From a tuberculosis patient to a martial arts master

December of the 41st year of the Longqing reign.

The entire Chicken and Goose Alley was completely silent, filled with three feet of snow.

Inside the cramped side room.

"Cough cough..."

Zhu Hong was wrapped in a stiff black quilt, revealing his flushed cheeks. "I'm afraid this body won't last much longer."

He moved his thin arms and sat up with great difficulty, his eyes showing a weariness beyond his years.

Zhu Hongyuan was not a person of this world.

Just a few days ago, he was a cultural relic restorer, working tirelessly for several nights in a row to tackle a bronze tripod. One day, finally succumbing to exhaustion, he collapsed to the ground and fell into a deep sleep.

Who knew that when I woke up one morning:

He was already an apprentice suffering from tuberculosis at "Zhao's Corpse-Sewing Shop".

Zhu Hong was extremely distressed by this.

The original owner's parents died early, and he was sold to this sinister trade by his heartless uncle for a few taels of silver. He spent his days with his severed limbs and broken body, enduring the bitterness of life. Half a month ago, he unfortunately contracted tuberculosis. Seeing that he was about to die, the shopkeeper made him work even harder, only giving him a little food each day to keep him alive.

"Oh well, I'll just take it one day at a time..."

Zhu Hong wrapped his tattered padded jacket tightly around himself and got off the bed.

In the center of the room were two long, dark red tables covered with white cloth.

The left side was flat, while the right side was raised, with dark brown blood dripping into the bucket.

This is tonight's work.

Before midnight, the corpse must be sewn up completely.

"call……"

Zhu Hong scraped half a bowl of mixed grain porridge from the bottom of the rice jar in the corner and gulped it down. Once his stomach felt a little warm, he walked to the wooden board and lit a stick of atractylodes and soapberry, which were used for exorcising evil spirits.

The smoke rising up finally masked some of the stench of blood.

He then lifted the white cloth.

What came into view was a gruesomely mangled corpse.

To be more precise, it's two pieces.

The deceased had a gaping wound the size of a bowl on his neck, and his head was rolled at his feet.

Zhu Hong recognized the man.

"The Tiger Who Turns the River Upside Down" - Liu Mang, the second master of "Jingu Garden" outside Jinyang City.

A notorious playboy, he is also a martial artist who has achieved minor success in body-building.

He was beheaded by the government three days ago, and his head was hung on the city wall for two days and two nights. Only tonight was he allowed to come and ransom him, and the rule was that he had to have a "complete corpse".

"Such a heavy aura of malevolence."

The moment his fingers touched the flesh, it felt like being pricked by a needle, and all the hairs on his arm stood on end.

The world is not as peaceful as it used to be.

There is martial arts, there are demons...

If a martial artist dies a violent death, his vital energy remains, mixed with resentment and evil spirits, and if an ordinary person is affected by it, they will at least fall seriously ill.

"Old man, you're really ruthless."

Zhu Hong's eyes darkened.

The shopkeeper knew he was physically weak, yet he still assigned him this job, clearly not wanting him to survive.

But right now, he's not in a position to say no.

With a gritted jaw, Zhu Hong swiftly pulled a curved needle and mulberry bark thread from his leather pouch. "Bear with it," he muttered to himself.

"It hurts, but only for a moment." As she finished speaking, she seemed momentarily lost in thought.

In my past life, I repaired ancient paintings; in this life, I'm here to sew a physical body.

Does this count?

Changed professions, but not skills?

"Dust to dust, ashes to ashes, the debts of the past life are repaid today..." Composing himself, Zhu Hong straightened his head with his left hand, aimed at the severed neck cavity, and steadily inserted the three-inch curved needle with his right hand.

Piercing through skin, flesh, and tendons.

"Pfft."

But what happened the moment the needle pierced the flesh:

A chilling sensation, sharp and penetrating, shot up my arm and into my heart.

"Uh! I still underestimated it..." Zhu Hong's pupils shrank, and his heart felt as if it were being squeezed tightly by a large hand.

"Wow--"

A metallic, sweet taste surged in his throat, followed by a mouthful of stagnant blood that he choked out.

His vision went black, his ears were ringing, and Liu Mang's hideous face twisted and magnified before his eyes, as if it were about to come alive and bite him.

A feeling of suffocation gripped me...

I'm so damn unwilling to accept this!

Having been reborn twice, only to be ruined by this very first hurdle?

Zhu Hong bit his tongue, relying on the excruciating pain to maintain his last bit of consciousness. Holding the curved needle in his hand, he instinctively pulled the thread and completed the stitch.

It can be considered a complete success, with a beginning and an end.

……

Just then:

"boom!"

Deep within his mind, however, a resounding bell rang, shaking his shaky consciousness and causing ripples to spread.

