The morning mountain mist had not yet fully dispersed when the sound of sharp tools shaving wood echoed through the courtyard.
Su Jinxiu pushed open the door, holding a bowl of freshly washed millet. At a glance, she saw Huo Chen sitting on a low stool under the eaves, flipping a dark green military knife between his fingers as if it were alive.
At his feet lay a thick layer of wood shavings, and the sturdy oak log beside him had already been shaped.
It was a crutch.
The armpit support had been carefully rounded and smoothed. He had even found two pieces of worn leather from somewhere and wrapped them around it to prevent abrasion. The grip had anti-slip carvings, uniform in depth—meticulous work that looked like it came from a master craftsman of twenty years.
“Wheelchair not comfortable?” Su Jinxiu walked over, poured the millet into a clay pot, added water, and squatted by the stove to light a fire.
Huo Chen did not stop working. With a light flick of the blade, he shaved off the last splinter.
“Too slow. In emergencies, a wheelchair is a coffin.”
He had tested it. Fine on flat ground, but in forests or uneven terrain, it became a burden.
He sheathed the knife with a satisfying click.
Using the newly made crutches, he pushed himself up.
His right leg still could not bear weight, but his arm strength was terrifying. With the two wooden supports, he stood firmly in the courtyard.
His black coarse robe was slightly short, revealing a bandaged ankle, but it did nothing to diminish his imposing presence.
Su Jinxiu watched him, amused. This tyrant was very determined to recover his mobility.
“Fine, suit yourself,” she said, adding firewood to the stove. “Just don’t break the bones again or you’ll waste my medicine.”
Breakfast was millet porridge with pickled vegetables, plus leftover pork liver from last night.
Huo Chen ate quickly, but without rudeness.
After finishing, he leaned on his crutches and walked to the courtyard gate, scanning the seemingly chaotic bamboo spike formation outside. Then he bent down and adjusted a few angles.
At that moment, a muffled groaning came from outside.
“Lady Su… Lady Su, are you here?”
The voice was slurred, as if something hot was stuck in his mouth.
Su Jinxiu raised an eyebrow.
Business already?
She brushed her hands and signaled Huo Chen not to move, then went to open the gate.
At the entrance stood an old man in his fifties wearing a decent gray robe. However, his face was swollen like a steamed bun. The left side of his face was badly puffed up, and he held his cheek in pain, gasping continuously.
It was the village headman, Old Zhao.
“Well, well, Uncle Zhao. Who made you so angry your face swelled up like that?” Su Jinxiu leaned on the doorframe, pretending ignorance.
Old Zhao was in so much pain he could barely speak, stamping his feet.
“Don’t… don’t joke… Toothache! It’s killing me! Old Zhang the butcher said you have divine skills—hurry… hurry and help me. I haven’t slept all night. My head feels like it’s about to explode!”
Toothache is not a disease—but when it strikes, it feels worse than death.
In this era without dentistry, people usually endured it, rinsed with pepper water, or in extreme cases, pulled the tooth out directly.
This was clearly acute pulpitis with facial infection. The pain was indeed hellish.
Su Jinxiu didn’t let him in immediately. Instead, she examined him from head to toe.
Silk-soled shoes, a silver ring on his hand—he could afford treatment.
“Uncle Zhao, I can treat this. But my medicine is a secret family formula imported from the Western Regions…”
“Money! I’ll pay!” Old Zhao hurriedly pulled out a string of copper coins—at least fifty or sixty wen. “As long as you stop the pain, this means nothing!”
“Deal.”
Su Jinxiu instantly switched into “benevolent physician mode” and ushered him inside.
“Husband, bring a chair. Let Uncle Zhao sit here—good lighting.”
Huo Chen, leaning on his crutches, carried a bamboo chair to the center of the courtyard.
Old Zhao was too busy suffering to notice the “dangerous cripple.” He sat down immediately and opened his mouth wide, waiting for salvation.
Su Jinxiu stood in front of him and examined the tooth under sunlight.
The lower left second molar was completely decayed, a large cavity exposed, gums swollen and full of pus.
