The Emperor’s face was so dark it seemed as though ink could drip from it.
“Deploy the Feiyu Army to fully capture Zhao Zhe’an and Kong Wei. The Tieying Guard shall continue investigating Wuzang Mountain. If the Xuanjia Army is truly found to be in hiding, do not alert them—seal the exits and report immediately. Also continue the pursuit in Huai Prefecture. If manpower is insufficient, requisition forces from the provincial offices and garrison troops.”
That day, the Imperial Study saw people coming and going without pause.
The Imperial Capital had also entered an unprecedented state of lockdown. Every person entering or leaving the city was subjected to strict inspection. Even elderly farmers who entered daily to sell vegetables were questioned repeatedly. Traveling merchants who did not have guarantors were detained for thorough investigation. If no issues were found, they would still be released only after at least ten to fifteen days.
Under such strict control, Ling San and Zero-Si could not enter the capital openly at all—but this did not trouble highly intelligent robots.
In the middle of the night, two figures climbed up an inconspicuous section of the city wall and slipped inside.
Back in the valley, Zhao Jingyuan had been on intravenous drips for three days. He had temporarily been pulled back from the brink of death. Doctor Jian had performed surgery to repair the fracture in his right thigh.
Heavy rain had fallen in the mountains for two days, washing away all traces of the earlier battle at the cave entrance.
Ling Yi and Ling Er had been recalled to the valley before the rain. With robotic surveillance in place, any approach toward the cave entrance would be detected immediately, so Tong Shuxue was not worried about intrusion.
Outside the cave, the rain continued in a steady drizzle for two days.
Inside the cavern hall, the medical capsule blazed as bright as daylight. Zhao Jingyuan lay on the hospital bed. His complexion was much better than a few days earlier, but fatigue still lingered deeply between his brows.
Tong Shuxue sat in a wheelchair, her left leg extended. She held a tablet computer, its screen displaying Zhao Jingyuan’s various physiological data.
Doctor Jian stood by the bed. “Cellular activity has recovered to a level suitable for neural reconnection surgery. However, the nerve compression in the right leg has lasted too long. The success rate is only fifty percent.”
Zhao Jingyuan nodded. His arms could now make slight movements; although his fingers still could not fully grasp, it was already far better than being completely immobile.
“A fifty percent chance is enough. The worst outcome would still be my current state.”
Tong Shuxue raised an eyebrow. She placed the tablet on her lap and rolled her wheelchair closer to the bed.
“I need to make this clear first. Neural reconnection surgery requires an R5 cell activation agent combined with minimally invasive techniques. This drug forcibly stimulates cell regeneration. The process will be extremely painful—not ordinary pain.”
Zhao Jingyuan curled his lips slightly. “It does not matter. I can endure it.”
Doctor Jian nodded. “Even if you cannot endure it, you must. During the surgery, general anesthesia cannot be used, because you must remain conscious to cooperate with neural response confirmation.”
“I will only administer limited local anesthesia. You will remain awake for most of the procedure.”
Zhao Jingyuan’s expression did not change, though his gaze grew deeper.
“This Prince has endured seventeen injuries on the battlefield. The worst was when a spear pierced my chest. The military physician sutured thirty-seven stitches without any anesthetic. Pain is already commonplace to me.”
Tong Shuxue looked at him for a few seconds, then suddenly smiled.
“Good. As long as you are prepared.”
“The surgery requires a completely sterile environment. The medical capsule can provide that. The recovery period will be long—at least one year of rehabilitation. During this year, you will essentially have to relearn how to control your limbs. Every day, you will endure soreness, numbness, and loss of control caused by regenerating muscles and nerves.”
She finished speaking and waited for his response.
The cavern fell silent for a moment, broken only by the pattering rain outside and the distant flow of water from a pool.
“One year?”
Zhao Jingyuan looked at her. “After one year, what level can I recover to?”
Doctor Jian answered in her place. “In an ideal condition, limb function can recover to over eighty percent. However, due to severe tendon atrophy, full recovery to pre-injury condition is unlikely. Still, daily activities—walking, holding a sword—should not be a problem.”
“Hold a sword.”
Zhao Jingyuan repeated the words softly. A faint light flickered in his eyes.
He had not thought of that word for a long time. Since the moment his limbs had been ruined, he had forced himself to forget the days when he rode into battle, sword light like a storm.
But now someone told him he might still be able to hold a sword again.
Zhao Jingyuan raised his head. “That is enough. Begin.”
Tong Shuxue nodded and simply said to Doctor Jian: “Proceed with the surgery.”
Activity began inside the medical capsule.
Nurse An pushed in a surgical instrument cart and began thoroughly disinfecting Zhao Jingyuan’s arms, legs, and feet. Doctor Jian prepared surgical tools and medications at the operating station.
Tong Shuxue wheeled herself into a corner of the medical capsule and watched silently.
This was not her first time observing surgery. In 2050, she had participated in countless biomedical experiments and had witnessed operations far more complex than this.
But at this moment, in this unfamiliar era, watching an ancient prince undergo treatment with future technology, she felt a strange sensation arise within her.
A bone-conduction headset transmitted Ling Yi’s voice. “Major General, a small group of people has been detected five kilometers outside the valley. Approximately ten individuals, moving toward our direction.”
Tong Shuxue frowned slightly. “Can their identity be confirmed?”
“Thermal imaging shows they are human and carrying cold weapons. Their movement speed is slow, not like trained soldiers—more like hunters. Do we intercept?”
She considered briefly. “Monitor them first. If they do not approach within three kilometers of the cave entrance, ignore them. If they continue to advance, use the usual method—simulate wild beast activity to scare them off.”
“Understood.”
The communication ended. Tong Shuxue’s gaze returned to Zhao Jingyuan.
He had already completed preoperative preparation. His arms and lower legs were exposed, skin coated with disinfectant. Doctor Jian was injecting local anesthetic into his arm. The moment the needle entered his skin, his muscles twitched slightly, then quickly relaxed.
“The anesthetic will take fifteen minutes to take effect.”
Doctor Jian said this while picking up a uniquely shaped surgical blade from the instrument tray. Its edge was extremely thin.
“In the meantime, I will first treat the old injuries on your wrists and ankles and remove necrotic tissue.”
Zhao Jingyuan nodded. His eyes rested on the lighting above him. The brightness was intense yet not harsh—a form of illumination he had never seen before.
The surgery began.
The medical capsule was so quiet that only the sound of instruments operating and metal tools clinking could be heard.
Doctor Jian’s movements were fast. The surgical blade cut through the skin, reopening scars that had previously healed in distorted shapes.
Zhao Jingyuan clenched his teeth. Fine beads of sweat formed on his forehead.
The local anesthetic reduced most of the pain, but the sour numbness from nerve contact and the deep, bone-like dull pain were still difficult to endure.
He forced himself to remain conscious, following Doctor Jian’s instructions and attempting to move his fingers slightly.
“Good. The index finger has response.“ Doctor Jian said steadily. “Now try the middle finger.”