In front of Uncle Chen’s grocery store stood a folding table and two plastic chairs.
A handwritten cardboard sign rested lopsidedly on the corner of the table: *Free Consultations; Pay for Your Own Herbs.* Shabby as it looked—resembling a street stall selling pirated DVDs—a line of five people had already formed before eight in the morning.
As Zhou Mo unrolled his acupuncture kit, he looked over at Uncle Chen, who was stooping to move a crate, and smiled helplessly.
“Uncle Chen, you’re really giving me work to do.” “The neighbors heard an expert came to town, so naturally they all want a look.” Uncle Chen’s face wrinkled into a warm grin.
“Aunt Wang’s rheumatism, Old Li’s cough…
those are lingering ailments they’ve suffered from for years.
If you can help, give ’em a hand.
If you can’t cure it, nobody’s going to blame you.” The moment Zhou Mo sat down, the first patient stepped up—a woman in her early sixties.
It was Aunt Wang.
“Doctor, my knees hurt like crazy every time it rains,” Aunt Wang said, her movements sluggish as she sat down, her voice laced with helplessness.
“I went to the hospital for an X-ray, and they said it was degenerative arthritis.
The medicine they gave me didn’t do a single thing.” Zhou Mo gestured for her to roll up her pant leg and gently pressed his fingertips against several acupoints around her knee.
“Does it hurt here?” “Ouch!
Yes, right there!” “How about here?” “That hurts too!” Zhou Mo selected a needle, sanitized it, and applied it—his movements unhurried yet flawlessly precise.
The silver needle penetrated three tenths of an inch into the flesh.
With a subtle twist of his fingers, Aunt Wang gasped, but the tension in her face immediately dissolved.
“It’s…
warm…” She looked up in surprise.
“It feels warm inside my knee.” Zhou Mo lightly brushed the tail of the needle, silently injecting a microscopic trace of positive energy.
This was no permanent cure; it was merely meant to temporarily relieve pain and boost local circulation.
Chronic, years-long ailments required time and herbal prescriptions to gradually condition the body.
But letting patients feel immediate results was the best way to spread his reputation by word of mouth.
Fifteen minutes later, he withdrew the needles.
Aunt Wang pushed herself up against the table and tried taking a few steps.
Her eyes instantly went wide.
“It doesn’t hurt!
It really doesn’t hurt at all!” “It’s only temporary relief,” Zhou Mo said, writing down a prescription.
“Take this formula to a traditional Chinese pharmacy.
Drink it for seven consecutive days, keep your knees warm, and avoid climbing stairs too much.” Aunt Wang departed with endless gratitude, and the second patient was already eagerly sitting down.
Throughout the morning, Zhou Mo saw twelve patients in a row.
Common colds, lumbar muscle strain, abdominal bloating, insomnia—all minor, everyday ailments.
He used strictly orthodox traditional Chinese medicine techniques, injecting tiny amounts of positive energy only when necessary to accelerate the therapeutic effect.
The results were immediate, and the line outside only grew longer.
At noon, Uncle Chen brought out two steaming bowls of wonton noodles.
“Take a break and eat first.” Zhou Mo snapped open a pair of disposable chopsticks and looked back into the shop.
“Uncle Chen, setting up my stall here…
I hope I’m not disrupting your grocery business.” “What’s there to worry about?” Uncle Chen chuckled heartily.
“With you here, foot traffic to my shop has actually gone up!
I just sold three packs of cigarettes and two bottles of soy sauce.” Around two in the afternoon, Zhou Mo casually scanned the street opposite him and noticed a man.
The man appeared to be in his early thirties, with mixed French features, dark brown hair, and a dark gray suit worn without a tie.
The top two buttons of his dress shirt were undone.
He leaned against a phone booth, casually shuffling a deck of playing cards between his fingers.
He had been observing the free clinic for a full twenty minutes.
During that time, he had been bumped into twice by pedestrians, nearly dropping his cards, yet he caught them seamlessly each time with sleight of hand so nimble it bordered on magic.
Zhou Mo understood instantly—Gambit, Remy Etienne LeBeau.
A mutant whose power was injecting kinetic energy into objects to unleash explosive charges, as well as a top-tier gambler and thief.
Right now, he was taking odd jobs everywhere, leading a nomadic life.
Remy finally crossed the street and walked up to the stall.
Seeing that another patient was still sitting there, he waited quietly, absently flipping an Ace of Hearts through his fingers.
When it was his turn, the man sat down, stowed the playing cards into his pocket, and spoke with a slight French accent: “Doctor, I am not feeling very well.” “Where does it hurt?” “Hard to say.” Gambit shrugged.
“Lately, nothing goes my way.
I hit a wall no matter what I do, toss and turn at night, and feel drained during the day.
Mind taking a look at my condition?” Zhou Mo gestured for him to extend his wrist.
