After Three Years, the Mute Husband Speaks

Chapter 006

The heavy, invisible boulder that had been crushing Frank Yates’s chest finally crashed to the ground, shattering into dust. He let out a long, slow breath, expelling the tension that had coiled tight around his lungs. The air in the room, previously stifling, seemed to circulate again.

"Young man, your methods are... truly miraculous. Thank you."

Tanya Bailey seized Frank's hand, her grip surprisingly strong for a woman of her stature. Her eyes, no longer filled with the fiery rage that had threatened to burn down the shop, were now shimmering with genuine gratitude and disbelief. She touched her cheek again, as if checking to make sure the smooth skin wasn't a hallucination.

This sudden, dramatic reversal left the onlookers in a state of stunned paralysis.

Joan Foster stood frozen, her mouth slightly agape. She rubbed her eyes vigorously, blinking rapidly as if trying to clear away a smudge on a camera lens. But the image remained the same: the furious tyrant had transformed into a grateful patron, and the trash son-in-law was the hero. Snow Lee looked equally bewildered, her worldview tilting on its axis.

"Young man, you must be a doctor, correct?" Tanya’s mind was racing now, connecting dots with the desperation of a loving daughter. "Your medical skills are incredible. Just a bit of water and powder... it’s like magic. I have to ask—do you know how to treat other illnesses?"

The thought of her bedridden father, wasting away in a hospital bed, surged to the forefront of her mind.

Frank hesitated for a split second, gauging his own newfound abilities. "Well... strictly speaking, if I can take a look at the patient, I should be able to determine if I can help. Generally, there shouldn't be a problem."

Tanya’s eyes lit up with a desperate hope. "My father is very ill. He is currently at the Community Hospital. If you can cure his chronic ailment—something the best specialists haven't been able to fix—I will pay you a very handsome consultation f*e."

She released Frank's hand, her demeanor shifting from grateful patient to decisive power-broker. "I'm serious. If you succeed, I will give you five million dollars."

Five million dollars.

The number hung in the air like a physical object.

The crowd of onlookers drew in a collective, sharp breath. The temperature in the room seemed to drop as everyone processed the figure. This woman wasn't just wealthy; she was obscenely rich. Five million dollars for a single treatment? That was life-changing money for anyone in Capital City.

Joan Foster felt her heart hammer against her ribs. She did the mental math instantly. Cloud Cosmetics, the company her daughter Cloud Lee had poured her blood, sweat, and tears into, only generated a gross revenue of perhaps two million dollars a year. After deducting the costs of goods, rent, salaries, and taxes, the net profit was maybe a few hundred thousand.

Five million dollars was more than Cloud Cosmetics could hope to make in ten years of perfect operation. And this woman was offering it to Frank Yates? The live-in waste?

Frank pondered the offer for a brief moment, then nodded. "Let's go."

He turned to Cloud Lee, meeting her bewildered gaze. "As for the issue here today..."

"Forget about today," Tanya interrupted, waving her hand dismissively. Her mood was now sunny, her anger completely evaporated. "I won't cause any more trouble for this store. Oh, by the way—why did those strange pimples appear on my face in the first place? Was it the product?"

Frank shook his head, offering a professional explanation to clear his wife's name. "The moisturizer you used is perfectly fine. The root cause lies in your specific skin constitution. You have a unique sensitivity, and combined with the fact that you have been severely overworked and stressed lately, your body's internal heat flared up. The cream merely acted as a trigger for an existing internal imbalance."

Tanya nodded slowly, a look of realization dawning on her face. "That makes sense. With my father's condition... I haven't slept properly in weeks. I’ve been physically and mentally exhausted."

"So, does that mean I can't use this brand of moisturizer anymore?" she asked.

"Correct," Frank confirmed. "It’s not for you."

"Fine. Then let's not waste any more time," Tanya said urgently. "Come with me now. Remember, cure my father, and the five million is yours."

Frank stepped forward to follow her.

"Frank Yates, stop! You are not going anywhere!"

A figure darted in front of him, blocking his path. It was Cloud Lee. Her face was pale, etched with a mixture of fear and anger.

"You are not a doctor! You don't have a license!" Cloud hissed, her voice vibrating with anxiety. "You got lucky with a skin allergy, but treating a critically ill patient is a completely different world. If you treat someone to death, you will go to prison!"

