The Su family manor was a sprawling estate of marble and glass, a testament to their dominance in Eastcliff. Lin Chen sat on a minimalist leather sofa, looking entirely out of place in his coarse robes. Across from him sat Zhao Feng, the heir to the Zhao pharmaceutical empire and Su Qingxue's persistent suitor. Zhao Feng adjusted his Rolex, his eyes dripping with disdain.
"A 'God-Doctor' from the mountains?" Zhao Feng laughed, the sound sharp and mocking. "Qingxue, you're too kind-hearted. You actually brought this mountain villager home? He probably looked up some acupuncture points on the internet and got lucky. Modern medicine is about molecular biology, not fairy tales and needles."
Su Qingxue, now recovered and draped in a silk robe, sat silently. Her icy gaze drifted to Lin Chen. She felt a strange warmth in her chest where he had treated her, but her logical mind struggled to accept that this youth had done what top surgeons couldn't. "Mr. Lin, I appreciate the help on the road, but my grandfather's illness is a different matter. We have invited the best specialists from Europe."
"The best specialists won't find the 'Seven Killers Curse' in his marrow," Lin Chen said calmly, sipping a cup of tea that Zhao Feng had mockingly served him. "Your grandfather isn't just sick; he is being consumed from the inside by an energy your machines can't detect."
"Curse? Energy?" Zhao Feng burst out laughing. "Listen to this clown! Qingxue, this is why we shouldn't let just anyone into the manor. He's a fraud looking for a handout." He turned to Lin Chen, his face hardening. "Get out before I have the security guards break your legs."
At that moment, a cry of distress echoed from the upstairs bedroom. A group of doctors in white coats rushed out, their faces pale. "President Su! The Patriarch... his vitals are crashing! The experimental serum isn't working!"
Su Qingxue bolted up the stairs, followed by Zhao Feng and a reluctant Lin Chen. In the room, an old man lay on a bed of tubes and monitors. His skin was the color of lead, and his breathing was a horrific, wet rattle. Zhao Feng pushed forward. "Doctor Brown, do something! My father spent millions on your research!"
The foreign doctor shook his head. ";His organs are failing simultaneously. It's a medical miracle he's lasted this long. I'm afraid... it's over."
Lin Chen walked to the foot of the bed, his eyes narrowing as he observed the dark veins creeping up the old man's neck. He checked his watch—a cheap, plastic thing that contrasted with the room's luxury. "You're right, Doctor. For you, it is over." He turned to the Su family, his voice dropping to a chilling tone. "But if you keep talking, he won't even have time for a final word."
"What are you babbling about?" Su Jian hissed.
Lin Chen pointed at the heart monitor, where the line was beginning to flatten into a jagged, dying wave. "From this second... he has exactly three minutes to live. After that, even the gods won't be able to pull him back."
"Three minutes?" Zhao Feng sneered, though his voice trembled. "You're just making up numbers to scare us!" But as he spoke, the long, continuous beep of the heart monitor filled the room. The Patriarch's chest stopped moving. The doctors froze. The countdown had begun.