Chapter 87: A Petty Man’s Triumph Is Like a Dog’s Bark

Wherever there are people, there is a world of intrigue, and the circle of healers is no exception.

Qin Chuan turned his head toward the speaker and saw an elderly man, hair and beard all white, seemingly in his seventies. The old man’s features were far from friendly: narrow eyes, a hooked nose, a mouth like a catfish, and a pointed chin that made him look especially mean-spirited.

Hearing the old man’s overtly provocative words, Li Youshan and Hu Derun both looked displeased, yet, curiously, neither of them retorted. Qin Chuan was unaware of the underlying reasons: purely in terms of medical skill, Li and Hu were on par with the old man. The reason they didn’t respond was that, in treating the condition of a certain important figure, the old man’s acupuncture had yielded the best results so far, temporarily stabilizing the patient’s worsening state.

Thus, the old man currently commanded great respect among the Longya, and no matter how upset Li and Hu were, they dared not show it openly—especially since they both knew the old man was notoriously vengeful. If he caught them in the slightest error, they would suffer the consequences.

“There’s no need to be upset, gentlemen. After all, if a dog bites us, we can hardly just bite it back, can we?” Qin Chuan said with a cheerful smile.

The words were satisfying, but Li Youshan still shot Qin Chuan a warning glance, signaling him to hold his tongue.

Yet Qin Chuan seemed oblivious to the hint and continued, “The barking of petty men is like a dog’s howl; once they lose their power, they’re as helpless as a diseased chicken. For people of true stature like ourselves, we ought to have the magnanimity not to stoop to bickering with such thieving curs.”

“Mr. Qin, mind your words,” Li Youshan finally interjected.

Qin Chuan waved his hand, unconcerned. “I’m simply telling the truth.”

“Impudent youth, who do you think you’re talking about?” the mean old man demanded, his voice tinged with anger. His goatee bristled upward, making him look almost comical.

Qin Chuan shrugged. “You’ve already taken the seat for yourself, so why ask who I’m talking about?”

“You—!”

The old man was momentarily at a loss for words, but soon found another line of attack. “If I, an elder, were to argue with a junior like you, it would demean me. Let your senior, Li Youshan, speak in your place!”

The implication was clear: you’re not worthy of speaking with me.

Even the most patient clay Buddha has its limits. Li Youshan, though adept at restraint, was clearly struggling to hold back.

“Chu Chongfeng, don’t push your luck,” Li Youshan said coldly.

Qin Chuan found the name familiar—he recalled his master once mentioning a handful of renowned acupuncture experts, among whom was Chu Chongfeng. Yet when his master had commented on Chu’s medical skill, he’d summed it up in two words: “Adequate.” And Qin Chuan had earned that same assessment at seventeen.

Chu Chongfeng sneered, “Today I am pushing my luck. What can you do about it?”

Li Youshan was about to reply, but Qin Chuan stopped him with a gesture. Then, turning to Mo Qingqiu, who had just emerged from the inner room, Qin Chuan raised his voice: “Later, when I’m treating the patient, I’ll need absolute quiet. Please get this yapping old dog out of here as soon as possible.”

Mo Qingqiu hesitated. She was well aware of the situation—Chu Chongfeng was, at present, the only one whose treatment had shown real effect in stabilizing the Dragon King’s injury. If not for him, they would never have risked inviting Qin Chuan.

Qin Chuan had only been recommended by Li Youshan, and no one knew how effective his treatment would be. To follow his suggestion now might seem not only ungrateful, but would also thoroughly offend Chu Chongfeng. If Qin Chuan failed, the Dragon King would be left without hope.

“Hmph! Impudent youth, you have no idea how high the heavens are. Do you think you can dismiss me at will? Did your elders not teach you respect? You show no courtesy to a senior physician and dare to speak rudely in public—truly beyond redemption.”

Seeing Mo Qingqiu hesitate, Chu Chongfeng’s confidence swelled. At first he’d been wary of Qin Chuan’s background, but now it seemed his connections went no further than Li Youshan—nothing to be concerned about.

“I’ll give you three seconds to throw him out, or I’ll make him shut up myself. Your choice,” Qin Chuan said, beginning to count down. Barely had he reached two when Mo Qingqiu said to Chu Chongfeng, “Please leave. Don’t make this any harder for me.”

Chu Chongfeng’s expression froze; shock, confusion, anger, and disbelief all blended on his sharp, mean face. He wanted to protest further, but Mo Qingqiu’s icy gaze made his whole body chill. He no longer dared to stay.

“I hope you won’t regret this. If this brat fails and you beg me to return, I won’t lift a finger to help. Hmph!” With that, Chu Chongfeng stormed out, leaving behind these harsh words—his final act of stubborn pride.

The once noisy room fell instantly silent; all eyes turned to Qin Chuan. No one could fathom why Mo Qingqiu would offend the proven Chu Chongfeng for the sake of a young man.

“Old Li, Old Hu, bring your things and come with me,” Qin Chuan said, heading inside. Li Youshan and Hu Derun paused, then understood his intent, quickly grabbing their traditional medicine chests and following.

As they passed the stairwell, Mo Qingqiu lowered her voice. “Qin Chuan, if you fail to heal the Dragon King, I swear on my life you will pay the price.”

“Fine! But if I cure him, don’t forget your promise, or even if it costs me ten billion descendants, I’ll make you pay in blood,” Qin Chuan replied, mimicking her tone.

Qin Chuan, who detested threats, showed no anger this time. If his guess was correct and the Dragon King was indeed his second senior brother, then even at the risk of burning up his own Nine-Suns energy, he would not hesitate to help.

Mo Qingqiu didn’t at first understand, but after a moment’s thought, she realized what “ten billion descendants” and “pay in blood” implied. Her cheeks flushed crimson.

“Even at a time like this, he can’t stop with the flirtation. What a shameless womanizer!” she thought, mentally slapping a label on Qin Chuan.

Following Mo Qingqiu to the second floor, Qin Chuan noticed the increased security. The corridor was lined with burly men in plain clothes, each one seemingly capable of taking down an ordinary special forces soldier.

“The Dragon King is inside. I’ll go in with you and supervise,” Mo Qingqiu said, halting at the room at the end of the corridor.

Qin Chuan nodded. At that moment, he composed himself entirely, his face calm as still water.

Mo Qingqiu, satisfied with his demeanor, quietly turned the handle and pushed open the door. A strong scent of herbs immediately washed over them.

“Follow me,” Mo Qingqiu said, entering first. Qin Chuan followed close behind. The room was brightly lit as day, and on the spacious bed lay an old man, emaciated and frail.

The moment Qin Chuan saw the old man’s face, he was startled and blurted out, “Damn it, Second Brother, how did you end up in such a wretched state?”