Chapter 56: The Mystery of the Classics: Vulnerabilities in Medical Algorithms

At the third quarter of the hour of Zi, the wind from the back mountain of Medicine Valley carried the scent of herbs through the treetops. Shen Yan crouched on the stone steps behind the alley of the Medicine Hut, holding a half-cooled sour plum drink. Just as he swallowed the last sip, his sleeve suddenly tightened.

Pei Yue had appeared behind him without him noticing. The green jade lamp illuminated her clear eyes, and the jade pendant on her hairpin swayed gently. “You deleted the heartbeat data,” she whispered, her voice very low, “but the system log automatically creates three backups.”

Shen Yan nearly choked. “You understand this?”

“I don’t understand code, but I understand people’s hearts.” She inserted the Token into the crack of the library door. The stone door slid open silently, and a cold wind swept out, carrying the scent of aged paper and ink. “Last night, you saved me. Tonight, I’ll accompany you in violating taboos.”

The two stepped inside. Towering bookshelves surrounded them like the ribs of a giant beast, piled high with Jade Slips, bamboo scrolls, and leather-bound volumes. Shen Yan pulled out his phone. The moment the screen lit up, a line of green text appeared on the Terminal Interface:

【Anomaly Detected in Knowledge Module】

【Recommend scanning: “Taisu Medical Canon,” “Lingshu Prescription Annotations,” “Qianjin Supplement”】

He flipped to “Taisu Medical Canon, Volume Three” and ran his fingertip over a passage: “Spiritual Veins Revitalization Technique Success Rate = (Spiritual Power Value + Medicinal Efficacy Coefficient) ÷ Constant K.”

“There’s a problem with this formula,” he frowned. “There’s no loop Variable i, and no termination condition. It’s equivalent to letting the Program run indefinitely—no wonder it causes a System Crash.”

Before he finished speaking, a Warning popped up on his phone:

【Non-standard Function Structure】

【Call Risk: High】

【Recommendation: Terminate Compilation】

Pei Yue leaned in to look at the text and suddenly raised her hand, gently tapping the paper with the tip of her hairpin. “The ink here is damp, while the rest is completely dry… It was written recently.”

Shen Yan’s heart skipped a beat. He quickly opened his phone’s camera mode and took three consecutive photos of the page. As the flash lit up, a copper bell on the eaves outside chimed softly—not from the wind, but because someone had stepped on and snapped the thin string tied to it.

He looked up sharply and saw a figure flash past the window lattice, its robes fluttering like a black leaf drifting into the night.

“Someone altered the classics,” Shen Yan said, putting away his phone, his tone turning grave. “And it happened just tonight.”

Pei Yue didn’t move, only quietly tucked the ink-stained hairpin into her sleeve. “If novices follow this formula exactly,” she whispered, “they’ll suffer Spiritual Power backlash during the procedure. At best, their Meridians will become disordered; at worst, they’ll die on the spot.”

“This isn’t negligence; it’s murder,” Shen Yan sneered. “Using lives to test errors, just to cover up a Bug?”

He flipped through the surrounding pages and found similar issues in more than one place. The ingredient ratios for the “Mind-Calming Soul-Soothing Decoction” lacked the proper weighting for sovereign, minister, assistant, and envoy components. The “Bone-Mending Tendon-Connecting Technique” actually required the practitioner to guide Spiritual Energy in reverse, completely contradicting the natural flow of the human body’s meridians.

“These errors are too uniform, as if injected in batches,” he murmured. “It’s like stuffing a malicious Patch into the System.”

Pei Yue suddenly pressed her hand against his wrist. “Wait, look at this corner of the page.”

Following her gaze, Shen Yan saw a tiny symbol in the blank space at the bottom corner of the page. It resembled a twisted swastika but had an extra diagonal slash.

“This isn’t Medicine Valley’s mark,” Pei Yue shook her head. “Nor is it the seal of any orthodox sect.”

Shen Yan zoomed in on the photo, his pupils contracting slightly—the structure of that symbol bore a seventy percent resemblance to the unfamiliar Rune he had captured from the alchemy Jade Slip.

“The same source code signature,” he gritted his teeth. “Someone has planted a backdoor in the entire knowledge system of the Cultivation Realm. Alchemy was the beginning, medicine is the second step.”

Pei Yue’s face turned pale. “If even medical prescriptions can be tampered with… then what is still real?”

“The question now is, who has the ability to alter the Classics?” Shen Yan narrowed his eyes. “There are no more than five people who can access the library, and they must be proficient in ancient script and medical principles, and also understand… something akin to programming logic.”

As he spoke, he suddenly paused.

There was more than just him who understood code.

Ye Shi’er’s blood was a Data Stream, his attacks carried “Error 404,” he could trigger the highest permission commands with Children’s Rhymes—this person was essentially living source code.

And the outline of that Dark Shadow earlier… looked too similar to Ye Shi’er.

“Is it him?” Shen Yan clenched his phone. “But why would he want to destroy the medical algorithm? We just merged our Twin Spiritual Roots!”

Pei Yue stared at the page with the altered formula and softly asked, “Do you think… someone might want us to suspect each other?”

