Chapter Eleven: Foes Without, Spirits Within

Qi Gang turned to look at Hong Chen, his gaze filled with provocation. Hong Chen shook his head calmly. “You merely cleared his meridians, allowed his blood to flow a bit better; it doesn’t even qualify as treating the symptoms, let alone the root cause.”

With that, Hong Chen squatted down, reaching out to touch the shabby man’s calf. After a moment, he stood and asked the man to extend his hand. He felt the pulse for half a minute, then snapped his fingers sharply. A three-inch silver needle appeared between his fingers.

“Uncle, sit down. This will hurt a little, but bear with it. I promise to cure your leg completely. If I fail, I’ll compensate you with a hundred thousand.”

Hearing such a promise, the shabby man’s eyes lit up and he plopped onto the ground. Almost simultaneously, Hong Chen plunged the needle—not into the left leg, but the left shoulder. The man’s body jolted violently.

Hong Chen swiftly withdrew the needle, moved behind him, and jabbed another into the left side of his waist. A flush rose on the middle-aged man’s face, and he grunted deeply.

“Hold on!” Hong Chen barked, circling to the front, and pierced his left leg. The man screamed in agony.

“Are you mad? Are you treating or killing?” Qi Gang shouted angrily, and the old doctor frowned in secret.

“Just a little longer!” Hong Chen ignored them, needles flashing one after another, as swift as dragonflies skimming water. At the same time, his other hand slapped rapidly along the man’s back.

Cold sweat drenched the shabby man as pain wracked his body, his mouth opening and closing in sharp, short cries.

The entire process lasted just over a minute. Hong Chen drove the final needle into the calf, pulled it out, and exhaled deeply, wiping sweat from his brow. “Stand up. Try walking.”

The shabby man’s face was pale, as if he’d survived a grave illness. He panted heavily, tentatively stretching his left leg a few times. A brilliant gleam flashed in his eyes, though his face remained twisted in pain. Suddenly, he exclaimed, “My leg has no feeling, no feeling at all…”

He looked up, glaring viciously at Hong Chen. “You quack, you owe me my leg!”

Qi Gang pointed at the man, glaring at Hong Chen. “So this is your so-called complete cure? What now? How will you end this?”

To worsen a patient’s condition was a taboo; under such circumstances, Qi Gang would not act recklessly.

“Young man, you’re too rash,” the silent driver couldn’t help but mutter. Old Master Liu sharply turned his head, his stern gaze making the driver jump and shut his mouth, wishing someone would tape it shut.

A cold smile tugged at Hong Chen’s lips. “As expected, pitiful people often have their own faults.” He grabbed the man’s arm, lifted him easily, and pushed him forward.

Caught off guard, the shabby man stumbled several steps, struggled to find his balance, and finally stood steady. He spun around, about to curse, when realization dawned and his face changed dramatically.

His expression was mirrored by the old physician and the others.

Hong Chen strode forward, and the shabby man instinctively lowered his head, letting Hong Chen pass.

The old doctor and Qi Gang exchanged a glance, shocked to the core. The crippled leg, with muscle atrophy—just like that, cured? Was this medicine or magic?

“Convinced now?” the old doctor asked coolly. Qi Gang’s face twisted in self-mockery, bitterness in his voice. “Compared to him, I’m nothing but a frog at the bottom of a well.”

Old Master Liu gave the driver a mild look—just a glance, and the driver’s face flushed with shame.

Everyone returned to the pharmacy.

“Hong, my young friend, I have an unworthy request. Would you consider taking my grandson as your apprentice?” The old doctor bowed, his expression solemn. Qi Gang’s arrogance had vanished; he waited anxiously and expectantly, his attitude transformed. Hong Chen’s skill had won him over completely, stirring both admiration and longing.

“I have no intention of accepting disciples, but I do have a suggestion.” Hong Chen pondered for a moment, then looked at Qi Gang. “According to the wager, your two health clinics belong to me. With your gift and my two existing pharmacies, that makes five. I’ll have you manage them. You’ll rotate among the five clinics five days a week. Besides a fixed salary, I’ll grant you a ten percent share. I’ll come once a week to guide you—how does that sound?”

