The return of the Kirin Heir

Healing Hands

The boy was dying.

His name was Ren Yi, son of Elder Ren Guo, the village’s chief mediator and the only man in Qing Village who once spoke kindly of Jin Longwei. Tonight, however, even Ren Guo stood silent as hopelessness spread like rot through the room.

Ren Yi’s mother, Mistress Lian, knelt beside the straw mat, clutching her son's small hand. “Please,” she sobbed, “don’t take him too…”

The boy’s tiny body convulsed with fever. His skin had turned a dull, ashen hue. Purple-black veins pulsed visibly beneath the surface, racing up his neck and into his jawline like a spiderweb of poison. His breathing came in short, shallow gasps.

Three local healers hovered nearby, all useless in their nervous shuffling. Healer Chao, the eldest, shook his head grimly and muttered, “The boy’s soul is being drawn from his body. This is no ordinary sickness—it is a punishment from Heaven.”

“Or a curse,” said Healer Ma Lan, a wiry woman with ink-stained hands. “Perhaps someone offended the spirits in the east grove.”

The third, Healer Ping, simply stared at the child with a helpless look in his eyes. “We’ve tried everything—bitterroot poultice, ice compresses, acupressure—nothing works.”

Jin Longwei stood unnoticed in the doorway for several moments, the clamor washing over him like wind through bamboo. The moment he stepped inside, the atmosphere shifted.

Chao squinted at him and curled his lip. “What’s this? The cripple thinks he can heal now?”

Ma Lan added sharply, “Don’t touch the boy. We won’t have you defile him with false hope.”

Jin ignored them. His focus was on the child.

He knelt beside Ren Yi and placed his fingers gently against the boy’s wrist. The heat radiating from the skin was blistering, unnatural. Jin narrowed his eyes, reaching inward with his spiritual sense.

He found it immediately.

A sickly residue clung to the boy’s qi channels—chaotic, pulsing, eating away at the vitality within. It was foreign. Aggressive. And unmistakable.

> “He’s been poisoned by Heavenfire Residue,” Jin said evenly, his voice calm but firm. “It comes from the roots of a lightning-struck wisteria tree. The essence is invisible, but it clings to the spirit channels and feeds off life force.”

The room fell silent.

Ma Lan blinked. “That’s just a myth.”

“No,” Mistress Lian whispered suddenly. “Last week—Ren Yi brought back blackened branches from the grove. I burned them… I didn’t think…”

Jin nodded. “That’s the source.”

Ren Guo stepped forward, his face tight with pain. “Can it be treated?”

“Yes.” Jin adjusted his seated posture and pressed six precise pressure points across the boy’s chest and forehead. Ren Yi’s body spasmed briefly—but Jin remained calm.

The Kirin Flame stirred faintly inside his chest. Jin summoned a thread of divine qi, golden and hot, and allowed it to flow into his palm.

He laid his hand against Ren Yi’s heart.

A soft glow emerged—dim at first, then gradually steady. The flame purged the invading residue gently, dissolving it without harming the boy’s fragile meridians.

Moments passed.

The boy let out a shuddering breath—and his limbs relaxed.

His color returned. The veins faded. The fever broke.

Mistress Lian gasped. “Yi’er?”

The boy groaned softly. “Mama… thirsty…”

She broke into sobs, cradling him tightly.

Healer Chao stepped closer, checking Ren Yi’s pulse. “It’s steady… how?”

Ren Guo approached Jin slowly, awe mingling with suspicion. “That wasn’t village medicine. What technique did you use?”

Jin rose to his feet, sweat beading on his brow. “A method lost to time.”

Ma Lan stared at him. “Who are you really?”

He looked her straight in the eyes. “Never mind who I am"

He turned toward Ren Guo. “The boy will recover. Give him millet soup with fennel seeds for three days. Keep him away from the grove. And next time—listen to your wife.”

Then he stepped into the cold air outside.

Behind him, the quiet house erupted into whispers and reverent murmurs.

For the first time in over a decade, the villagers were saying his name with something other than pity.

> Jin Longwei.

The cripple had healed a soul-poison.

And the world had just begun to remember who he truly was.