Cloud Lee was genuinely terrified. While there was no love lost between her and Frank—their marriage was a cold, contractual arrangement—they were still legally family. If Frank killed a patient through negligence, the scandal wouldn't just destroy him; it would splash dirty water all over her, her company, and the entire Lee family. She couldn't act like she was uninvolved.

Moreover, she knew who this woman was now. Tanya Bailey. That meant her father was likely the legendary patriarch of the Bailey family. If Frank messed up the treatment of the father of the richest man in the city, a lawsuit would be the least of their worries. The Bailey family could crush the Lee family like a bug. They would be finished.

Frank looked at Cloud, seeing the panic in her eyes. He misinterpreted it slightly, thinking she was worried about his safety rather than just the liability. A faint, rare smile touched his lips.

"Rest assured," Frank said softly. "I'm just going to take a look. If I determine I can't save him, I won't lift a finger. I'm not suicidal."

"Frank, do you have any idea how much you weigh?" Joan Foster stepped up, her voice dripping with venom. "Don't think just because you fixed a few zits you're suddenly a miracle worker. You're a useless eater! If something goes wrong, don't expect us to wipe your ass for you!"

Frank’s expression hardened. He ignored Joan entirely. He gently reached out and moved Cloud Lee aside.

"We're leaving," he said to Tanya.

"Frank! If you have the guts to leave, don't you dare come back!" Cloud shouted at his retreating back, stomping her foot in frustration.

She watched as Frank and Tanya walked out of the glass doors and headed toward the parking lot. The anxiety in her chest expanded like a balloon.

"Mom, you guys go home first. I need to go to the hospital," Cloud Lee said hurriedly.

"Why are you going?" Joan asked, crossing her arms.

"I have to go see. I can't let him do something crazy that gets us all killed," Cloud said, grabbing her purse. Regardless of their relationship status, Frank had stepped up today to save her business. She couldn't just let him walk into a death trap without trying to stop him one last time.

"Mom, should we go?" Snow Lee asked, looking at her mother.

"Go! Of course we go!" Joan Foster sneered, her eyes narrowing. "I want to see exactly what kind of ability this trash son-in-law thinks he has. I want to see him fail."

Today’s events had been too shocking. Frank’s transformation was too abrupt. Joan needed to see the conclusion of this farce with her own eyes.

"I'll go get the car," Starr Hall volunteered eagerly.

"What car? The car keys are in Frank's pocket!" Joan snapped.

"Then we'll take a taxi!" Starr Hall said, his enthusiasm undimmed.

Starr was practically vibrating with anticipation. In his mind, Frank curing the acne was pure, dumb luck—a blind cat running into a dead mouse. Maybe he guessed the right folk remedy. But going to the Community Hospital to treat the father of Leo Bailey, the richest man in Capital City? That was insanity. That was digging his own grave.

It was the classic case of an arrogant fool seeking his own death. Starr wouldn't miss the opportunity to watch Frank Yates be destroyed by the Bailey family for all the tea in China.

The sleek luxury sedan sped through the bustling streets of Capital City, weaving through the mid-day traffic.

Frank Yates was in the driver's seat, his hands steady on the leather wheel. Cloud Lee sat in the passenger seat, her body rigid with tension. Tanya Bailey sat in the back, checking her phone nervously.

"Frank, I'm warning you one last time," Cloud said, her voice tight. "Don't be crazy. It's not too late to turn around and apologize. Tell her you can't do it."

Frank didn't take his eyes off the road. He replied with the same three words he had used earlier: "Believe in me."

Cloud Lee turned her head to look at his profile. The afternoon sun cast shadows across his face, highlighting a jawline she had never really noticed before. He looked... different. Calm. Assured.

For four years, he had been the man who bowed his head, the man who said "yes" to everything, the man who accepted her mother's abuse with a silent, pathetic grace. But the man driving this car felt like a stranger.

Have I ever really known him? she wondered. Is this the real Frank Yates?

Suddenly, the silence in the car was shattered by the ringtone of Tanya’s cellphone.

Tanya answered immediately. "Hello? What!?"

Her voice pitched up an octave, filled with panic. "He's been moved to the ICU? But he was stable yesterday! Why the sudden change?"

She listened for a moment, her face draining of color. "Okay, okay. Brother, I'm almost there. I'm on my way right now."

She hung up the phone, her hands trembling. She leaned forward, clutching the back of Frank's seat. "Young man, my father's condition has deteriorated rapidly. Please, can you drive faster?"