“It’s rotten to the root. Must be extracted,” she concluded. “There’s infection too—we need to drain and treat it first. Uncle Zhao, this tooth can’t be saved.”
“Pull it! Just pull it!” Old Zhao only wanted the pain gone.
Su Jinxiu turned around, pretending to reach into her sleeve while her consciousness sank into the medical space.
【Patient detected: acute pulpitis.
Treatment: lidocaine injection (local anesthesia), disposable forceps, metronidazole tablets.
Cost: 30 merit points.】
A bit painful in cost—but worth it for reputation and follow-up income.
A thin syringe and a gleaming metal forceps appeared in her hand.
“Open your mouth. Don’t move. It’ll hurt a little—but bear it.”
Before Old Zhao could react, lidocaine was injected precisely into his gum root.
He was about to cry out—but the sharp pain instantly turned into a numb, wooden sensation.
Su Jinxiu didn’t give Village Head Zhao time to react. Lidocaine was precisely injected into the gum root. Just as Zhao was about to cry out, the sharp pain was instantly replaced by a numb sensation.
In the span of half a cup of tea, the anesthesia took effect.
Su Jinxiu picked up the forceps—steady, accurate, and decisive. The beak of the tool clamped onto the crown of the tooth, and with a subtle twist of her wrist, there was only a faint “click.”
The rotten tooth that had tormented Village Head Zhao for half a month, carrying traces of blood and pus, was pulled out completely.
“All done,” Su Jinxiu said, tossing the tooth into a broken bowl beside her and stuffing a cotton ball into Zhao’s mouth. “Bite on this. Don’t spit, don’t lick for half an hour. Take these two white pills—one in the morning, one at night. They reduce swelling.”
Village Head Zhao froze.
He cautiously moved his cheek. No pain? Really no pain?
He looked at Su Jinxiu in disbelief, then at the blackened rotten tooth in the bowl. Normally, the village doctor would have tied a patient to a bench and hammered the tooth out with a mallet!
Yet Su Jinxiu had just fiddled around in his mouth a bit—and it was done?
“Incredible! Truly incredible!” Zhao stood up excitedly and gave her a thumbs-up despite his slurred speech. “Butcher Zhang didn’t lie to me! Lady Su, your skills are good enough to open a clinic in town!”
Su Jinxiu smiled sweetly and pocketed the copper coins.
“You flatter me, Uncle Zhao. Just earning a living. By the way, since you’re the village head—if there’s any barren land in the village that can be cultivated…”
“Easy! Easy!” Zhao, in high spirits after the pain relief, waved his hand. “That hillside in the west of the village was never farmed anyway. If you want to grow herbs or vegetables, just go ahead. I’ll report it to the county and exempt you from rent for three years!”
Su Jinxiu’s eyes lit up.
This was an unexpected windfall. If she could grow medicinal herbs from her space, it would become a long-term source of income.
After sending off the grateful Village Head Zhao, Su Jinxiu weighed the copper coins in her hand, clearly in a good mood.
When she turned around, she saw Huo Chen standing by the tooth-extraction forceps, studying the finely crafted steel instrument thoughtfully.
“This was also picked up?” he asked, pointing at the instrument with no visible forging marks.
Su Jinxiu didn’t even blink.
“Yeah. Picked it up with that knife. That fleeing former dynasty general might have been… a dentist?”
Huo Chen: “……”
He looked at this woman who spoke nonsense without hesitation, his gaze deepening with suspicion. A former dynasty general going to war carrying tooth-pulling tools? She wasn’t even trying to make her lies believable.
But he didn’t expose her.
After all, that painless tooth extraction had indeed helped them firmly establish a foothold in this exclusionary village.
“Keep it,” Huo Chen said as he leaned on his crutch and walked back. His voice carried a hint of subtle indulgence. “Since it belonged to a general, there should be other useful things. Next time you find anything, show me first.”
Su Jinxiu stuck out her tongue at his back. This tyrant’s appetite was getting bigger and bigger.
PS: Huo Chen’s suspicion level +1 again! Everyone, help Jinxiu come up with an excuse—how should she explain a stethoscope next time? Urgent, waiting online!