Jiang Fei’s hands moved skillfully over the old man’s abdomen, massaging and pressing with precision. This was a painless needle insertion technique used before acupuncture. When Jiang Fei’s fingers began to warm up and the pus on the old man’s rash was completely wiped away, Jiang Fei took the silver needles from Lin Moli.
Swish! Swish!
With both hands moving simultaneously, Jiang Fei used the “Qi Lifting Technique” from the Divine Needle Eight Methods. Like lightning, he inserted the needles into the Zusanli and Zhongwan acupoints on the old man’s abdomen before the man could even react. As always, once Jiang Fei began the acupuncture, he became completely absorbed, his mind focused entirely on the task at hand.
His eyes were sharp, and his ten fingers moved with incredible dexterity, dancing like butterflies. He rotated the two silver needles, sometimes inserting them deeper, sometimes pulling them out slightly. The needles trembled like the wings of a hummingbird, transmitting the condition of the old man’s abdomen to Jiang Fei.
The onlookers, who had gradually grown accustomed to the foul smell and the horrifying sight of the old man’s condition, still covered their noses and felt nauseous, but it was no longer as overwhelming as before.
Everyone held their breath, watching intently as the legendary “Acupuncture King” Jiang Fei worked his magic.
After all, this patient had been given a death sentence by top hospitals in Beijing, with a prognosis of no more than three months to live.
And three months was being generous. According to the description, the old man hadn’t eaten or drunk anything for two days and was on the verge of death. How could he possibly last three months?
At this rate, he might not even survive a week!
“Can Dr. Jiang really cure this terminally ill patient?” Everyone wondered, waiting anxiously for the outcome.
If it were any other doctor, they wouldn’t have held out hope. But Jiang Fei’s reputation was too great. Almost everyone who came to Jiang’s clinic had heard of his miraculous feats and regarded him as a true miracle worker.
If he was a miracle worker, then surely he could achieve the impossible. Maybe there was a chance after all?
Jiang Fei was fully focused, his mental energy concentrated to the extreme. To the untrained eye, his movements seemed simple and monotonous, but soon beads of sweat began to form on his forehead.
The old man’s condition was no less severe than Old Master Ye Zhennan’s paralyzed legs. In fact, curing him would require even more effort from Jiang Fei.
First, he used the “Qi Lifting Technique” from the Divine Needle Eight Methods, followed by the “Qi Retention Technique” on the Tianshu, Taichong, and Neiguan acupoints. Each step not only drained Jiang Fei’s mental energy but also took a toll on his physical strength.
His entire body was tense, more so than when doing heavy manual labor.
Lin Moli, watching from the side, couldn’t help but feel a pang of heartache. She quickly grabbed a wet towel and gently wiped the sweat from Jiang Fei’s forehead.
Jiang Fei had earned great honor and gratitude through his medical skills and acupuncture, but the effort he put in each time was equally immense.
Nothing came without hard work.
Swish!
After about seven or eight minutes, Jiang Fei’s eyes suddenly lit up. The old man, who had been lying with his eyes closed, sweating even more than Jiang Fei, began to show strange facial expressions. His muscles twitched, his eyelids fluttered as if about to open, and his Adam’s apple moved visibly.
Without hesitation, Jiang Fei pulled out the two silver needles from the old man’s abdomen and quickly stepped back, pulling Lin Moli with him.
Just as Lin Moli was about to ask what was wrong and the onlookers thought something had gone awry during the acupuncture, the old man finally opened his eyes.
“Get a basin! Quick, bring a basin!” Jiang Fei shouted urgently, not bothering to explain.
But everyone was still in shock, unable to process what was happening. No one moved. Jiang Fei’s eyes darted around, and he spotted a trash bin nearby. In two or three seconds, he grabbed it and placed it in front of the old man.
By then, the old man could no longer hold back. His throat convulsed, and he opened his mouth wide, vomiting violently right there in the office.
Gag—
The sound of retching filled the room as the old man knelt down, his head over the trash bin, vomiting uncontrollably as if trying to expel everything from his swollen belly.
