Chapter 88: How to Ask to Increase the Chances?

Thunder rumbled!

Mo Qingqiu, Li Youshan, and Hu Derun felt as if they’d been struck by lightning, left stunned both inside and out by Qin Chuan’s opening words.

The Dragon King was Qin Chuan’s second senior brother?

It wasn’t until Qin Chuan walked up to the bed and reached out, intending to slap the Dragon King’s cheek, that Mo Qingqiu snapped back to her senses.

“Stop! Qin Chuan, this is not the time for nonsense. If you can’t save my foster father, it won’t matter how you try to claim kinship.”

Mo Qingqiu instinctively believed Qin Chuan was talking nonsense. After all, the Dragon King was unconscious and couldn’t expose any lies.

“Foster father? He’s your foster father?” Qin Chuan asked, pointing at his second senior brother on the bed.

Indeed, as soon as Qin Chuan had seen the old man’s face, he had recognized him as his second senior brother, Long Qianqiu, who had left the mountain years before to join the military.

But compared to those years ago, Long Qianqiu’s current state was dire. His body was little more than skin and bones, his complexion was deathly pale, and his pulse and heartbeat were feeble to the extreme. If not for the silver needles in his chest forcibly keeping him alive, he would already be a corpse.

Most striking was a frosty sheen on Long Qianqiu’s skin; a chilling sensation emanated at a touch. It was clearly a rare and fierce cold toxin.

From just a glance—using the most basic diagnostic principle—Qin Chuan had already gleaned these facts, and even that much was enough to show Long Qianqiu’s situation was grim.

“It seems that Chu Chongfeng does have some skill,” Qin Chuan mused silently.

Mo Qingqiu didn’t understand what Qin Chuan meant, but she nodded. “Yes, the Dragon King is my foster father. Is there a problem? And shouldn’t our focus be on saving him by any means necessary?”

“You’re right, that is one focus,” Qin Chuan replied solemnly, “but the other is that I’m your uncle. From now on, you can’t shout at me anymore. You need to show the respect of a junior to a senior, understand?”

Mo Qingqiu was exasperated. How could he still be taking advantage at a time like this? Did he not know what death was?

“Do you realize the guards outside treat my father as their faith?” Mo Qingqiu said expressionlessly.

“So?” Qin Chuan asked, shrugging.

“So if you fail to save him, you won’t even need me to act. They’ll tear you apart,” she warned, her tone syrupy sweet.

“Oh!”

Qin Chuan shrugged again. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m your uncle. Before, having you call me ‘dear brother’ was my mistake—truly lowering my own status.”

Mo Qingqiu had had enough. She reached for the pistol at her waist, thinking only a bullet could put a stop to Qin Chuan’s nonsense.

Sure enough, when faced with the black muzzle, Qin Chuan immediately said, “Seniors, quickly sterilize the silver needles and prepare one hundred and twenty-eight of them. During the procedure, there must not be the slightest pause, or he won’t make it.”

Li Youshan and Hu Derun’s expressions turned grave. Without any hesitation, they began following Qin Chuan’s instructions. For all their prestige in the medical world, assisting Qin Chuan now was well within their ability.

They also understood that Qin Chuan had brought them in to share some of the credit for saving the Dragon King. Such an unexpected windfall left them both at a loss.

While the two sterilized the needles, Mo Qingqiu asked anxiously, “How confident are you in saving my foster father?”

“If you ask me like that, I can only say I have a thirty percent chance,” Qin Chuan replied at once.

“Like that?” Mo Qingqiu frowned, sensing something, and pressed further, “How should I ask to increase your chances?”

“If you add ‘uncle’ to the start of your question, my chances will go up a lot,” Qin Chuan answered with a sly smile.

Mo Qingqiu bit her lip. With her foster father’s life on the line, she decided it was better to believe than doubt, and obediently added the word.

“Good girl. Now Uncle has a ninety percent chance,” Qin Chuan declared with satisfaction.

“You’d better be telling the truth, Uncle!” Mo Qingqiu ground out, her teeth clenched.

Qin Chuan’s mouth twitched. He had distinctly heard Mo Qingqiu flick off the pistol’s safety as she repeated the word ‘uncle.’

“Mr. Qin, forty needles have been sterilized!” Li Youshan called from behind.

Qin Chuan composed himself, turned, and took the needles. With a twist of his wrist—

Silver flashed as five needles landed precisely in Long Qianqiu’s major acupoints.

Then Qin Chuan’s hands moved as if weaving an invisible net. Each flick of his wrist drove another few needles into carefully chosen points.

Mo Qingqiu barely dared to breathe, afraid to disturb him. At first, she could follow his technique, but soon his hands blurred into countless afterimages.

Each needle was matched with a different method—twisting, rolling, flicking, winding—each with precise force. After about fifteen minutes, sweat beaded on Qin Chuan’s brow, and a hundred needles had already been placed.

Li Youshan and Hu Derun watched, utterly entranced. Though both were renowned in the medical arts—Li even known as the “King of Needles”—they suddenly felt ashamed. All their years of study seemed meaningless compared to this.

What was true acupuncture? What was technique? What counted as true mastery?

Qin Chuan was the very embodiment of those answers.

Only now did Hu Derun fully understand why his old friend would so revere a man barely over twenty, even to the point of disregarding status and seeking to learn from him. In the face of such skill, status meant nothing.

Watching Qin Chuan work, Hu Derun felt a powerful urge to kneel and beg to be taken as a disciple.

“They say a man is most handsome when he’s focused. Perhaps that’s true.”

Mo Qingqiu found herself thinking so. She’d always disliked Qin Chuan—especially after his repeated teasing—but seeing him so dedicated, surrounded by an almost holy light, she found herself entranced.

Suddenly, just as she was lost in thought, she saw Qin Chuan sway, as if about to collapse. Instinctively, she reached out to steady him, her concern spilling out: “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Qin Chuan replied, though his voice was faint. “There are just three needles left. They’re crucial. Whether I can expel the cold toxin depends on them. Don’t worry, I’ll do everything I can.”

Mo Qingqiu started to ask more, but both Li Youshan and Hu Derun motioned for her to stop.

She was puzzled at first, but then, following their gaze, she realized that Qin Chuan’s once-spirited face was now as pale as paper, his forehead beaded with sweat, his breathing labored. Even speaking was a great effort.

“Even in this state, he took the time to answer me, even to comfort me at the end…”

A strange ache filled Mo Qingqiu’s heart. The coldness in her gaze softened as she looked at Qin Chuan.

With the final three needles in place, Qin Chuan collapsed backward.

Li Youshan and Mo Qingqiu both reached out to catch him, but Hu Derun, arriving half a step late, was surprised to see Qin Chuan, who’d been falling toward Li Youshan, suddenly twist his head and land directly in Mo Qingqiu’s arms. He even seemed to nuzzle her at the end.

“Outstanding!” Hu Derun silently gave a thumbs-up.

Li Youshan, realizing only now what had happened, could only marvel at Qin Chuan’s instinctive reaction.

“Qin Chuan, are you alright?” Mo Qingqiu, oblivious to the details, was full of anxiety, even checking his breath for signs of life.