I Opened a Clinic in the Jianghu

Deep in a long alley, Su Ye opened a small clinic.

Fu Hongxue, Ximen Chuixue, Ye Kai, A Qing, and many other people of the martial world, each with a story of their own, came and went.

They came for consultations and medicine, and to share a steaming bowl of wontons. Life followed the twenty-four solar terms, with osmanthus blossoms drifting over the stone steps and the days passing in simple, everyday warmth.

But beneath the peace, undercurrents quietly began to stir.

Strange illnesses arose throughout the martial world. People long dead inexplicably returned, and one inexplicable occurrence followed another.

Some shackles had endured for thousands of years.

The deep-rooted afflictions that blades could not cut away would be left to medicine and a compassionate heart.

As the calamity of fate drew near, how would the doctor who kept watch over this clinic face the secrets buried deep within the world?

This is a story about healing. Not the healing of wounds from blades and swords, but the healing of the old wounds in every heart that refuse to close.