Qi Gang’s eyes flickered, then he agreed. Though he regretted not being formally accepted as a disciple, this arrangement offered practice, income, and guidance—a perfect combination.

“Hong, my young friend, let me add something. I’ll invest a million, take a symbolic one percent share—no need for dividends. I only ask that my family gets priority for treatment, no need to queue. With your superb medical skill, I believe it won’t be long before your clinics surpass Zhongbao Hall and become the leading brand in Qing City.”

Old Master Liu seized the moment to embellish his request. Hong Chen smiled; he understood Liu’s intention—to use the one percent share as a bridge of friendship.

He didn’t refuse. Liu was well-intentioned, and declining would be rude. Besides, running five pharmacies required capital; as the major shareholder, it was up to him to find solutions, and right now, he didn’t have spare funds.

“Then I’ll accept your generosity.” Hong Chen took the bank card and handed it to Qi Gang.

At noon, the group found a restaurant for lunch. Around one o’clock, Hong Chen took his leave. Yesterday, Xu Le had contacted him; today at half past one, he would interview at Hongcheng Group. Hong Chen also wanted to visit Gao Tianxiong’s office, so he arranged to meet Xu Le after the interview, waiting at the company entrance.

...

Twenty minutes later, a Volkswagen sedan pulled up to the plaza outside a 5A office building. After getting out, Hong Chen called Gao Tianxiong, then entered the building. The receptionist confirmed his appointment with the CEO and pointed him to the elevators with a smile.

He rode straight to the eighteenth floor. Exiting the elevator, Hong Chen made his way to the deepest part of the northern corridor—the CEO’s office. The secretary at the door asked a few questions, then knocked and opened the office.

Gao Tianxiong came around the desk to greet him, smiling as he shook Hong Chen’s hand. When the secretary left, his expression grew serious and respectful. “Young Master Chen.”

Gao Tianxiong led Hong Chen to the sofa area, made tea, passed him a cigarette, and sat in the single armchair beside him.

Gao Tianxiong was straightforward and brisk. After a few exchanges, he got to the point. “The information you asked me to investigate—some of it is confirmed. When the Su Group was investigated for tax evasion, they were only fined twelve million. Based on that, the poisoning suicide of Su Qinghai and his wife is far from simple.”

“The current chairman and CEO of Su Group is the second son, Su Ming. His two sons are vice presidents. The former Su family steward, Feng, is now a board member. The third son is also a director but holds no real position. His son and daughter each run a subsidiary; combined assets are less than a hundred million.”

“Additionally, the Chen family, the Wang family, and an investment firm called Changshun—within a month of Su Qinghai’s death, Su Ming signed cooperation agreements with all three totaling over three billion. Within a year, all three deals were unilaterally terminated by Su Group, resulting in huge breach-of-contract penalties. More details need further investigation…”

Hong Chen listened in silence, his eyes flashing coldly. Just a twelve-million fine, and a billionaire couple would commit suicide by poison? Ask a hundred elementary students, not one would believe it.

At the time, Su Ming was vice president in charge of finance. When the group was investigated, he should have been the second most responsible after the CFO. Yet not only did he escape unscathed, he was promoted to chairman and CEO. Feng the steward had no company shares, but now was a director. The Chen and Wang families had always been Su’s fiercest rivals—never played fair, no bottom line.

Su Qinghai once told Hong Chen, when he arrived in Qing City, that the Su family was targeted by external enemies, and had traitors within, facing an unprecedented crisis.

Who were the external enemies? The Chen and Wang families, undoubtedly. The traitors? Su Ming and Feng the steward were certainly among them.

Gao Tianxiong paused, seeing Hong Chen unmoved, and continued, “Su Ling has been living with her grandfather. She dropped out of college in her sophomore year, now works at her uncle’s company.”

“She dropped out? Why?”

“As you requested, we didn’t alert her or her grandfather. My people are investigating quietly—it’ll take some time.”

He hesitated, then added, “Her finances seem tight. She commutes by bicycle, doesn’t wear makeup, dresses plainly.”

Hong Chen stubbed out his cigarette, tapping the table thoughtfully with one finger. He smoked another, then sighed. “Give it some time. When the company’s foothold is secure in Qing City, I’ll bring her home.”

“That’s all for now. I’ll have my people dig deeper.”