After Three Years, the Mute Husband Speaks

Chapter 007

“I practice TCM, and while I do not currently hold a position at a major hospital, I am confident that I can cure your father’s illness.”

Frank Yates withdrew his gaze from the elderly man gasping for air on the hospital bed and looked directly at Leo Bailey. His voice was calm, carrying the weight of absolute certainty, a stark contrast to the frantic beeping of the medical monitors.

Leo Bailey’s brow furrowed, the lines of stress on his forehead deepening into canyons of skepticism. He looked at Frank—a young man in cheap, off-the-rack clothing—and then at the array of high-tech machinery surrounding his dying father.

“TCM?” Leo repeated the acronym as if it were a dirty word, his tone dripping with incredulity. “Since when does a Traditional Chinese Medicine practitioner look like a college student? Tanya, surely you haven’t been swindled by this boy? Look at him. I have flown in Dr. Ross, one of the leading internal medicine specialists from the United States. He is the authority here.”

Leo waved a dismissive hand toward the door, his patience evaporating. “Get him out of here. I don't have time for charlatans.”

Tanya Bailey looked torn. She had witnessed Frank’s miraculous handiwork on her own face, but faced with the imposing authority of her older brother—the patriarch of the Bailey family and the wealthiest man in Capital City—her confidence wavered. The atmosphere in the ICU was suffocating, heavy with the scent of antiseptic and impending death.

“Young man... I am sorry,” Tanya said, her voice filled with helplessness. She offered him an apologetic look. “Please, just leave.”

Since the eviction order had been given so explicitly, Frank Yates had no reason to degrade himself by begging to stay. He wasn't a man who craved validation from those who looked down on him. He let out a soft sigh, shaking his head slightly at the missed opportunity—not for himself, but for the life fading away on the bed. He turned on his heel, his hand reaching for the handle of the heavy double doors.

But fate, it seemed, had a different script in mind.

Just as Frank’s fingers brushed the cold metal of the door handle, a guttural, wet sound erupted from the hospital bed. It was the sound of air being forcibly expelled through a constricted throat.

The elderly man’s body suddenly arched off the mattress, seizing violently. His limbs thrashed in a chaotic rhythm, knocking over a tray of surgical instruments with a deafening crash. His eyes rolled back into his head, showing only the terrified whites, and his skin turned a shade of cyanotic purple that signaled catastrophic failure.

The sudden escalation paralyzed the room with terror.

“Dad! Dad, what’s happening? Don’t scare me!” Tanya screamed, rushing to the bedside, her hands hovering over her father, afraid to touch him and make it worse.

Leo Bailey’s composure shattered. The billionaire titan of industry looked like a frightened child. He turned frantically to the tall foreigner in the white coat. “Dr. Ross! Look at him! What the hell is going on? Do something!” The second half of his plea was shouted in fluent English, desperation cracking his voice.

Dr. Ross was also visibly startled. The sudden onset of the seizure didn't match the progression he had anticipated. However, years of training kicked in. He stepped forward, checking the pupil dilation and the erratic waveforms dancing across the cardiac monitor.

Frank Yates stopped. He didn't open the door. Instead, he turned back, his sharp gaze locking onto the convulsing figure on the bed. His brows knitted together. Through the lens of the Spirit Power residing within him, he could see the chaotic energy flow inside the old man’s body—a storm of Malicious Energy tearing through the meridians.

The atmosphere in the ward became oppressive. Leo Bailey was too focused on the life-or-death struggle to notice that the unwanted guest hadn't actually left.

After a rapid assessment, Dr. Ross turned to Leo, wiping a sheen of sweat from his forehead. “Mr. Bailey, please try to remain calm. Your father is experiencing a severe episode of cardiac atrial fibrillation caused by extreme stress on the nervous system. The electrical signals are misfiring. I need to administer a high-dose sedative immediately to relax the muscles and reset the rhythm. Once the sedative is in, the symptoms should vanish.”

“Dr. Ross, then do it! For God’s sake, hurry!” Leo shouted, unable to bear the sight of his father’s contorted face.

Ross nodded grimly. He moved with practiced efficiency, grabbing a pre-loaded syringe and a vial of clear liquid from the emergency cart. He tapped the syringe, expelling a tiny bead of liquid, and moved toward the IV line connected to the old man’s arm.

The needle hovered inches from the port.

“Stop!”

The command cracked through the room like a whip.

Frank Yates stepped forward, his voice thundering. “The old man’s heart is already failing! There is a blockage in the meridian flow mimicking fibrillation. If you inject that sedative, you will suppress the last shred of his heart’s autonomic function. You won't be sedating him; you will be stopping his heart permanently. You are about to commit murder!”

Frank spoke in crisp, flawless English. He had always been a top student before his life took a turn for the worse, and today, that education was a weapon.

Dr. Ross froze. His hand hovered in mid-air, the needle trembling slightly. He turned his head, looking at Frank with a mixture of shock and offense. A layman? Challenging a board-certified specialist?

Leo Bailey snapped. The stress, the fear, and the audacity of this interruption were too much.

“You little bastard! What nonsense are you spouting?” Leo roared, his face flushing red with rage. “Dr. Ross is one of the top internal medicine experts in the United States! Who do you think you are to question him? A TCM quack? Get the hell out of here before I have security throw you out the window!”

Tanya’s face was also a mask of displeasure. She had given Frank enough respect by bringing him here, but now he was endangering her father’s treatment by playing doctor. It was arrogant, and it was dangerous.

“You need to leave. Now,” Tanya threatened, her voice icy. “Or I will make sure you regret it.”

Frank looked at the faces around him—the arrogant doctor, the furious son, the desperate daughter. He realized that words alone could not pierce the wall of their prejudice.

