The living room was deathly silent, as if the air itself had been sucked away.
Everyone held their breath, eyes wide, staring at the frail figure before the sofa.
Jiang Mian’s earlier roar had been so overwhelming that no one dared to approach her.
She didn’t care about their gazes; at this moment, there was only the patient in her eyes.
Dropping to one knee on the sofa, her movements were so fast they left ghostly afterimages. With a flick of her wrist, the worn leather needle case unfurled with a “swish.”
The silver needles gleamed under the light, sending a chill down the spine.
This was no ordinary acupuncture.
It was a variant of the “Ghost Gate Thirteen Needles”, an ancestral Jiang family technique from her previous life, combined with internal energy—designed for emergencies, snatching lives back from the King of Death.
First Needle!
Jiang Mian’s gaze burned like fire. Pinching the needle between two fingers, she plunged it without hesitation into the Renying point at Zhang Jianguo’s neck.
The depth made Zhang Lan’s heart nearly stop; she was about to scream, but Huo Jingchuan’s icy glare froze her in place.
The needle went in, twisted.
It was to relieve airway obstruction, forcibly unblocking the blocked flow of qi.
Second Needle!
Her wrist flipped, the silver needle descending at a dangerously precise angle into the Tiantu point beneath the Adam’s apple.
This was the throat’s stronghold; one misstep could pierce the trachea.
But in Jiang Mian’s hands, the needle seemed to have eyes, embedding steadily as she manipulated it to regulate and restore.
This was to awaken and open the passages, striking the source of the illness.
The clock on the wall ticked, each second hammering heavy on everyone’s hearts.
Huo Jingchuan sat in his wheelchair, hands gripping the armrests so tightly that his knuckles whitened, palms slick with cold sweat.
He stared at Jiang Mian’s pale but utterly focused profile, at the beads of sweat on her brow, his heart rising to his throat.
He was gambling.
Gambling the life of his mentor—and his own—on Jiang Mian’s skill.
Third Needle!
Jiang Mian didn’t pause. She grabbed Zhang Jianguo’s thumb, and with a flash of the three-edged needle, pierced the Shaoshang point.
“Zzz—”
A few drops of dark, reddish blood immediately surfaced.
This was bleeding to release heat, striking at the root of the problem.
Three needles, mere seconds apart.
Jiang Mian’s face was pale as if she’d run a marathon, but her hands remained rock-steady, twirling the needles, eyes locked onto the old man’s chest.
One second…
Two seconds…
Three seconds…
Zhang Jianguo still had his eyes closed, face dark purple, utterly unresponsive.
The surrounding silence began to crack. Zhang Lan’s breakdown was on the verge of bursting; the intern’s eyes betrayed a mocking “I knew it wouldn’t work.”
Then, in this moment of despair—
“Ugh—!!!”
A guttural, thick, hissing sound erupted from Zhang Jianguo’s throat, as if squeezed from an old bellows.
The old man convulsed violently, his upper body jerking.
“Cough, cough, wah—”
A mouthful of thick yellow phlegm, along with a fresh gulp of air, was expelled onto the carpet.
The airway had cleared!
His once motionless chest began to rise and fall rapidly.
The purple-black face, now filled with fresh oxygen, visibly regained color, slowly returning to life.
“He’s alive… he’s alive!!”
Guard Xiao Li shouted, tears streaming down his face.
“Dad! Dad, you’ve got air!” Zhang Lan fell to her knees, overcome with joy.
Jiang Mian didn’t immediately withdraw the needles. She rotated them a few more times, confirming the pulse had stabilized, before finally exhaling a long breath, her tense shoulders dropping.
She wiped the sweat from her brow, the sharpness in her eyes replaced with relief—and her usual, unrepentant arrogance.
Huo Jingchuan watched her profile, still stunned, when her inner voice echoed in his mind:
【Phew… that was close.】【Half a minute later, his brain would’ve suffered irreversible hypoxia. Even if saved, he’d be a vegetable.】【This old man’s lucky… must be some ancestral favor that brought him to me.】【Ghost Gate Thirteen Needles with Shaoshang bleeding—who in this era could do this? Even the top imperial doctor in the capital would bow!】【Tremble, mortals! Call me your savior! And… Old Zhang, remember the treatment fee—I want meat, lots of meat!】
Huo Jingchuan… finally relaxed.
Leaning back against the wheelchair, a faint, wry, and proud smile tugged at his lips.
This was his wife.
Greedy, dramatic, and yet capable of miraculous skill—Jiang Mian.