Frank’s eyes narrowed slightly. He didn't say a word. He simply pressed his foot down hard on the accelerator. The engine roared, and the car surged forward, cutting through a gap in the traffic with aggressive precision.

Minutes later, the tires screeched to a halt in front of the emergency entrance of the Community Hospital.

Tanya didn't wait. She threw the door open and sprinted toward the elevators, heading straight for the Intensive Care Unit.

Frank unbuckled his seatbelt and followed her. Cloud Lee trailed behind, her high heels clicking rapidly on the linoleum floor.

When they reached the corridor outside the ICU, the atmosphere was heavy, suffocatingly sterile, and filled with the scent of disinfectant and despair.

Tanya stopped at the double doors. She turned to Frank, looking apologetic. The panic of the phone call had sobered her up. The reality of her father's imminent death made the idea of a folk remedy seem ridiculous.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice breathless. "I invited you here to take a look, but... the situation has changed. He's in critical condition. The doctors are likely prepping for emergency surgery. I don't think... I don't think it's appropriate for you to intervene now."

She was polite, but the dismissal was clear. This was the big leagues now.

"Don't worry," Frank said, not backing down an inch. "I haven't even seen the patient's condition yet. If you let me go in and take one look, just one glance, there is a very high probability that I can save him."

Frank wasn't doing this out of pure altruism. He had a plan.

He could feel the Spirit Power humming in his veins, a dormant dragon waiting to be unleashed. His mind was a treasure trove of lost medical arts from the Nine Cycles Star Technique and ancient TCM lore. He possessed power, but power without status was dangerous. He needed a platform. He needed a shield.

He was tired of living in the shadows of the Lee family, tired of being the "matrilocal trash." Saving the father of Leo Bailey, the richest man in Capital City, was the fastest way to rewrite his destiny. It was an opportunity sent by the heavens, and he refused to let it slip through his fingers.

Tanya looked at Frank. She saw the sincerity in his eyes, the unwavering confidence that seemed completely at odds with his young age. She hesitated. He had saved her face when nothing else worked. And she had invited him. To turn him away at the door felt wrong.

"Fine," she whispered. "You can come in. But stay quiet."

Just as Tanya and Frank were moving to enter the ICU prep room, the elevator doors down the hall dinged open. Joan Foster, Snow Lee, and Starr Hall hurried out. They arrived just in time to see the heavy doors swing shut, locking them out.

Inside the sterile prep room, a nurse instructed Tanya and Frank to scrub in. They put on blue sterile gowns, hairnets, and masks.

They walked through the inner doors into the ICU proper.

The room was dominated by the rhythmic beeping of cardiac monitors and the mechanical hiss of a ventilator. In the center of the room lay a hospital bed.

On the bed lay an old man. His hair was snow-white, thinning and brittle. His skin was gray, possessing the pallor of ash. He looked frail, consumed by the sickness. Tubes ran in and out of his body like the roots of a parasitic tree—IV lines, catheters, monitoring wires. An oxygen mask covered his nose and mouth, fogging rhythmically with his shallow breaths.

Standing by the bedside was a middle-aged man with a slightly portly build and an aura of immense authority. Even with his back turned, his posture radiated power. But when he turned around, his face was etched with exhaustion and grief.

Frank recognized him immediately from the television and finance magazines. Leo Bailey. The titan of Capital City's business world.

Standing next to Leo was a tall foreigner wearing a white coat, looking grave as he studied the charts.

Leo Bailey looked up as his sister entered. His eyes then drifted to the stranger beside her.

"Father is..." Leo's voice cracked. He cleared his throat. "Who is this person with you?"

"Brother, this young man is a doctor," Tanya explained quickly, trying to sound more confident than she felt. "He is the one who cured the breakout on my face earlier today. I brought him here to take a look at Father."

Leo’s gaze sharpened. It was the gaze of a man who had negotiated billion-dollar mergers and crushed competitors. He swept his eyes over Frank, taking in the young man's calm but unassuming demeanor. He frowned.

"Young man," Leo asked, his voice deep and heavy with skepticism, "which hospital are you affiliated with? Where did you study medicine?"

The question hung in the air, sharp as a scalpel. Frank stood tall under the scrutiny of the billionaire, the foreign specialist, and the weeping machinery of the ICU.