Guo Lan

Crunching gravel snapped Huo Xuan's eyes open. His fingers locked around the rusted rebar fragment, eyes glinting like honed steel—anticipating the killer's return.

Delicate hands parted the foliage. A young woman emerged with soundless steps—early twenties, moon-pale complexion accentuating her oval face. Her white tracksuit clung to willowy curves, generous bust straining the zippered fabric.

The mud-caked figure made her stiffen in alarm. An instinctive half-step retreat betrayed her wariness—sane people didn't linger in urban greenbelts at dawn.

"I fell and got hurt." Huo Xuan's disarming smile revealed even teeth. "Is there a hospital nearby?"

Her gaze swept his soiled clothes. "No hospitals nearby. Where are you injured?"

"Manhole cover was stolen." He raised his lacerated palm—ragged wound still oozing plasma. "Took an unexpected swim."

"Ah, the construction site thefts." Her nose wrinkled in distaste. "Those thieves have no regard for public safety!"

Thieves with civic conscience wouldn't be thieves, he nearly quipped, charmed by her naivete.

"No taxi will take you reeking like this." She bit her lower lip. "Come to my place to clean up first."

Fortune's favor left him momentarily speechless. "I'm imposing terribly," he managed.

"It's five minutes' walk." Already turning, her ponytail swayed like a metronome.

Dawn's first rays gilded their path. She was Guo Lan, a Heyuan University graduate student whose morning jogging route explained her timely appearance.

Huo Xuan lingered two paces back, the reek of sewage wafting from his clothes. Guo Lan glanced over her shoulder, amusement crinkling her eyes.

Guo Lan's residence stood mere blocks away. Crossing two arterial roads brought them before a monolithic academic complex, its entrance emblazoned with "Heyuan University" in crimson calligraphy. Huo Xuan instantly recognized the campus layout. "You live in the faculty housing zone?" he blurted in surprise.

Heyuan University stood among China's elite institutions—a first-tier university rivaling Jiangzhou University in academic prestige, its select disciplines topping national rankings.

"My father chairs the Archaeology Department," Guo Lan said with pride. "I graduated from the same program last year."

"Your Archaeology Department's meteoric rise is legendary," Huo Xuan remarked. "Matching Peking and Jinling Universities in a decade—astounding."

"Father poached top scholars nationwide to build it," she admitted, chin lifting.

Academic headhunting explains their rapid ascent, Huo Xuan mused.

Crossing the campus threshold, he inhaled the musk of intellectual ambition—generations of scholars shaped here now shaping the world.

Is my X-ray vision amplifying this aura? He closed his eyes, letting the scholastic energy permeate his senses.

The atmosphere thrummed with youthful audacity—the fearless vigor of fledgling scholars and unyielding ambition to conquer academic frontiers.

"This campus breathes with a distinct academic soul—no wonder Heyuan tops the rankings." Huo Xuan's inner monologue crystallized. "But what intellectual currents pulse through Jiangzhou University? When this chaos settles, I'll walk its libraries to taste that scholarly air."

As they walked and talked, Huo Xuan—covered in filth—attracted many curious glances. But those looks soon shifted to Guo Lan's striking beauty instead. He couldn't help thinking: This is like "casting a brick to attract jade".

The faculty housing compound revealed a over 100-square-meter courtyard. A two-story cottage with red bricks and emerald roof tiles stood defiantly amidst concrete high-rises.

The waist-high ornamental gate swung open. "Dad, I'm home!" Guo Lan's voice carried across pebbled pathways.

A gaunt man in his late fifties emerged—steel-rimmed bifocals perched on his nose, faded indigo undershirt tucked into a flour-dusted apron.

"Who's this mud sprite you've dragged in?" The professor squinted at Huo Xuan.

Guo Lan's concise explanation earned a grunt. "Mind the stew then. I'll handle the sanitation project."

The spacious bathroom featured an integrated shower area. Huo Xuan swiftly stripped off his soiled clothes and scrubbed vigorously. His fingers probed the lower back wound—now reduced to a faint ridge under healing skin.

Guo Shuwen entered with folded garments. "Underwear's new from campus store," he said, "the jacket's Guo Lan's brother's hand-me-down. Hope you don't mind."

"Professor Guo, your kindness overwhelms me," Huo Xuan said earnestly.

"No need for formalities. Dress and join us for dinner." The professor exited with a wave.

Freshly clothed, Huo Xuan entered the living room to find Guo Lan setting the table. "You must be starving," she smiled, gesturing to a steaming bowl.

"I couldn't impose—" he began awkwardly.

"The portion's already cooked," she countered, sliding chopsticks his way.

Resigned, he settled at the lacquered dining table. Gradually his stiffness melted into easy banter with the father-daughter pair.

Mid-bite, Guo Shuwen froze—knuckles whitening on his chopsticks. Guo Lan rushed to his side. "Lumbar flare-up again?"

A stiff nod. Five excruciating minutes passed before his muscles unclenched, sweat drenching his brow.

X-ray vision revealed the source: misaligned lumbar vertebrae compressing spinal nerves—old trauma calcified over decades.

"Chronic injury?" Huo Xuan ventured as the professor regained composure.

Professor Guo waved a hand with a pained smile. "Old injury from my sent-down youth days in the 70s—took a bad tumble down a mountainside. Forty-plus years now, and this damn pain still flares up every few days."

Each word came punctuated by hissed inhalations—pain lingering like smoldering embers.

"May I attempt therapeutic massage?" Huo Xuan offered. "Perhaps alleviate the discomfort?"

"Tuina specialists have helped before," the professor managed a pained smile. "By all means, young Huo."

Huo Xuan guided Professor Guo to lie flat on the sofa. Precise pressure applied to the lumbar region—guided by X-ray vision—elicited a momentary wince before the pain dissolved.

Millimeter-perfect adjustments realigned the vertebrae, decompressing pinched nerves with clinical precision.

"Xiao Huo!" The professor gasped. "The agony's gone—just like that?"

"Not done yet." Golden light lanced from Huo Xuan's left eye, searing into damaged tissue.

Decades-old scar tissue drank in the radiance. A contented sigh escaped the old scholar's lips—his first pain-free breath since the Cultural Revolution.

Three pulsating waves later, Huo Xuan withdrew. Neural pathways glowed with reinforced vitality—a temporary reprieve, not a cure.

Gratitude for their kindness mingled with visceral revulsion against suffering—dual motives fueling his intervention.

"Modern medicine failed where your fingers triumphed!" The professor marveled, rotating his torso experimentally. "Specialists warned against spinal manipulation—yet your touch brought instant relief."

"This is child's play compared to my master's skills," Huo Xuan chuckled. "Bring him here, and your ailment will vanish like morning dew."

Guo Lan's teacup clattered against its saucer. "You mean...permanent recovery?"

A single confident nod.

"Buddha's karma in action!" The professor boomed. "Your kindness to a stranger returns as medical miracle, Lanlan!"

"Credit goes to the man who taught me compassion," she riposted, eyes sparkling.

Their banter tugged at Huo Xuan's heartstrings. Mom and Dad's chronic pains will be my next conquest, he vowed silently.