The instant his fingertips touched the pulse point, his macro-and-micro sensory power, Wall-Piercing Vision, quietly activated.
Mutant energy surged inside Remy’s body, but it was wildly chaotic—like a river forcibly rerouted, stagnant and blocked at several critical nodes.
This was a classic symptom of power overuse.
Most mutants activated their powers entirely through instinct, lacking systematic methods of control.
Over time, this was bound to backfire on their own bodies.
“Have you been frequently using a force that requires intense concentration lately?” Zhou Mo looked up into his eyes, his gaze calm yet penetrating.
Remy’s expression shifted slightly.
“What do you mean, Doctor?” “Your energy was applied incorrectly, turning inward and harming yourself,” Zhou Mo said, withdrawing his hand.
“Compounded by your restless mind, excessive worrying, and unresolved anxieties, it’s no wonder you feel so exhausted.” “Can it be cured?” “It can be regulated.” Zhou Mo picked up his silver needles.
“I cannot cure your luck, but I can smooth out your qi flow.
Lie down.” Remy hesitated for a second before lying down on the folding cot Uncle Chen had brought out.
Zhou Mo raised his hand and applied the needles at key acupoints across his chest and abdomen, his movements twice as fast as before.
As the silver needles entered the flesh, Zhou Mo surreptitiously activated his Daoyin Technique.
A paper-thin thread of energy slipped into Remy’s body, not forcing a realignment, but acting like a guide to nudge the chaotic streams of energy back onto their proper tracks.
Remy slowly closed his eyes.
Three minutes later, he let out a long, deep breath.
“How do you feel?” “Light.” Remy sat up, his expression relaxed.
“I haven’t felt this unburdened in a long time.” Zhou Mo removed and sanitized the needles, offering a mild caution: “Your issue requires long-term conditioning.
Use your abilities less, rest more, and I’ll prescribe a diet plan for you.” Remy stood up, pulled a leather wallet from his suit jacket, and placed five hundred-dollar bills on the table.
“This exceeds the scope of a free consultation,” Zhou Mo stopped him.
“I think it’s worth it.” Remy pulled out a plain white business card with only the letter “R” and a string of phone numbers printed on it.
“Name’s Remy.” “Your medical skills are impressive, and this place is nice and quiet.” “If you ever need a hand in the future, or if someone comes looking for trouble, feel free to call this number.
Price is negotiable.” He gave a slight nod, turned, and walked away, his stride significantly lighter than when he arrived.
Zhou Mo tucked the card away and slipped the five hundred dollars under his needle case.
Toward evening, as the patients gradually dispersed and Zhou Mo was preparing to pack up, a figure approached at a quick pace.
The newcomer was a woman in her mid-twenties with red hair, wearing a leather jacket and jeans.
Her hair was slightly messy, and her face was flushed with irritation.
At a single glance, Zhou Mo spotted tiny arcs of electricity crackling between her fingers.
She quickly shoved her hands into her pockets to hide them.
“Are you the miracle doctor everyone’s talking about?” The woman’s voice bristled with hostility.
“I offer free consultations, but I wouldn’t call myself a miracle doctor,” Zhou Mo replied calmly.
“What seems to be the problem?” “What’s wrong with me?” The woman let out a cold laugh.
“It’s this city that’s sick.” “The power grid is a complete mess, and people’s hearts are even filthier.
Can you cure that?” Zhou Mo looked at her quietly.
Under his Wall-Piercing Vision, the wild, volatile electrical energy inside her body was nearly overflowing.
This was not an innate mutant ability, but rather something acquired through a recent accident—Livewire, Leslie Willis.
Formerly a reporter, she had gained the ability to manipulate electricity after an accidental electrocution, and her power was extremely unstable in its early stages.
“Your internal fire is too strong.
It harms you,” Zhou Mo said, pouring a cup of warm water from a thermos and handing it over.
“Have some water first.” Leslie froze for a moment before taking the cup.
The moment their fingertips brushed, Zhou Mo quietly injected a faint thread of positive energy into the water—just enough to soothe her agitated emotions.
She took a small sip, and the hostility on her face softened slightly.
“The problem isn’t the electricity; it’s the imbalance,” Zhou Mo said slowly.
“An electric current needs a circuit, and it needs control.
People are the same.” “What you need isn’t an electrician, but an anchor to help stabilize your current.” Leslie fixed him with a sharp glare.
“What are you getting at?” “Exactly what I said.” Zhou Mo lowered his head and began packing his needle kit.
“If you feel overwhelmed and unable to control your emotions, you can come see me anytime.” “I can’t promise to solve all your problems, but I can at least help you calm your mind.” Leslie fell silent for a few seconds, set the cup on the table, and asked, “How much?” “The clinic is free.” She gave Zhou Mo another long look, turned, and walked off, her steps no longer as hurried as when she arrived.
Zhou Mo silently logged her energy signature: unstable, yet immensely potent.
