Chapter Eighteen: A Thunderbolt Needle, Fame Rising Like a Skylark

Time slipped by in the gentle rustle of textbook pages and the fragrant aroma of medicinal herbs, and another year passed. Yi Yi moved up to the second grade, and the reputation of “Harmony Hall” finally fermented from word-of-mouth in the neighborhood into an event that set the entire city ablaze.

That afternoon, torrential rain lashed the city of Haishi, thunder rolling overhead.

Inside Harmony Hall, as I guided Yi Yi through her calligraphy assignment, the shop door was suddenly flung open with a crash.

Several black-clad bodyguards, soaked to the skin, rushed inside. One of them shouted anxiously, “Dr. Jiang! Hurry! Save him!”

They carefully carried in a stretcher, upon which lay an elderly man whose face was tinged gold and purple, lips darkened—none other than the business titan Lin Zhennan, who had once tried to gift me real estate.

Now, his eyes were tightly shut, breaths faint, chest barely rising. Beside him, a man in a white coat—likely a private doctor—was sweating profusely as he performed CPR, but it was proving futile.

“Dr. Jiang!” Lin’s son, a middle-aged man, rushed to me, eyes bloodshot. “My father had a heart attack during a meeting, and on the way to the hospital we got caught in traffic… The doctors said… said he’s already…”

He choked up, unable to finish, but the meaning was clear: from a modern medical perspective, Lin was likely brain dead, beyond saving.

I said nothing more, stepped forward, and placed two fingers swiftly on Lin’s wrist.

A pulse, faint as a candle in the wind, remained.

“He can still be saved,” I uttered, voice calm yet as steadying as a pillar in the storm, silencing the chaotic scene in an instant.

“Lay him flat on the consultation table. Everyone out. Keep quiet,” I commanded, leaving no room for argument.

They obeyed immediately, even the private doctor ceased his compressions and withdrew. Only Yi Yi remained, sensible, standing in the corner with anxious eyes, her little hands clutching her clothes tightly.

I took a three-inch silver needle from the case.

For the first time, I poured my Golden Elixir energy wholly into the needle’s tip. In that instant, the tiny silver needle seemed to come alive, emitting a barely perceptible dragon’s hum, distorting the air around its shaft.

I focused my mind, spiritual sense locking onto the blocked and necrotic meridian in Lin’s heart.

With a flick of my wrist, the needle pierced precisely into his chest at the “Shanzhong Point.”

No twisting, no lifting or inserting—only pure, life-generating energy surged through the needle like a thunderbolt, blasting away the block of stagnant death!

“Puh!”

Lin Zhennan, who had been declared “dead,” suddenly vomited a mouthful of black blood. His chest then heaved violently, and a faint but strong heartbeat echoed clearly in the silent clinic.

“Thump!”

It was as if the first drumbeat resounded in heaven and earth.

Then, “thump, thump, thump”—the heartbeat grew stronger, steadier. Lin’s pallid face began to regain color before their very eyes.

I withdrew the needle, and sweat beaded on my brow. Such a reversal of fate was taxing even for me.

Pushing open the door, I spoke calmly to the anxious crowd outside: “His life is saved. Take him to the hospital and nurse him well.”

Everyone was stunned.

The private doctor was the first to rush in. Upon seeing the steady waveform on the heart monitor, he stood dumbfounded, murmuring, “Impossible… This isn’t scientific… Absolutely impossible…”

Lin’s son, overcome with emotion, dropped to his knees before me, bowing repeatedly: “Miracle doctor! You are the Lin family’s greatest benefactor! Our benefactor!”

I helped him up and shook my head, “It is simply a physician’s duty.”

I had no idea that this scene had already been captured from afar by a reporter with a telephoto lens, who arrived just in time.

The next day, Harmony Hall was ablaze with fame.

“Business Titan Lin Zhennan: Returned from Death! Mysterious Doctor Defies Fate with a Single Needle!”

“Miracle in a Humble Alley: Modern Medicine Cannot Explain This!”

Such headlines, accompanied by a blurred photograph of me opening the door with an ethereal air, Lin’s family kneeling in gratitude, spread instantly throughout Haishi’s media networks.

For the first time, Harmony Hall’s entrance was besieged by reporters and seekers drawn by its newfound renown.

I gazed at the tumult outside, my brows slightly furrowed.