What came out was a black, disgusting mess, accompanied by a stench worse than a chemical weapon. If the old man’s previous odor had been unbearable, this new stench was enough to knock someone out.
In fact, as the foul smell spread, several patients and even masked nurses began to gag and run outside, searching for trash bins to vomit into.
Jiang Fei, however, wore a satisfied smile as he watched the old man vomit profusely. It was as if he couldn’t smell the stench at all.
—
Of course, Jiang Fei could smell it.
He quickly took the wet towel Lin Moli had used to wipe his sweat and covered his nose and mouth. Few people could endure such a foul odor.
He wasn’t immune to touch or smell. He knew the stench of decay was unpleasant, and the pus was disgusting. Under normal circumstances, he would never touch such things.
But as a doctor, when it came to treating patients, he put all that aside. He couldn’t possibly act like Liu Zhihong, who had insulted the old man and refused to treat him just because of the smell.
Jiang Fei also couldn’t wear gloves or take other protective measures. As a doctor, he had to consider the patient’s feelings—it was basic medical ethics.
Moreover, wearing gloves during acupuncture would significantly reduce its effectiveness.
“Dad, how are you feeling?” The old man’s two sons, Dunzhu with his braided hair and the more honest-looking Sangzhu, knelt beside their father, patting his back to ease his vomiting. They asked anxiously, not knowing whether this was a good or bad sign.
Regardless of the outcome, they wouldn’t blame Jiang Fei. Even if their father didn’t make it, they had no regrets. They had seen how Jiang Fei had treated their father with complete focus and sincerity, unlike any other doctor they had encountered before.
No matter what, Dr. Jiang had done his best.
The old man continued to vomit violently, filling nearly half of the trash bin. Each wave was more intense than the last, as if he were trying to expel his very organs. He had no time or ability to answer his sons’ questions.
However, as he vomited, his swollen, pregnant-like belly began to shrink. It wasn’t back to normal yet, but it had noticeably reduced in size.
Jiang Fei walked over to the two men and smiled. “Don’t worry. Your father’s life is out of danger now. He’ll be fine.”
“Really?” Dunzhu, the braided son, stared at Jiang Fei with wide eyes, filled with hope, disbelief, and a hint of fear that this might not be true.
“Of course,” Jiang Fei said with a smile. “Quick, help your father put his clothes back on. The acupuncture points can’t be exposed to wind for too long.”
“Okay!” The two brothers finally allowed themselves to feel joy.
If Jiang Fei said so, it was likely true. After all, he was a renowned miracle doctor. As they helped their father dress, Sangzhu suddenly exclaimed, “Dad’s belly isn’t as swollen anymore! It’s much softer!”
The biggest issue with their father’s pancreatic cancer had been the extreme swelling in his abdomen. They didn’t know what was causing it, but it had made him lose his appetite. Even when he felt hungry, he couldn’t eat, and whatever he managed to swallow would come right back up.
Now that the swelling had reduced, didn’t that mean his condition was improving?
The old man finally stopped vomiting and lifted his head, but before he could speak, his sons helped him to the restroom.
After vomiting, it was only natural that he would need to relieve himself to completely empty his stomach.
About ten minutes later, the office returned to calm. The foul smell gradually dissipated as the windows were opened, but the number of people in the hospital had grown.
Everyone was eager to see the results of Jiang Fei’s treatment.
When Dunzhu and Sangzhu helped their pale, exhausted father out of the restroom, the murmurs began again.
If it were anyone else, such a pale complexion would be a bad sign. But for the old man, it was a sign of improvement.
Before coming to the hospital, his face hadn’t been pale—it had been a dark gray, swollen and unnatural, as if filled with stagnant blood.
Now, at least the swelling was gone.
In fact, the old man didn’t even smell as bad as before!
“Old sir, how are you feeling?” Jiang Fei asked with a tired but confident smile.
He was sure of the outcome.
Before the old man could answer, his two burly sons knelt down in front of Jiang Fei.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
In front of everyone, they kowtowed, their foreheads hitting the floor as they expressed their gratitude.
