Chapter Twenty-Nine: A Neighbor Skilled in Medicine

Saturday morning.

The coast remained shrouded in mist.

The lighthouse keeper stood by the window, softly chanting an incantation.

“(Word Spirit) Fog, depart.”

The mage repeated the words several times, and the lingering sea fog dissipated completely. The air grew clear and pure, like flowing glass. Sunlight fell upon the reddish-brown tiles of the town’s houses, where last night’s rain still shimmered like tiny pearls.

Lin Bo extinguished the light, took the whale oil storage tank from the generator, and put it away.

The robotic Iron Guard who had kept watch with him silently returned to a corner and stood at attention, like a loyal statue.

After locking the doors and windows, Lin Bo dressed and prepared himself before leaving the lighthouse, heading toward the forest on the outskirts of Stone Tower Town.

Since upgrading his Apothecary Tongue Reading to Level 3, making him immune to a hundred poisons, he had set a daily schedule: every morning, he would go out to gather herbs; at noon, visit the eastern cliff caves and run dungeon maps; then continue cultivating his mushroom garden, returning to the lighthouse only by evening.

His daily agenda was full, yet he did not neglect practicing the True Word Control Technique and Meditation Technique, which he conveniently completed during dungeon runs.

Before tackling the elite monsters on the third floor, he would meditate for three hours to replenish his spirit, thus completing a session of Meditation Technique practice, clear the dungeon, and finish a session of True Word Control.

The dungeon had a hidden time limit that forbade players from lingering indefinitely; otherwise, they would be forced to be judged as dead. Otherwise, Lin Bo would gladly bring food and water to train inside for days on end.

His proficiency in the Black Serpent Meditation Technique was steadily increasing, and an upgrade was not far off.

As for the True Word Control Technique—Flow, due to the lengthy proficiency bar, even with daily practice in battle, it would take roughly three months to level up.

Relying on his youth and freedom, and having little wealth or desire, Lin Bo had the patience for this.

Shortly after he left, townsfolk seeking medical help came to visit the lighthouse.

A fisherman who went out late and returned early arrived, still yawning but forced by his wife to seek treatment.

The fisherman’s expression and body language betrayed no willingness; his brows furrowed, and he tried to back out. When the couple reached the lighthouse, they found the low wooden gate of the courtyard latched and every door and window shut.

The fisherman breathed a sigh of relief. “Ah, the watchman must be asleep by now. Let’s go home; we can deal with the illness later.”

His wife disagreed, tugging at his sleeve and calling out to the watchman, but there was no response.

“Let’s go home,” he insisted.

“Wait a little longer,” she said angrily. “Maybe he’ll be back soon.”

A short while later, new visitors arrived: a father and son. The silver-haired father was pulling along a sturdy, rough young man. From afar, the father praised the watchman as his fellow believer, repeatedly urging the young man to be polite.

“Are you here for medical help, too?” The old sailor smiled at the fishermen couple with a hint of pride. “The day before yesterday, I saw it with my own eyes. Joran’s life was pulled back from Death’s grasp by the watchman. With a red-hot iron needle, three quick strikes drove the illness away.”

The uninformed wife gasped and grew even more eager to wait; the uninformed fisherman’s face turned pale and he anxiously pleaded to return home.

After an hour, the crowd outside the lighthouse grew larger—over twenty people gathered, buzzing with chatter. Long waits bred complaints, yet no one left voluntarily.

“What are you all gathered here for?” Granny Wei approached, basket in hand. “The watchman is out gathering herbs in the forest.”

She smiled warmly.

Not long ago, patrolling guards had seen the watchman heading toward the forest. After a brief conversation, they parted ways. The guards casually shared this tidbit with the women washing clothes near the well.

Granny Wei hurried home, sliced some bread, spread thick butter, boiled two fresh eggs, and put a vegetable stew into a ceramic pot. Carrying the food in a basket, she headed toward the forest.

Her unsteady steps pushed through waist-high bushes until she spotted Lin Bo sitting beneath a fir tree, holding a notebook and sketching a marigold.

“Good morning, Madam Wei,” Lin Bo said, setting down his pen and paper and rising to greet her.

“Watchman, aren’t you going to rest?”

“I sleep little,” Lin Bo replied. He had been substituting sleep with meditation during the night.

“Tell me what you had for breakfast. Bread and fish soup?”

Lin Bo pulled out six salted fish sandwiches wrapped in a napkin from his satchel—his usual daytime meal.

Granny Wei’s lips twitched into a faint smile, pleased with her foresight, then began to chide as she spread out the food from her basket.

“I know how rough the meals of a lone man can be. Don’t disdain an old woman’s cooking. Eat up.”

Lin Bo thought his diet was fine: bread for carbs, salted fish for protein and salt. As for fiber and vitamins, the herbs he took at night more than made up for any deficiency.

They chatted casually, and after Lin Bo finished the last sip of rich broth, Granny Wei left contentedly.

Now, she arrived again with fresh vegetables at the lighthouse, gently persuading the anxious visitors to return in the afternoon.

At dusk, it was a rare dry evening, yet the White Conch Tavern was quieter than usual.

The owner frowned tightly as he eyed the sparse patrons. “Where has everyone gone?”

“I know,” the waitress Jill excitedly shared the news. “Lots of people have gone to see the watchman for treatment.”

“Why are you so happy?” the tavern owner grunted. “You want to go watch the commotion, don’t you?”

Jill pleaded with her eyes.

“Alright, you can go. But after watching, you must come back. Someone might show up to drink.”

“Got it!” she called, disappearing through the door.

Near the lighthouse, many patients and their relatives wandered the open field, with schoolchildren chattering and weaving through the crowd.

Almost every household carried something—tobacco, wine, food as gifts, and cloth or money to pay for treatment.

The damp watchman appeared on the main road, spotting the dense crowd outside the lighthouse from afar.

Becoming a physician was no easy task, and life afterward would be even harder.

He stopped, took a deep breath, and then continued walking toward the lighthouse. The crowd parted to make way, all eyes eagerly fixed on him, holding their gifts higher so the watchman could see.

These people, though not wealthy, displayed their earnest desire for healing like beggar kings or courtesan princesses—composed yet unable to conceal their hardship.

Lin Bo reached the low gate of the courtyard, unlatched it, and smilingly invited everyone inside.

“The lighthouse is too cramped; we’ll do the treatments out here.”

He called a strong sailor to bring out tables and chairs, setting up an open-air clinic.

Except for festival parades, Stone Tower Town had not seen such lively excitement for a long time. Dozens of people surrounded Lin Bo in three concentric circles.

“Please line up, please line up,” Lin Bo waved and shouted. “Patients line up; relatives step back. Can some kind souls help keep order?”

Jill squeezed to the front, now sharp and stern. “Didn’t you hear the doctor? Hey, those not here for treatment, please step outside; those here to be treated, line up!”

Lin Bo asked patients to extend their hands. “As you can see, my conditions are limited—no instruments or medicines.”

“That’s fine, that’s fine. If you can cure us, great; if not, it’s alright,” a patient reassured him, though with a strange expression, eyes glancing reluctantly at the gifts piled in the yard.

Lin Bo suppressed a smile. “Whether I succeed or not, take your things back home afterward. Listen to me, or don’t come again.”

“Ah, ah, that’s not proper…”

“Now, I’m not a doctor but a neighbor who knows medicine. And you? You’re not here for a cure, but to chat with a neighbor. How about that?”

The watchman left no room for refusal, called for silence to drown out the surrounding noise, and placed his fingers on the patient’s pulse point.