If properly guided, she would make a useful pawn.
Just as he finished folding the table, three figures rounded the street corner.
The man in the lead was the tattooed thug from yesterday.
His face was still sour, flanked by two larger, beefier accomplices.
All three wore black T-shirts that displayed the menacing tattoos on their arms.
“That’s him!” The tattooed man pointed at Zhou Mo and shouted angrily.
The three immediately closed in.
Uncle Chen poked his head out from the grocery store, his face turning pale at the sight.
“Doctor, we meet again,” the tattooed man sneered maliciously.
“What kind of dark magic did you use on me yesterday?” “After I went back, my whole body felt miserable, and I couldn’t sleep all night!” “That was extreme internal heat taking over your body, not dark magic,” Zhou Mo said with a calm expression.
“Judging by your complexion today, you should also be suffering from palpitations, night sweats, a bitter taste in your mouth upon waking, and fatigue.” The tattooed thug blinked.
“How do you know that?” “I am a doctor,” Zhou Mo said casually.
“Sit down, and I’ll examine you.” “Drop the act!” Another thug with a scar across his face stepped forward, looking fierce.
“We’re here today to collect turf fees.
Setting up a stall on this street costs fifty bucks a day.” “Plus, you hurt my brother yesterday.
Medical costs are two hundred.
Hand it over!” Zhou Mo’s gaze swept over the three of them, and he suddenly reached out, grabbing the tattooed thug by the wrist.
“What are you doing?!” “Examining you.” Zhou Mo lightly pressed the man’s pulse point, quietly channeling his Daoyin Technique to temporarily disrupt the circulation in his arm.
With his other hand, he pulled out a needle and accurately pierced his Hegu acupoint.
“Ah!” The tattooed thug felt his entire arm go numb, but the tightness in his chest and the palpitations instantly vanished.
Zhou Mo withdrew the needle.
“Feel any better?” The tattooed man flexed his fist, surprised to find that the heavy fatigue weighing him down had lightened considerably.
“It…
feels a lot better.” “Excessive liver fire and a weak spleen and stomach,” Zhou Mo said, then turned to Scarface.
“You have the same issue.” With a casual glance, his Daoyin Technique simultaneously disturbed the blood and qi of both men.
Scarface suddenly felt a bout of intense dizziness, his legs buckling as he scrambled to grab onto his companion for support.
“The three of you should try to stay calm and avoid causing trouble lately,” Zhou Mo lowered his voice, though his words were crystal clear.
“Peace brings prosperity.
But if you insist on causing trouble…” His finger lightly tapped the metal edge of the folding table.
A microscopic strain of Earth-Shaking Force transmitted through his finger, causing the tabletop to vibrate at a high frequency.
The legs scraped against the pavement with a sharp, ear-piercing screech.
The three thugs’ expressions turned pale.
“Let’s go.” Scarface was the first to regain his senses, grabbing the tattooed man and retreating.
“Today…
forget it for today!” The three stumbled away in haste.
Zhou Mo resumed packing up his stall.
Uncle Chen finally mustered the courage to walk out, his voice tinged with lingering fear.
“Doctor Zhou, do you think they’ll come back looking for trouble?” “Not in the near future.” Zhou Mo folded up the table and looked at Uncle Chen.
“I’m thinking of renting a storefront.
I can’t keep setting up a stall on the street forever.” “Is there a small shop around here, twenty to thirty square meters, available for rent?” “I want to open a traditional Chinese medicine clinic.
I’ll name it Renxin Hall.” Uncle Chen pondered for a moment.
“The dry goods shop diagonally across from us—the owner returned to Taiwan last month, so the place happens to be vacant.
I’ll ask the landlord for you.” “I’d appreciate that, Uncle Chen.” *** That night, back in his motel room, Zhou Mo counted his earnings for the day.
Though the consultations were free, several patients had insisted on tipping him, which, combined with the five hundred dollars from Remy, totaled six hundred and twenty dollars—enough to cover two months of rent for the shop.
He pulled out the plain white business card and ran his thumb over the embossed letter “R.” Gambit’s contact information gave him an entry point into the underground black market.
Livewire’s energy signature had been recorded; he could test her further the next time they met.
As for the Wah Ching Gang, today’s visitors were merely low-level thugs.
The true bosses had yet to show themselves.
After today’s display, he had at least bought himself some breathing room.
He closed his eyes, expanding his Wall-Piercing Vision once more.
At a Wah Ching hideout a few blocks away, people were discussing the “new Chinese doctor.” Further out, Foot Clan ninjas leaped across rooftops, their movements elusive.
High in the sky, unfamiliar energy ripples occasionally swept past.
And from the direction of the deep ocean, faint, fragmented whispers echoed—tonight, they seemed noticeably clearer than before.
Zhou Mo slowly retracted his perception.
The ripples on the water had already spread, and the eyes lurking in the dark had all opened.