"What is this?" Zhu Hong regained consciousness and suddenly felt his eyes stinging. He saw a golden light flashing within them, and endless tadpole-like characters emerged from them.

The Book of the Dead

"The way of Heaven is to take from those who have too much and give to those who have too little."

"The way of man is to mend broken bodies and continue past lives."

Immediately afterwards, more complex images and text appeared, making his heart flutter. His intuition told him:

Golden finger, here it comes!

Name: Zhu Hong

Age: 19

Cultivation Level: None

Today's actions:

[The skill in stitching together the murderer's remains is evident, and is in accordance with legal principles.]

[Award: A spoonful of Qi and Blood.]

[Should it be infused?]

Zhu Hong dared not hesitate and hurriedly said, "Pour it in!"

The moment the thought arose, a warm current arose spontaneously, flowing through his limbs and bones in an instant, finally converging into his already decaying lungs.

Long drought meets rain!

"Cough...cough cough..."

Zhu Hong coughed several times, coughing up a pungent, foul-smelling blood clot.

Immediately afterwards, breathing became smooth again, and the burning pain in my lungs was relieved by more than half.

"Incredible..."

Zhu Hong took a deep breath, and joy spread across his eyes and brows.

The Dead Man's Scripture actually uses the act of mending mutilated corpses to plunder the dissipated primordial essence and nourish himself. Just now, after mending only one section, he gained a year's worth of life essence, pulling him back from the brink of death.

"With such miraculous effects, the more the merrier..."

Zhu Hong composed himself, and when he looked at the corpse again, his eyes were filled with burning desire.

"Flipping Tiger, I'll borrow your crippled body for a while." His eyes narrowed, and his technique suddenly became sharp and precise. The needle flew, piercing through skin and flesh, hooking tendons, and the mulberry bark thread moved like a nimble snake.

……

About half an hour later.

Zhu Hong finished the last stitch and tied a neat knot at the back of her neck.

The body, which had been separated from its head, had now been neatly reattached. The stitches were so fine that they were almost invisible; unless viewed up close, they were virtually undetectable.

call--

Zhu Hong let out a long sigh of relief, wiping the cold sweat from his forehead. "It's finally over."

To mend the mutilated corpse of a martial artist, fulfilling his wish to have a whole body, is a great act of kindness.

[Postscript: A masterpiece of nature.]

[Received: A cup of Qi and Blood]

Detecting the residual martial arts essence on the corpse, one learns the skill: Iron Chain Across the River (Mortal Upper Level).

"boom!!"

An even more powerful surge of heat rushed into his body, this time not only nourishing his lungs and internal organs, but also bringing a piece of martial arts technique into his memory.

Those were scenes of Liu Mang diligently practicing the "Iron Chain Across the River Skill" during his lifetime:

"In the dead of winter, naked, he crashed into a tree."

"Rapid waterfall, navigating against the current on the rocks..."

Year after year, it eventually transformed into a vague sense of energy, forcibly carving out a path for the flow of qi in his body, which had never practiced martial arts.

"The Iron Chain Across the River Technique?"

Zhu Hong clenched his fist, his knuckles cracking, revealing a newfound resilience within his bones.

Although the weakness hadn't completely disappeared, the root cause of the tuberculosis had been suppressed by about 70-80%. More importantly, there was that wisp of energy...

"Warrior?"

In this world, it has always been the case that the poor are scholars and the rich are warriors. The original owner, an ant struggling to survive, would not even dare to dream of such things.

But now:

By merely mending a corpse, they crossed that insurmountable chasm.

What if we sew a hundred or a thousand of them?

"That legendary path to immortality, where one can fly through the sky, escape the earth, and seize stars and the moon..." Zhu Hong's heart surged with emotion, his eyes gleaming brightly.

"Is it not possible?"

Just then:

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

The pounding on the door sounded like drumming, followed by a sharp, piercing voice:

"You tuberculosis wretch! Are you still breathing?"

"If Liu Mang's head isn't stitched up yet, and it delays the affairs of the government, I'll skin you alive."

The man who arrived was Zhao Gui, the shopkeeper's own son.

He usually bullies me the most, and tonight's job was probably instigated by him.

When Zhu Hong raised his eyes, a cold light, like that of an icy pool, appeared on them.

From this moment on...

Zhu Hong, who was barely clinging to life in Chicken and Goose Alley and deserved to die, was now truly dead. He slowly straightened up, walked calmly to the door, and with a "click," pulled open the latch.

The cold wind whipped up snow, lashing down on our faces.

Snowflakes landed on Zhu Hong's eyelashes, melting instantly. "Not dead yet..." His voice was flat, devoid of emotion, as he stared intently at the figure outside the door.

"It's kind of you to think of me like this."