Chapter 3: In His Past Life, He Owed Wei Qingqiu a Debt of Gratitude

"That's right, I am Wei Yuansheng," the old man replied. Wei Yuansheng didn’t seem surprised that Chu Tian recognized his name; after all, in Tianmen City, anyone with some influence knew of the Wei family and Wei Yuansheng.

"I'll accept the watch," Chu Tian said, his expression complicated as he took the watch and fastened it around his wrist.

Wei Yuansheng—of course he knew the name. The Wei family ranked among the top three most powerful clans in Tianmen City. Even those who held power in the city barely managed to catch Wei Yuansheng’s attention. Chu Tian had not expected such a formidable figure to travel by high-speed rail, but what a pity—it wouldn’t be long, perhaps six months more, before this magnate would die of lung cancer.

The only reason he hadn’t recognized him at first was that, in his previous life, by the time Chu Tian heard of Wei Yuansheng, the man was already dead. Back then, when Chu Tian was hunted by Xu Jiao’s men, it was Wei Yuansheng’s granddaughter—Wei Changtian’s daughter, Wei Qingqiu—who reached out a hand to save him. Thanks to her, he escaped Tianmen City. But when he finally returned, Wei Qingqiu had already passed away.

In his previous life, he owed Wei Qingqiu a debt—a monumental one. Without her, he would not have survived to see his day of vengeance. Wei Qingqiu had often spoken of her grandfather with deep reverence, claiming he was the person she admired most in her life.

He still remembered her sweet voice, her striking beauty, her curvaceous figure. The only blemish—a cruel one—was that when they first met, she had but one arm left.

Qingqiu must be only seventeen now; her arm should still be whole. At this thought, a gentle smile surfaced on Chu Tian’s lips.

Wei Yuansheng did not know what Chu Tian was thinking, but he understood that a youth who could break Wang Jiulong’s ten ribs with a single kick and instantly discern his fatal illness was no ordinary person. This was someone worthy of respect. After a brief moment of contemplation, he offered a friendly smile.

"May I ask your name, young man? Would you do me the honor of becoming friends?"

To be friends? These four words struck Wang Jiulong like a bolt of lightning; his eyelids twitched, and he was even more stunned than by the pain of his broken ribs. Who was Wei Yuansheng? Only tycoons and high officials could claim friendship with him. More shocking still, Wei Yuansheng’s tone even carried a hint of deference.

How could Wang Jiulong not be astounded? Yet he suppressed his emotions and remained silent. Having served the old master for years, he knew the man’s judgment was never wrong. And indeed, this youth was extraordinary.

"My surname is Chu, my given name is Tian," the young man replied. Now that he knew who Wei Yuansheng was, Chu Tian felt a touch of kinship and spoke directly, without preamble. "You have only six months left to live. I advise you not to waste your time seeking miracle cures—no one can help you."

"This..." Wei Yuansheng was stunned. He wanted to speak but didn’t know what to say.

Chu Tian’s tone grew solemn. "Late-stage lung cancer. In this world, I am the only one who can save you."

"Mr. Chu, you... you can cure me?" Wei Yuansheng seized upon this, his expression incredulous.

"That's right. For now, I can only help relieve your pain temporarily. A full recovery requires certain things, and this high-speed train is hardly the place for treatment."

With that, Chu Tian pressed his fingers together like a sword and tapped several acupoints on Wei Yuansheng’s body in rapid succession.

Wang Jiulong, tense and wary, was ready to leap into action at the slightest sign of trouble.

"If you wish to be fully cured, meet me in two days at the gates of Tianmen First High School." As the train pulled into the station, Chu Tian stepped off without a backward glance.

"Master Wei, how do you feel?" Wang Jiulong asked, swallowing his own pain in his concern.

"I... I feel wonderful!" Wei Yuansheng’s once-pale face now showed a flush of color, his eyes wide with astonishment and disbelief. The agony he had endured for so long had diminished by ninety percent after Chu Tian’s series of swift actions. Since falling ill, his body had never felt so light.

"A miracle doctor—he truly is a miracle doctor! Jiulong, I’m saved!" Wei Yuansheng’s heart pounded with excitement. He knew his condition too well; he’d sought out doctors only to delay the inevitable. Cancer—a death sentence—couldn’t simply be cured at will.

Yet now, hope had dawned. With just a few taps of his fingers, Chu Tian had eased his pain so much. Such skill was nothing short of magical.

Grasping at this lifeline, Wei Yuansheng trembled with emotion, nearly losing composure. With a surge of energy, he hammered his right fist into the carriage wall. The withered hand struck like iron; the steel panel caved in with a dull thud.

Immediately, alarms blared throughout the train car. Neither man showed the slightest panic; the blaring only helped calm Wei Yuansheng’s excitement a little. He grew solemn. "I have a feeling this young man is anything but ordinary. Turn the car around—we’re heading home. No more searching for doctors; we’ll wait for Mr. Chu."

In that moment, Wei Yuansheng’s fate quietly changed.

At the same time, outside the Eight Days Hotel in Tianmen City, police cars lined the street and the entire hotel was sealed off. A striking young woman, about twenty-five, strode inside with commanding presence. Her badge read "Lu Xuelan."

A junior officer spotted her and hurried over to report. "Sister Lan, you’re here. Five minutes ago, the hotel staff called in a report—a murder. The victim suffered a fatal gunshot to the head. We’ve made a preliminary assessment: time of death was about an hour ago. The register lists the victim as Xu Jiao, only eighteen years old."

"More details will require a forensic examination," he added.

"Have you notified the family?" Lu Xuelan entered the blood-smeared room and glanced at the body, her expression unruffled. She had seen death too many times for it to affect her. Her lips parted, and a voice both efficient and melodious emerged from her throat. If only she spoke more gently, her voice would be irresistibly feminine—yet she did not. Instead, her tone was cold and detached.

"They've been notified," the officer replied quickly. Though he was a man, he couldn’t help but feel intimidated by Lu Xuelan. The fiery "police flower," Lu Xuelan, was no joke. Young as she was—only twenty-five—her methods and connections were not to be underestimated. If this had been an ordinary homicide, it wouldn’t have warranted her presence. The real reason she was here was that this case was unusually complicated.

"Sister Lan, the security footage shows a young man entering with her, but there’s no record of him leaving. The footage is continuous and, according to our checks, hasn’t been tampered with. In other words..." The officer paused, "the man who came in with her vanished into thin air."

"A living person, vanished? How is that possible?" Lu Xuelan went to the surveillance room, arms crossed over her chest, her ample figure straining against her uniform. Her beautiful eyes were fixed intently on Chu Tian’s image in the video.