TGCFNM -Chapter 110 Sewing the Needle

After lunch.

In the room where Qinglong was temporarily staying, Su He calmly threaded the needle, while Chu Ling unfolded her own silver needles—just in case Qinglong had any complications mid-procedure, she could quickly use the needles to save him.

Wan Sanjin sat on the edge of the bed watching Qinglong. “We’re about to sew you up. Are you scared?”

Qinglong: “……” Of course, who wouldn’t be scared!

“If you’re scared to death, you still can’t move around,” Wan Sanjin warned. “Su He usually sews on corpses. Corpses don’t move, so he’s fast. If you move around, the sewing slows down. And if the stitches have to be removed and started over, you’ll feel the pain all over again.”

Qinglong: “……”

Truly, not a single decent person among these people.

“Ah, right!” Su He suddenly remembered. “I recall in my book there’s a type of medicine that temporarily weakens the limbs and makes a person faint. It’s similar to what you mentioned, sir.”

“What kind of medicine?” Qinglong asked through the pain.

“You originally said we could drug you to make you faint before sewing, so you wouldn’t have to endure it,” Su He explained.

“Then use it on me now!” Qinglong shouted.

Su He shook his head. “No, the ingredients are too expensive. We can’t afford it. You’ll have to endure a little longer.”

Chu Ling nodded heavily. “It’s all your fault—you still owe us fifteen thousand taels, so we can’t buy the medicine.”

Qinglong silently turned to look at Wan Sanjin. Isn’t this the second son of the richest family in Dazhou?

Wan Sanjin covered his face and wept. “I have two children at home. Father trusts my older brother and won’t let me fight for the family inheritance. I’m really too poor… I’ve reached the end of my rope.”

“……”

Qinglong suddenly collapsed, feeling utterly hopeless.

“But my silver needles can make you faint temporarily. I do charge quite a high fee, though. Are you willing to let me perform the procedure?” Chu Ling leaned in, smiling.

“……How much?” Qinglong clung to the last thread of hope.

Chu Ling held up a finger. “Just five thousand taels.”

“I can endure it!” Qinglong gritted his teeth.

Chu Ling stepped back with mock regret, while Su He, holding the threaded catgut, said, “I’ll start sewing now.” He pinched the torn flesh together and began the procedure.

Qinglong couldn’t bear it and let out a muffled groan. Large beads of cold sweat instantly broke out on his forehead, and he fainted outright.

Chu Ling had a sudden idea. “We’ll just say I used the needle to make him faint, so he safely got through the procedure—and he’ll pay us.”

Wan Sanjin nodded. “Understood.”

Seeing that Qinglong wasn’t moving, Su He also breathed a sigh of relief and quickened his sewing.

When Qinglong woke up again, it was already late at night. Only a single candlestick was beside him, casting a warm yellow glow.

Zhang Dong came over and helped him sit up. “Sir Qinglong, the wound has been stitched up. I’ve changed your clothes and reapplied the medicine. There’s a light chicken soup porridge here—you can have some.”

Qinglong thanked him. “Thank you.”

Among these people, there actually was a good person!

Zhang Dong then spoke, “Lord Qinglong, the lord said that he’s the one who stitched the needles for you, helping you endure the pain. So the debt must increase by another five thousand taels. Then there’s your meals at our office, lodging, water, oil lamps, plus the cost of the new clothes made for you. Altogether, that’s one thousand taels. In total, you owe us twenty-one thousand taels of silver.”

Qinglong nearly spat out a mouthful of blood. Were these people bandits or what?

“Please enjoy your meal, Lord Qinglong. I’ll take my leave,” Zhang Dong said, carrying a basin of hot water as he left.

After everyone else left, Qinglong loosened his clothes and glanced at the wound. Indeed, it had been stitched densely and was no longer bleeding—it seemed to have actually worked.

“Knock, knock,” Chu Ling called out. “Zhang Dong said you’re awake.”

Qinglong fastened his clothes. “Awake.”

Chu Ling and Wan Sanjin pushed the door open and stepped in, sitting by Qinglong’s bedside.

Qinglong paid them no mind and sipped his porridge in small, careful sips. “If you want to ask about that man, I can tell you. His name is Bai Zhuoxing. He once gravely injured Prince Rui.”

Chu Ling was taken aback and looked at Bai Su.

Bai Su shook her head; she didn’t know about this.

“Everyone thought he was dead. But he wasn’t—he was hiding in Changzhou. I discovered traces of him, but he should have fled by now,” Qinglong said, pausing mid-spoon to look at Chu Ling. “Prince Rui will continue to hunt him. Don’t worry—he shouldn’t come back anytime soon.”

“Do you know more about Bai Zhuoxing?” Chu Ling asked.

Qinglong nodded. “There are records in the archives. He’s a very skilled physician, with an intimate understanding of human anatomy. Bone scraping for healing, reconnecting meridians, even cranial surgery… his medical skills are astonishing. But he has a penchant for the wicked rather than the righteous, and he’s killed many people.”

“Kills good people, bad people?” Wan Sanjin asked curiously.

Qinglong’s expression darkened, and his voice turned icy. “He doesn’t kill based on good or bad—he kills those who are different.”

“What do you mean?” Chu Ling pressed.

Qinglong gave an example: “For instance, he kills someone like you—slender, with chest ailments—adding another specimen for him. Then he kills me. I train in martial arts, but I suffer from headaches. I become his specimen… regardless of age, gender, or status, if he’s curious, he kills.”

Chu Ling understood. Bai Zhuoxing needed diverse specimens; anyone unique or special would be killed.

Those like the mute girl, who had nothing particularly interesting to study, were simply discarded after death.

Wan Sanjin rubbed his arms, anxiety rising. “A real lunatic.”

“More than that.” Qinglong stared gloomily at the ground. Thinking back to the case files he’d seen made his scalp crawl.

“I once saw a massacre he committed. Suspecting a connection to something, he wiped out an entire family, then on a whim examined their heads to see what made them different. He cut them off to study their skulls…”

A faint sound came from outside the door. Chu Ling’s expression changed instantly, and she stood up in a flash.

Su He pushed the door open and walked straight in. Looking at Qinglong, his voice trembled slightly, almost imperceptibly.

“I’m the one who stitched your wound. Can you tell me… was the family he massacred surnamed Su?”

Qinglong was taken aback, then his eyes widened. “You?”

Su He nodded, eyes red. “Yes, me. I saw the neatly arranged heads. I personally placed each one back. The old mortician helped stitch them before burial.”

Wan Sanjin clearly saw Su He’s hands trembling. He wasn’t as calm as he appeared, and instinctively patted his shoulder silently, offering comfort.

“It was the Su family,” Qinglong said apologetically, “but I cannot tell you why.”

“It’s alright,” Chu Ling said, looking at Qinglong. “Well… it’s not really alright. But in the future, if there’s news of Bai Zhuoxing, please inform us. For any useful information, one thousand taels per tip—deal?”

Qinglong was silent for a moment. “Deal!”