Image 102: Free Clinic

Wang City itself was the most bustling city in the Danxia Painting World. Now, with the finest painters from across the entire realm gathered here, the city had become even livelier. Flying beasts darted through the sky like weaving threads, and on the ground, carriages and people flowed endlessly like a river. Every so often, there was an open-air gestation pool, and nearby plazas often saw impromptu painting duels sparked by youthful pride, producing spectacular scenes that drew cheers from gathered onlookers. The renowned shops selling painting supplies were packed to the brim, and judging by the customers’ lavish spending, it seemed they all possessed the ability to effortlessly condense spiritual crystals, just like Sansang.

Dean Qinghe exhaled deeply, rubbing his aching waist, and looked at Sansang, whose face was flushed and energy seemingly inexhaustible, without a drop of sweat. He sighed, “Ah, getting old means you just can’t compete with the young.”

Sansang packed away the high-grade pigments she had hastily acquired and glanced across the way. “You should rest. I’ll go check out that clinic—seems like the Danxia Painting Institute is providing free consultations for the contestants.”

Dean Qinghe genuinely felt worn out and waved his hand. “Be careful. Remember to call out your elusive martial arts bodyguard. Wang City may have everything, but it’s also full of troublemakers.”

Sansang neither agreed nor disagreed. In this world, aside from the Danxia Sovereign, no one could harm her. With Kane by her side, as long as she didn’t act too recklessly, the Danxia Sovereign wouldn’t target her—especially since she was actively learning the art of resurrection.

“Dean, the main painter competitions are scheduled last on the itinerary. I won’t watch the early apprentice contests and will join directly when it’s time. If I don’t come back, don’t bother looking for me. I need to practice healing and resurrection—I’m not confident yet.”

“Wait…” Dean Qinghe’s voice trailed off as Sansang slipped like a fish into the crowd, vanishing from sight. He reluctantly withdrew his reaching hand and muttered, “Just check the clinic. The patients there are mostly commoners. If you want to practice, you should go to the Painting Institute’s Lifesaving Hall.”

Perhaps because the consultations were free, many injured and sick people crowded the clinic. Staff were busy maintaining order, calling out, and handing out numbered tickets. Sansang presented her contestant card at the entrance; a clerk glanced at it and let her in without hesitation. After a while, the clerk suddenly realized something, turned to call after her, but Sansang had already disappeared. Scratching his head, he looked perplexed.

A colleague nudged him. “What’s wrong?”

“That kid just now,” the clerk lowered his voice. “I thought she was an apprentice and didn’t look closely before letting her in. But now that I think about it, her contestant card had a Master Painter’s emblem.”

“No way—a Master Painter so young?”

“Exactly. Either I misread it or the card’s a fake. Master Painters wouldn’t come here for free consultations; they only go to the Lifesaving Hall.”

“Stop speculating. Look at her elegant clothes and noble aura. She’s probably just curious and came to take a look.”

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Inside, the clinic was a spacious hall with ten or so small rooms partitioned off for painters to work. Patients queued up in the main hall. Few noble painters came for free consultations; most were apprentices. There were only two painters inside, no Masters.

One female painter sat at a table examining patients with spiritual energy, but she didn’t treat them directly. Instead, an assistant took notes on symptoms and treatment plans, then patients were sent to retrieve medicine or queue with another painter.

The pharmacy area housed several machines resembling juicers. Staff placed herbs and fruit into the machines to extract juice, which patients consumed along with the pulp—a simple and crude method.

Sansang picked up a completed treatment book and leafed through it, noting it listed only medicine names, not detailed prescriptions. There were just a few types: spiritual energy balancing, blood replenishment, accelerated healing, and limb regeneration. Requests like soul damage repair or resurrection were outright refused. The first three treatments involved taking medicines, while limb regeneration required seeing another painter.

The female painter, after finishing with a patient, took a sip of water and saw Sansang flipping through the book. She snapped, “Don’t cause trouble.”

Sansang looked up. “I’m here for the free consultation.”

“You?” The painter regarded her skeptically. Just then, another patient arrived, and she waved a hand. “Jia’an, arrange a room for this young lady.”

“Alright.” Jia’an didn’t personally guide Sansang but called a staff member to show her to a vacant room. Inside was a small gestation pool about one meter square, complete with painting tools, pigments, a comprehensive herbal compendium, and a prescription list. Sansang’s task was to paint the herbs, fruits, and flowers listed on the prescriptions, consulting the compendium if unsure.

Sansang understood she was being treated as an apprentice and didn’t bother to clarify. She curiously examined the compendium, admiring the vivid illustrations and detailed notes.

The prescriptions were as crude as their medicines, each listing only three or four ingredients. Sansang took paper and brush and painted several copies of each item on the lists, soaking them in the gestation pool’s water. During this, a staff member came in to bring her water and took away the accumulated herbs and fruits to the pharmacy.

Soon enough, a commotion broke out outside and only subsided after a while.

The female painter and her assistant Jia’an knocked and entered Sansang’s room, shocked to see the piles of materials inside.

Sansang looked up. “Is something wrong?”

The female painter took a deep breath. “The spiritual energy in your creations is far too strong—not something an apprentice could produce.”

Sansang dipped her brush in the water to clean it. “I never said I’m an apprentice.”

The painter’s expression turned awkward. “I judged you by your appearance. I’m sorry.”

Sansang smiled. “I find painting these quite interesting, but doing too many gets dull. It’s so busy outside—you should go. Some severe patients can be sent to me, especially those with rare illnesses. I want to practice before the competition, you understand.”

The painter smiled and nodded. “Understood. Then you focus on your work. Jia’an, please help the young lady tidy up the room.”

Jia’an respectfully cleared out all the piled herbs and fruits, arranged chairs, beds, and stools for patients, then bowed and withdrew.

“Miss, that painter may be young, but she’s incredible. The herbal spiritual energy she wields is so potent, just smelling it makes me feel like flying. Today’s patients are truly lucky.”

“Now you see there’s always someone better,” the painter said, taking a breather and instructing her assistant. “I’m considered mediocre in this circle. She’s nothing special. Nobles with money, resources, and connections can just stack up power like that. The real freaks are the dual-headed Master Painters from Red Leaf City.”

“The thirteen-year-old Heavenly-level one?” The assistant shivered, shaking her head in disbelief. “Unimaginable.”

“Alright. This patient’s spiritual energy imbalance is severe, with extensive internal organ degeneration. Send them to the new painter,” the female painter decided. Originally planning to dismiss patients she couldn’t treat confidently, she changed her mind and ordered them sent to Sansang instead. The same arrangement was made for future severe cases.

ps: Please remember to cast your votes, sisters! (To be continued.)