him liquid fire." the Spirit’s voice echoed in his mind, sounding disgusted. "The concoction is a crude 'Yang-Fire Soup'. The ingredients are: Hundred-Year Fire Ginseng, Sulfur Powder, and Spicy Dragon-Root. It is essentially liquid fire designed to raise body temperature through brute force."

  Mingzhi looked at Physician Mo, who had followed them in with a scowl.

  "You are feeding him this?" Mingzhi asked, pointing at the bowl. "Pure Fire Ginseng?"

  "His body is freezing!" Physician Mo snapped, defending his work. "We must counteract the Yin with Yang! It is basic medical theory!"

  "It is basic suicide," Mingzhi corrected coldly.

  He sat on the edge of the bed. He placed three fingers on the boy’s icy wrist.

  "Spirit. Deep Scan. What is eating the heat?"

  A faint distortion rippled across Mingzhi’s left eye. The boy's body became a translucent map of meridians.

  "Locating anomaly..." the Spirit hummed. "There. Anchored to the spinal column, near the Dantian. A foreign organism."

  Mingzhi saw it in his mind's eye. It wasn't a tumor. It was a small, white, grub-like creature curled around the boy's core. It pulsed rhythmically.

  "Identify," Mingzhi commanded.

  "The Frost-Origin Silkworm," the Spirit revealed. "A rare parasitic spirit beast. It feeds exclusively on Yang Qi (Heat). As it digests the heat, it excretes extreme Yin Qi (Cold) as a waste product."

  "So the doctors were feeding it," Mingzhi realized.

  "Precisely. Every bowl of Fire Soup they poured down his throat was a feast for the parasite. It consumed the heat, grew stronger, and released even more cold in return. They were accelerating his death."

  But then, the Spirit paused.

  "Wait. Secondary anomaly detected. Look at the blood flow."

  Mingzhi focused. The boy's blood was moving sluggishly, thick with ice crystals. But underneath the cold... there was a green tint.

  "Neurotoxin," the Spirit analyzed gravely. "A latent poison. It is dormant because the low body temperature has slowed the boy's metabolism to a crawl. If you simply kill the parasite and warm him up... the blood will speed up, the poison will circulate to the heart, and he will die instantly."

  Mingzhi pulled his hand back. The complexity of the trap was terrifying.

  He stood up and turned to the Patriarch.

  "Patriarch Liu," Mingzhi asked, his voice low and serious. "Does the Liu family have enemies? specifically, did your son meet anyone from a rival clan shortly before he fell ill?"

  Liu Yan’s face went pale. Madam Liu gasped, covering her mouth.

  "The... The Zhao Merchant Group," Liu Yan stammered. "Three months ago. Feng attended a banquet at their estate. He came back complaining of a headache, but... surely not?"

  "It was an assassination attempt," Mingzhi stated flatly. "A double-layered trap."

  He pointed to the boy.

  "He is not sick with a cold disease. He has ingested a Frost-Origin Silkworm. It is a parasite that eats heat. Every time your doctors gave him Fire Medicine, they were feeding the beast, making the cold worse."

  Physician Mo turned white. "I... I was feeding it?"

  "But that is not the only thing," Mingzhi continued. "The cold is actually saving his life right now. There is a second, poison in his blood. A fast-acting neurotoxin. The Silkworm's cold has frozen his blood flow, keeping the poison from reaching his heart. If you had succeeded in warming him up, he would be dead."

  Silence descended on the room. The cruelty of the scheme was breathtaking—if the doctors failed, he froze. If they succeeded, he died of poison.

  "Can... can you save him?" Madam Liu wept, grabbing Mingzhi’s sleeve. "Please, Young Immortal."

  "I can," Mingzhi said confidently. "But it is complex. We must proceed in stages."

  He held up two fingers.

  "Stage One: We stop the Fire Soup immediately. I will write a prescription to Isolate the parasite—putting it to sleep so it stops producing cold. Then, we gently raise his temperature just enough to flush out the poison without triggering the heart."

  "Stage Two: Once the poison is gone, we deal with the Silkworm. Here, you have a choice."

  Mingzhi looked at the Patriarch.

  "Option 1: I kill the Silkworm. It is safe. Your son wakes up, but the damage to his foundation means he will likely remain a mortal with a weak constitution for the rest of his life."

  "Option 2:" Mingzhi paused, his eyes gleaming. "The Frost-Origin Silkworm is a treasure of ice. If I help him absorb it instead of killing it... I can use the parasite to rewrite his biology. It would upgrade his mediocre Water Constitution into a 90% Ice Spirit Body. He would wake up not just healed, but as a cultivation genius."

  "However," Mingzhi warned, "Option 2 is painful. If his will fails, the cold will shatter his mind."

  The room was silent.

  "Option 1," Madam Liu sobbed immediately. "I don't care about genius. I just want my son alive."

  Liu Yan hesitated. The merchant in him weighed the risk and reward—a Genius Son could elevate the Liu family to the heavens. But looking at his wife's tears, he slumped.

  "Option 1," Liu Yan whispered. "Save his life. We can worry about cultivation later."

  "Let's cure the poison first," Mingzhi decided. "When he wakes up, we can ask him what he wants."

  He walked to the physician’s table. He didn't sit; he grabbed a brush, dipped it in ink, and began to write standing up.

  "Spirit, dictate the 'Frost-Luring Decoction'."

  Mingzhi’s hand moved with a fluid, rhythmic speed. He didn't pause to think. The characters flowed onto the page—a complex recipe that used Ice-attribute herbs to lure the parasite into a dormant state via elemental resonance, rather than fighting it with Fire.

  Physician Mo leaned over his shoulder, reading the script. His eyes went wide.

  "Using Yin to suppress Yin..." Mo muttered, his hands trembling as he traced the ink. "Midnight Lotus to soothe the parasite... Cold-Iron Dust to weigh down the Qi flow... It creates a localized stasis field. Brilliant. Why didn't I see this?"

  He looked up at Mingzhi, his arrogance replaced by the hunger of a scholar seeing a lost text.

  "I have these ingredients in the storage," Mo said eagerly. "I will prepare the cauldron immediately. I can have the decoction ready in an hour."

  Mingzhi placed the brush down. "No."

  Physician Mo blinked. "No?"

  "This prescription requires precision down to the breath," Mingzhi said, wiping ink from his fingers. "The Midnight Lotus must be added exactly three seconds after the Cold-Iron Dust liquefies. If you miss the window by a single heartbeat, the chemical bond fails, and the parasite wakes up angry."

  Mingzhi turned to Patriarch Liu.

  "I do not trust anyone else's hands with this," Mingzhi stated calmly. "Bring the ingredients here. I will refine the medicine myself."

  Physician Mo opened his mouth to protest—a boy using his cauldron?—but he looked at the recipe again. It was perfect. It was beyond him. He closed his mouth and bowed his head.

  "I will fetch the herbs," Mo said respectfully.

  Mingzhi nodded. He rolled up his wide grey sleeves, revealing his forearms. He looked at the frozen boy on the bed, then at the empty table where he would perform the work.

  He took a deep breath, shifting his mindset from 'Doctor' to 'Alchemist.'

  "Rou," Mingzhi said softly. "Stand guard. Don't let anyone disturb me."

  Rou drew her sword, her eyes serious. "On it."

  Mingzhi stood in the center of the room, waiting for the materials. The diagnosis was done. Now, it was time to perform.