Chapter 20: Another Little Monster

“What? A hundred thousand?” Zhuang Zhou shot to his feet in disbelief. This wasn’t what he’d heard before—Jiang Ping’an’s consultation fee had been two hundred thousand, so why was it only half that for him?

Ye Song picked up an apple, casually drew out her shark knife, and spun it rapidly in her hand. The peel came off in one continuous, translucent strip—its thickness and width perfectly uniform, with not a single break from beginning to end.

Zhuang Zhou waited for the woman’s explanation.

She lifted her head, casting him a cold, contemptuous glance, with a hint of suppressed anger in her eyes. She snapped at Zhuang Zhou, voice full of venom, “Hmph, you tied me up like that to satisfy your twisted fantasies, and now what? Didn’t someone claim the consultation fee would be half price? Forgotten already? Or are you going to go back on your word?”

Zhuang Zhou instantly deflated like a punctured ball. Indeed, he could have slapped himself for it. Retribution comes quickly—he and that sausage-lipped guy were two of a kind: the other was sharp-tongued, and he himself always had to say something he’d regret. Why on earth had he promised half the fee?

“Er, could you pretend you never heard that?” Zhuang Zhou asked carefully.

Ye Song’s reply was icy and terse: “No.”

Zhuang Zhou panicked.

Ye Song seemed oblivious to his anxiety and continued, “Whether you’ll even get this hundred thousand is another matter. You’ll only see the money if my grandfather recovers. Otherwise, you won’t get a cent—and I’ll personally feed you a bullet.”

Zhuang Zhou gritted his teeth. “Hey, don’t go too far!”

“Too far? Who went too far first? You tied me up—” Halfway through, a rare flush crept over Ye Song’s face. The memory of her humiliating ordeal stoked her anger anew. Never in her life had she suffered such indignity; not even in the army had any male dared treat her that way. Yet Zhuang Zhou, this scoundrel, had actually dared to bind her like that! It was outrageous!

“Fine, I apologize!” Zhuang Zhou said bluntly.

Ye Song shot him a frosty glare. “You think an apology is enough? Let me tell you, Zhuang Zhou, this isn’t over!”

“How about you tie me up too? The consultation fee goes back to the original price?”

“Final price. One hundred thousand. Take it or leave it!” Ye Song’s teeth were clenched with fury.

Zhuang Zhou hastily agreed, “Fine, a hundred thousand it is! Damn, this is a huge loss!”

Indeed, he was taking a loss. In order to cure Old Ye’s illness, he’d ended up the “Lord of Emptiness,” and the fee was a paltry hundred thousand!

Venom Immortal? What of it? In this world, he still had to eat, drink, and relieve himself—still had to earn a living. Lofty principles were useless; they couldn’t fill his stomach. A hundred thousand was better than nothing. At least it would temporarily ease his urgent needs. The situation at home, Lin Wen’s family’s predicament—these were problems Zhuang Zhou had to solve.

At this moment, Zhuang Zhou felt the illustrious title of Venom Immortal was less useful than the spare change in Ye Song’s bank account.

Three days later.

The same operating theater, the same patient, the same chief physician, and even the same group of onlookers—only two faces were missing: Jiang Ping’an and Liu Genghong.

Jiang Ping’an had vanished, cast off as Master Yan’s discarded disciple—an outcast, shunned like a rat in the street. First, Master Yan publicly severed their relationship; then the hospital revoked his medical license; finally, Wu Dongjie terminated his employment, firing him outright. Liu Genghong, affected by Jiang Ping’an’s downfall, was transferred to the pathology department, doomed to spend his days among corpses. Rumor had it the place was heavy with yin energy—it remained to be seen whether he could endure it.

In the operating room, Zhuang Zhou gave Wu Dongjie a different impression altogether.

If just a few days ago Zhuang Zhou had been merely a medical student yet to graduate, now he was transforming into a true doctor—a transformation impossible without having stepped into the profession. In just a few days, Zhuang Zhou’s aura had subtly but unmistakably changed.

“Xiao Zhuang, are you ready to begin?” Wu Dongjie asked gravely.

Half of Old Ye’s illness had already been cured by Zhuang Zhou, lightening the pressure Wu Dongjie faced from the military and government. These days, Old Ye’s illness had truly tormented him. Zhuang Zhou was his “timely rain”—if he could cure Old Ye, Wu Dongjie would receive his share of credit, perhaps even a promotion. Now, in Wu Dongjie’s eyes, Zhuang Zhou was a “rare treasure.”

“Master Yan, I must congratulate you in advance on acquiring such an outstanding disciple!”

Wu Dongjie’s face broke into a smile as he lavished praise on Zhuang Zhou. In recent days his mood had brightened, and he looked much more spirited.

Master Yan nodded slightly, well satisfied with Zhuang Zhou.

