The morning queue outside the Taichu Sanctuary Free Immortal Hospital stretched five leagues down the eastern grand avenue.
Twenty automated star-jade kiosks processed thousands of patients with rhythmic, clockwork efficiency. With every soft chime of an approval bell, an honest beast-hunter or weary mortal dropped a single copper-spirit coin into the slot and walked away holding a warm bottle of strawberry-scented divine medicine.
Tears, laughter, and shouts of gratitude washed over the plaza like spring rain.
“My meridians haven’t felt this warm in twenty years,” an elderly sword-cultivator whispered, sitting on the steps with a wide smile. “The Pill Tower told me my core was incurable without a three-million-stone treatment. One copper coin cured it in ten breaths.”
Captain Lin stood near the entrance with fifty of his hunters, helping the hospital staff keep the lines straight. “Stay in single file, brothers! There are enough pills for everyone! Chairman Lin’s team has ten thousand bottles waiting!”
Suddenly, a loud commotion broke out near the head of line four.
“Out of the way! Move aside, you common peasants!”
A hunched old man wrapped in tattered gray burlap shoved his way past a limping archer. Behind him marched nineteen equally disheveled men, all clutching their stomachs, groaning loudly with exaggerated theatrics.
