Chapter 119: Setting the Universe with a Needle

"Cough."

Qin Xiaotian gave a light cough, pulling all his scattered thoughts back.

He sat steadily in the host seat, his complexion returned to its usual calm, as if the earlier thrilling scene was merely a minor interlude.

"It seems this medicinal vessel truly possesses extraordinary spirituality; it cannot be tamed by ordinary means."

He slowly rose, paced to the middle of the hall, and stopped beside the bronze cauldron that had completely fallen silent.

"Today's affair is unexpected, yet it makes clear one thing—having wealth doesn't guarantee a treasure's approval. Little friend Zhang's earlier move, and this tacit understanding with Miss Lin, truly opened Qin's eyes."

These words contain affirmation, as well as a warning.

Having acknowledged that Zhang Jun and Lin Xue have a special connection with this cauldron, it also alerted the others that merely throwing money and materials at it probably won't work.

"However," Qin Xiaotian shifted the topic, "the selection of a master by the treasure cauldron is of great importance. What little friend Zhang just demonstrated was the 'affinity method' of communicating with the cauldron, but this 'ability' still needs to be judged by genuine skill."

He clapped his hands.

Two servants carried a stretcher, stepping extremely lightly, they entered cautiously through the side door.

On the stretcher lay a person, his face a pallid grayish-blue, lips purple, his whole body emaciated to nothing but bones. Covered with a thin blanket, his body still trembled slightly, and from his throat came a hoarse "heh-heh" sound, his breath like a gossamer thread.

An indescribable faint smell of decay spread through the air as the stretcher moved.

"This person," Qin Xiaotian pointed at the one on the stretcher, his voice low but carrying a chill, "is the Third Master of the Liu Family in the capital. Half a year ago he suddenly contracted this strange illness. In the capital, renowned doctors, imperial physicians and holy healers—no fewer than ten—were consulted, and even Western medicine could find no cause."

"The symptoms are bizarre: three times a day, on schedule, the attack hits. When it strikes, it feels like falling into an ice cave, the five viscera and six bowels clenched in pain; after the pain subsides, he loses consciousness. Dragged out to now, he's exhausted his oil and wick, relying only on a mouthful of ginseng soup to cling to life."

He scanned the crowd, his voice sinking: "Today, we will take Third Master Liu's illness as the test for this second round of 'ability'. Whoever can ease his condition, even just lessen his suffering a bit, counts as having the superior skill. If anyone can perform a miraculous cure and bring spring back, then the ownership of this treasure cauldron will naturally carry more weight."

This move is far more ruthless than the earlier wind‑ailment patient.

A wind ailment, at least, is a chronic disease; this one is a genuine fatal illness, a strange malady that even the capital's top medical resources are helpless against.

Qin Xiaotian intends to use the harshest reality to weigh everyone's true abilities.

Old Hu was the first to step forward, bending down to examine the patient's condition carefully. He took the pulse, lifted the eyelids, and also inquired in detail of the accompanying Liu family members about the specifics of the illness.

After a moment, he straightened up, his face solemn as he shook his head, stepped aside, and said nothing.

The meaning was clear: he too was at a loss.

Then another two or three elders who considered their medical skill decent stepped forward to try, but after a round of observation, listening, questioning, and palpation, they all frowned tightly and eventually retreated resentfully.

This illness is too bizarre; its pulse is chaotic like tangled hemp, and the root of the disease cannot be found anywhere, leaving no point of attack.

The atmosphere instantly turned cold.

Just then, Lin Feng leapt to his feet.

His face bore a reckless fervor.

He had just lost face badly; now he urgently needed a chance to prove himself, even if the opportunity seemed slim. "Uncle Qin! I, the junior, am willing to give it a try!"

He took a few steps to the stretcher, drew a deep breath, and forced himself to stay calm.

He dared not use his family's needle technique; instead he produced a small porcelain bottle, tipped out several blackish pills, and pried open Third Master Liu's mouth to stuff them in. "This is my Lin family's secret‑made Return‑Yang Pill; perhaps we can give it a try…"

"Stop!"

A low shout cut him off.

Before anyone knew it, Zhang Jun had arrived at the other side of the stretcher.

He placed his hand on Third Master Liu's emaciated wrist; his fingertips felt icy cold, the pulse weak and chaotic, barely perceptible. He closed his eyes, waited a moment before opening them, his hand not ceasing its motion as he checked the patient's forehead, chest, and abdomen temperature, then leaned in close to carefully smell the distinctive odor of decay on the patient's body.

"His interior is blocked by accumulated yin‑cold energy, not a deficiency of yang." Zhang Jun straightened his body, looking at the pills in Lin Feng's hand, "Your Return‑Yang Pill is excessively hot and dry; using it now will only speed up his yin‑yang imbalance and kill him instantly."

Lin Feng froze, his face instantly turning deathly pale.

He had only been thinking about how to regain face, never properly diagnosing; Zhang Jun's single remark exposed the mistake, nearly causing a disaster, and his limbs went limp.

The gazes around him were filled with undisguised mockery and contempt.

He staggered back two steps, the porcelain bottle in his hand almost slipping from his grasp.

Now his face was completely lost.

Zhang Jun ignored him, taking out a silver needle from the simple cloth bundle.

This time he did not immediately apply the needle; instead he took out the longest silver needle, lit the tinder he carried, and heated the needle tip in the flame briefly until the shaft glowed faintly red.

Then he acted.

There were no flashy motions, only precision and steadiness.

The first needle pierced the patient's Chest Center point, twisted, and a warm breath seemed to flow in along the needle.

The second needle, Gate of Origin.

The third needle, Sea of Qi.

All are important points where the body's yang energy gathers.

But this wasn't finished yet.

He changed his technique, taking out several fine needles and inserting them into several points at the extremities of the patient's limbs, his manipulation light and agile, as if guiding something.

Having done that, he did not stop.

Instead, from the bottom layer of the cloth bundle he produced a smaller oil‑paper packet, opened it to reveal variously colored powdered medicines. He pinched a small amount, moistened it with saliva from the corner of the patient's mouth, mixed it into a paste, and then actually dabbed it directly onto the patient's Yin Tang point between the eyebrows.

The whole process left the onlookers dumbfounded.

Needle insertion into points is understandable, but heating the needle with fire and then dabbing medicine powder on the brow—what is that supposed to be?

Unheard of!

However, at the instant the medicated paste touched his brow, the previously merely trembling Third Master Liu arched his body violently and let out a long, inhuman wail from his throat!

Immediately afterward, his whole body went into violent convulsions, so severe that the stretcher itself shook.

Beneath his grayish‑blue complexion, a faint black energy seemed to flow, and the breath expelled from his nose and mouth carried an even stronger stench of decay.

"What… what is happening?" the Liu family members cried out, about to rush forward.

"Don't move him!" Zhang Jun barked low, his hands flashing like lightning as he rapidly flicked the tails of the several long needles inserted into the vital yang meridian points.

Buzz… buzz… the silver needle emitted a slight trembling sound.