Inside the operating theater.

Zhuang Zhou produced the case containing the Ghost Nine Needles. Opening it, he drew a deep breath, silently channeled the Poison Spirit Art, and began—his hand flashed, and the fine needle was plunged into Old Ye’s Baihui acupoint.

The needle penetrated three inches into the brain!

Outside, Ye Song’s expression changed, but she restrained herself. His technique was so bizarre, his skill so practiced—was he really just in his early twenties, perhaps even younger than she was? Could this man be trusted?

The Baihui—one wrong move, and death was certain. Even though Ye Song had steeled herself, watching Zhuang Zhou perform the procedure still made her heart race in fear.

Zhuang Zhou inhaled deeply. It was only the first needle, but already beads of sweat the size of beans broke out on his brow. No wonder—he was channeling his internal energy through the needle to induce a state of suspended animation in Old Ye.

This was the first time Zhuang Zhou had ever used the Poison Spirit Art in the modern world. The amount of energy required was far beyond what he’d imagined.

His head spun slightly, but he pressed on to the next stage—detoxification. Yin poison differed from yang poison; it was a cumulative toxin, cold invading the internal organs. The slightest misstep could disrupt Old Ye’s vital balance. And given Old Ye’s advanced age, needle technique was paramount; one error could prove fatal.

Zhuang Zhou switched to the spatula-shaped needle, and began systematically guiding the toxins out of Old Ye’s body. Yang poison could be concentrated in one place, but yin poison had already scattered throughout the organs. Detoxification would not be easy. Though the effort was immense, Zhuang Zhou gritted his teeth and persevered.

He knew, now that things had come to this, he could not falter—otherwise all previous effort would be wasted.

The spatula needle—used to guide qi and blood, to support the righteous and expel the evil. Zhuang Zhou held it in one hand, and with the other, picked up the dagger needle.

“How strange—is this...?” Wu Dongjie couldn’t help but ask aloud.

Master Yan, afraid Zhuang Zhou would be distracted, shot Wu Dongjie a fierce glare, then returned his gaze to Zhuang Zhou’s hands, muttering, “The Art of Divided Focus...”

“What?” Wu Dongjie still couldn’t contain his curiosity—Zhuang Zhou’s every move was beyond his imagination.

Seeing that Zhuang Zhou was undisturbed, Master Yan sighed and spoke slowly, “The waves of the Yangtze push forward the ones before—it seems, Dongjie, that we’re the ones stuck in the well. Traditional medicine isn’t as worthless as we thought. Just watch: if this young man were ten years older, he’d already be a master. His greatest strength is his youth—his greatest weakness, too.”

Wu Dongjie nodded, wholeheartedly agreeing.

Zhuang Zhou’s age was completely at odds with his extraordinary medical skill. So young, and his future was limitless; but because of his age, he was still just a student, not yet a doctor.

“Master Yan, I’ve heard Dongjiang Medical University is hosting the Four-University Exchange this year, and they already have several candidates—top students, I assume?” Wu Dongjie remarked.

Master Yan smiled, “They’re all monsters, those ones.”

Wu Dongjie understood the rules of reciprocation. He’d brought this up for a reason, unwilling to let the matter rest. “Wouldn’t you say Xiao Zhuang could qualify as a little monster himself?”

“Dongjie, if you have something to say, say it. No need to beat around the bush,” Master Yan feigned annoyance.

Caught, Wu Dongjie only grinned. “If this little monster represented Dongjiang at the exchange, he’d surely astonish the crowd. Just think—your favorite student, my recommendation. How about it?”

“Gold isn’t pure until it’s refined, a knife isn’t sharp until it’s honed. Dongjie, if I recall, you’re also the executive vice president of Dongjiang Medical University, aren’t you?”

Wu Dongjie nodded. “That’s right.”

“If you’re so inclined, arrange it yourself,” Master Yan replied solemnly.

Wu Dongjie beamed. “Then I won’t stand on ceremony. Master Yan, I’ll make the call myself this time.”

Master Yan said nothing, simply gazing at Zhuang Zhou in the operating room. After a moment, he remarked meaningfully, “A fine blade must taste blood when drawn—a disciple of mine is no delicate flower, but iron forged through hardship.”

Understanding, Wu Dongjie nodded in satisfaction.

Zhuang Zhou’s luck had truly turned.

With Wu Dongjie’s recommendation, Master Yan’s tacit approval, and Zhuang Zhou’s miraculous skill, even if he didn’t take first place, he would surely make a name for himself. When he appeared as Master Yan’s disciple in the grand finale, both Master Yan’s honor and reputation would be secured. Zhuang Zhou would have a legitimate title, and Wu Dongjie would have done both of them a great favor. Such a fortunate turn of events—Wu Dongjie hoped to create more opportunities like this in the future.