Facing an Ancient God for a Year

Chapter 1294: Chapter 1292: The Healer’s Scars

“…Your gift, I will forever keep it in mind.”

Fu Qian’s display of optimistic medical spirit once again clearly left an immense impact on the previous examination staff.

The previously maintained air of pretense crumbled in an instant. Orintel’s two expressions clashed, and his voice now carried a tone of gritted teeth.

“No need for thanks. Scars are a man’s badge of honor. You’ve grown because of it; I’m equally gratified.”

Fu Qian sighed and waved his hand, signaling that there was no need to fret over it excessively.

“My handiwork isn’t bad, is it? Didn’t even cause the cornea a single scratch.”

The next moment, he even scanned his own creation up and down, letting out an admiring comment.

This was no empty boast.

That Ice Affection Fist blow, though executed on a whim, demonstrated masterful control of strength, precision in angle, and spotless debridement—absolutely surgery at its zenith.

As for how it affected the patient’s appearance, Fu Qian had never considered it an issue compared to the methods of the Celestial Sphere Sect.

As previously mentioned, the focus always lay in the essence of the Dimensional Poison.

The most ordinary outcome imagined before arrival was no more than Orintel regaining his half-missing face post-treatment, albeit bearing a perpetual blood-oozing scar.

Yet at this moment, the reality was entirely reversed.

The damaged tissue hadn’t been repaired a single bit, while the traces of Dimensional Poison were entirely erased.

Unexpected, but entirely easy to comprehend—the Dimensional Poison healed, with Orintel intentionally requesting his disfigured appearance remain intact.

As for the reason, it was as clear as day—emotional wounds are common enough to carry people to extremes, and what’s a mere scar in comparison?

Especially within this tangled relationship, Orintel’s status inarguably overshadowed others.

As someone blessed by the Stars Association, likely even holding notable rank within the church itself, to stoop so low and obsess over an ordinary mortal woman, only to end up being treated as a mere tool—it resonated pure irony.

His expression when hearing the word “pregnancy” back then betrayed his complete lack of anticipation about the possibility of fatherhood; chances were his relationship with the tutor hadn’t moved past a courteous and restrained phase.

And yet she was pregnant—not from him, whom she desperately desired—but via someone else enlisted for revenge as a tool.

The stark contrast of this revelation shattered more than just his views on love.

His worldview and self-respect spiraled into chaotic ruin in that instant.

Retaining scars as a means to channel murderous intent along the righteous path was by no means an unusual action.

This was why Fu Qian calmly accepted Orintel’s gratitude; after all, facts were facts—he *had* indeed helped the man grow.

Yet the unfortunate truth was that the gratitude did not seem genuine.

Ha ha…

Truly stroking his own eyeball, Orintel let out a peculiar cold laugh, which bore the undertone of an unresolved Heart Demon.

Stretching his hand to seize the nearby lantern, the next moment he finally rose, each step closer until he was illuminated by the swaying shadows.

“Indeed, even the Sect Saints marveled at this very point during my treatment.”

“I’ll admit, I misjudged you, Mr. Herbert.”

“You are far more terrifying than I could have imagined; that night, in your eyes, I must have appeared as nothing but a clown.”

When he approached near enough, Orintel slowly took a seat, openly turning the ruined side of his face toward Fu Qian without reservation, rendered all the more grotesque in the flickering firelight.

“But do you know, it was precisely this point that assured me you’d come, despite others’ disbelief.”

“You are so arrogantly self-absorbed, gaze upon everything with mockery, disdain others’ opinions, and scorn being understood—as you did that very night.”

“That very night, I healed the patient.”

A resolute declaration, yet laced with the pathos of a lamenting unfortunate woman, was silenced by Fu Qian’s reply.

Actions speak louder than words—the beauty of the medical profession lies in efficacy trumping rhetorical argument.

“…That point I won’t deny, and subsequent checks by the Sect members on Jane demonstrated no abnormalities on her body—she is entirely recovered.”

After a period of silence, Orintel finally spoke, his tone seemingly straightforward and candid for once.

“Moreover, although unspoken, I could still discern her father’s immense gratitude toward you.”

“However… over the past few days, I’ve been pondering a particular question: what was your true reason for appearing there?”

Predictably, his tone swiftly shifted, his finger directed accusingly at Fu Qian’s gaze, and his indictments surged forth uninterrupted.

“Only upon seeing your eyes just now did I finally grasp a certain truth—Bloodline Clan.”

“What a mysterious and elegant moniker. Like others before, I dismissed it as nothing but delusions bred from disordered minds.”

“But once that realization sinks in, paired with your prior actions, clarity suddenly manifests about the former question—the answer is simple: seizing blessings, much like the fabled act of stealing blood.”

“My earlier judgment wasn’t wrong—poor Jane didn’t suffer a malady but bore a side effect from the Stars Association’s gift; and that was your target.”

“Thus, your subsequent strange behavior arose—having arrived first, not only verifying the matter through blood tasting but cleverly exerting influence, leading to my misjudgment.”

“Through repeated manipulation, you finally secured your objective, extracting that blessing from Jane’s body as your own possession, while every one of us still owes you gratitude.”

One has to admit, the reasoning was remarkably fluid, with even glimpses of truth scattered amidst its conclusion.

Listening intently to the accusation, Fu Qian inwardly couldn’t help but offer silent praise.

Exquisite—it *really* was as good as holding the tangible form of stolen blessings in his hands.

Though properly acquired through legitimate efforts, Orintel’s train of thought was undoubtedly capable of serving as a guiding argument for medical disputes.

“Sounds quite convincing. Planning to share this revelation with Mr. Winslow?”

Fu Qian asked casually, grinning softly.

It seemed the name itself jolted Orintel slightly, leaving his composure temporarily stagnant.

Given even the mere mention of Mr. Winslow was unwelcome, any desire for further discussion about sharing this was near non-existent.

But were he to admit so outright, it would undeniably chip away at the imposing nature of his earlier accusations.

“So, are you admitting to it?”

At last, his choice—expectedly stern and evasive of direct answers.

“Not denying. Feel free to relay that information to Mr. Winslow.”

Fu Qian responded smoothly, laughing gleefully.

“That fool… let him wallow in self-deceptive satisfaction.”

Forced back into confrontation, Orintel clenched his teeth while staring at the dim lantern, before finally remarking:

“Honestly, you seem even more like you’re the one indulging in self-deception here.”

Fu Qian, however, did not let the matter slide. Fixing his gaze similarly upon the dancing flames, he offered offhanded commentary.