Shen Yan froze.

If the tamperer deliberately left traces resembling Ye Shi’er, their goal might not be to kill, but to sow discord.

After all, once trust collapses, it’s more fatal than any backlash from spells.

He was about to speak when he heard a faint scraping sound overhead.

Looking up, a bronze mirror hung from the beam of the library. It should have reflected the entrance, but now the mirror surface didn’t show their images. Instead, a line of small crimson characters appeared:

“Every line of code you write is restarting the Heavenly Dao for someone else.”

Shen Yan’s pupils contracted sharply, and his phone immediately popped up an alert:

【External information injection】

【Source unknown】

【Isolate?】

His finger hovered over “Yes,” but before he could press it, the mirror shattered explosively!

As fragments scattered, a yellowed page drifted down from the beam, landing right at his feet.

It was a fragment of the “Taisu Medical Canon,” with a note clearly written on it:

“Constant K cannot be measured, as the ‘Mother of Tribulation’ has locked it. Mortals who attempt to decipher it will inevitably suffer karma backlash.”

Shen Yan bent down to pick it up. When his fingertip touched the back of the paper, a chill shot straight to his brain.

This passage wasn’t written for doctors.

It was written for programmers.

It was telling him: some rules cannot be changed, some Variables cannot be touched, otherwise the entire System will crash.

And the words “Mother of Tribulation” appeared once again.

Previously at the Abyss Gate, in the Terminal logs, in the mother’s file—all pointed to the same woman: that figure with the copper coin hair tie.

Yu Xiaotang’s mother?

Or an existence whose identity had been erased even earlier?

Pei Yue looked at his ashen face and gently grasped his other hand. “Don’t shoulder it alone.”

Shen Yan smiled bitterly. “Right now, I feel like a freelancer who just took over a messy project. The predecessor ran off, the documentation is gone, and someone secretly altered the core Library files.”

“What will you do?”

“What else can I do?” He took a deep breath and opened a new document on his phone. “First, apply a Patch, then dig out the Backdoor, and finally… seize back the Server.”

He quickly typed:

【Project Name: Cultivation Realm Knowledge Purification Plan】

【Objective: Locate all tampered entries in the Classics】

【Priority: Urgent】

【Collaborators: Pei Yue (Trustworthiness 98.7%)】

【Note: Bring an antivirus mask next time. This place has too much negative energy; it’s easy to catch a cold.】

Pei Yue couldn’t help but smile, then quickly pursed her lips.

Just then, faint footsteps echoed from the distance.

Not one person, but a group.

Shen Yan swiftly turned off the screen and pulled Pei Yue into a gap between the bookshelves. Peering through the crack, they saw three Medicine Boys enter carrying lanterns, holding newly transcribed classics in their hands.

“Master said we must update the Lingshu Prescription Annotations tonight—the old version has errors and omissions,” one whispered.

“But I’ve only copied half of it. How would they know it’s wrong already?” another muttered.

“The script template from above has already arrived, saying it’s ‘to prevent young disciples from mistakenly learning and suffering Qi Deviation,'” the third shook his head. “The changes are quite urgent.”

Shen Yan’s eyes sharpened.

This wasn’t a post-facto correction.

It was real-time tampering.

Behind these people, there must be a command center synchronously pushing “erroneous knowledge packages.”

And the source was likely in a secret chamber somewhere within this library.

Just as he was about to act, Pei Yue gently pressed his arm.

She pointed to the Star-Shattering Token imitation behind her right ear—it was growing slightly warm, resonating with her Source Code Spiritual Root.

Then, she wrote two words in his palm:

“Eavesdrop.”

Shen Yan understood instantly.

Her Star-Shattering Token might be a “receiver,” capable of capturing certain encrypted signals.

If they exposed themselves recklessly now, not only would they be in danger, but the entire knowledge system of Medicine Valley would be thoroughly purged.

He slowly exhaled, typing the final command on his phone:

“Initiate silent scan mode. No network connection, no alerts. Record only.”

Then, he leaned against the bookshelf, closing his eyes to rest, appearing like nothing more than a weary disciple studying late into the night.

The footsteps faded, and the lantern light vanished at the end of the corridor.

After a long while, Pei Yue opened her eyes and looked out the window.

The dark shadow that had passed by earlier now stood silently atop the locust tree in the courtyard, cloaked and holding a black jade slip, as if waiting for some signal.

She didn’t scream or alert anyone.

She simply pressed the ink-stained hairpin to her lips and gently blew away a lingering speck of ink dust.

Shen Yan opened his eyes and looked at her.

She shook her head, then nodded.

Meaning: Don’t move, but I know what you’re thinking.

The candlelight flickered, illuminating the room full of classics.

The words once regarded as truth now resembled meticulously packaged virus programs, quietly awaiting the next innocent executor.

Shen Yan whispered, “If even life-saving prescriptions can become tools for killing… then the most dangerous thing in this world has never been demons, but lies pretending to be right.”

Pei Yue didn’t answer.

She only quietly slipped her hand into her sleeve, tightening her grip on the hairpin.

(End of Chapter)