“Fine. I’m leaving,” Frank said coldly, buttoning his jacket. He looked Leo in the eye. “But remember this: you will regret the decision you made in this room today.”

With that, Frank turned and walked out, the heavy doors swinging shut behind him.

“What a piece of trash,” Leo’s curse followed him out into the hallway.

Outside the ICU, the air was cooler but no less hostile. Frank found his "family" waiting for him. Joan Foster, Snow Lee, Cloud Lee, and Starr Hall were clustered near the waiting area.

When they saw Frank emerge alone, looking grim, their reactions were immediate.

Joan Foster and Snow Lee wore matching expressions of icy disdain. Cloud Lee looked angry—angry that he had tried, angry that he had failed, and angry that she was worried about him. Starr Hall, however, looked like he had just won the lottery.

“Kicked out, were we?” Snow Lee sneered, crossing her arms. “Did you really not look in the mirror this morning? You thought just because you popped a zit you could suddenly perform miracles? You’re delusional.”

“A waste is a waste,” Starr Hall chuckled, shaking his head with mock pity. “Even if you learn to talk big, it doesn't change your essential nature. You’re just a bottom-feeder trying to swim with sharks.”

Cloud Lee felt a surge of irritation—not just at Frank, but at Starr’s relentless gloating. “Starr, keep your mouth clean. Even if I don’t stay married to Frank, I would never be with someone as petty as you!”

“Cloud, I...” Starr stammered, his face flushing. He couldn't understand why she was defending the loser. Wasn’t Frank the designated punching bag for everyone?

Joan Foster didn't let up. “Frank, why are you standing there like a statue? You’ve humiliated us enough for one day. Get your ass back to the villa and start cleaning!”

But before Frank could respond, a sound tore through the heavy doors of the ICU.

It was a scream. Raw, primal, and heart-wrenching.

“Dad! Dad! What’s wrong? Don’t die! Dad, wake up!”

The double doors hadn't fully latched, and through the crack, the terrifying, monotonous drone of the cardiac monitor spilled into the hallway.

The flatline tone. The sound of death.

Inside the room, the scene had descended into chaos. The convulsions had stopped instantly upon the injection, just as Ross predicted. But so had everything else. The old man lay motionless. His chest did not rise.

“This... how can this be?” Dr. Ross stared at the monitor, his face draining of color. The syringe fell from his hand, clattering onto the floor. “This reaction is impossible. It shouldn't... the heart shouldn't have stopped.”

Panic replaced his arrogance. He had treated thousands of patients, but he had never seen a heart surrender so instantly.

“Doctor! Doctor, help him!” Tanya wailed, slamming her hand repeatedly on the nurse call button.

Because of the VIP status of the patient, the response was immediate. The crash team arrived in seconds. Five specialists burst into the room, pushing past Frank and his stunned in-laws in the hallway.

“Code Blue! No pulse!”

“Charging paddles! Clear!”

The room became a flurry of organized violence. Chest compressions cracked ribs. The defibrillator thumped against the old man’s chest, making his body jump with the electric current. Epinephrine was pushed.

But the line on the screen remained stubbornly flat. It was a green horizon line of doom.

After five agonizing minutes of resuscitation efforts, the lead specialist stopped. He checked the pupils again. Fixed and dilated.

Dr. Ross slumped against the wall, wiping sweat that felt cold on his skin. He looked at Leo Bailey, his voice trembling. “Mr. Bailey... I... I am so sorry. We did everything. I couldn't bring him back. Please... accept my condolences.”

The words hit Leo Bailey like a physical blow. His knees gave way, and he collapsed onto the linoleum floor, his expensive suit bunching up around him. The titan of Capital City sat there, dazed, his mind unable to process the reality. He was a filial son, and the pain of losing his father—of watching him die due to a decision he authorized—was tearing him apart.

Tanya threw herself onto the lifeless body of her father, her wails echoing off the sterile walls. “Daddy! No! You were fine yesterday! Why?!”

The tragedy was absolute.

Suddenly, the doors banged open.

Frank Yates stormed into the room like a hurricane.

“Everyone get the hell out of my way!”

He didn't wait for permission. He didn't wait for security. He shoved a startled nurse aside and bulldozed past the frozen specialists.

Leo Bailey looked up through his tears, confused anger rising. He started to scramble up to kick Frank. “You—”

Tanya screamed, “What are you doing to his body?!”

Frank ignored them all. He reached the bedside and, with a movement faster than the eye could follow, extended his right index finger. He drove it down hard, striking a specific point in the center of the old man’s chest—the CV17 acupoint, the center of the chest energy sea.

At the moment of impact, Frank visualized the Spirit Power in his dantian—a swirling nebula of silver light. He channeled it violently through his meridian channels, down his arm, and blasted it out of his fingertip into the old man’s halted heart.

It wasn't just a touch; it was a jump-start. A transfusion of life force.

Thump.

The sound came from the chest, audible in the silent room.

Then, the machine sang.

Beep...

The room froze. Leo stopped mid-lunge. Ross’s jaw dropped.

Beep... Beep... Beep.

The flat green line on the monitor spiked. It shot upward, jagged and beautiful, before settling into a rhythm. The numbers climbed. 40... 60... 80 beats per minute.

The heart was beating. Strong and steady.

Although the old man was not yet breathing on his own, the circulation had been restored from absolute zero.

This...

Leo Bailey’s expression shifted from grief to shock, and then to an overwhelming, trembling awe. He looked at the machine, then at his father’s chest rising slightly with the mechanical ventilator, and finally at the young man standing calmly by the bed.

Plop.

Leo Bailey, the ruler of the business world, dropped to his knees. But this time, it wasn't from grief. He grabbed Frank’s pant leg, his knuckles white.

“Little brother... please! Please save my father!” Leo begged, tears streaming down his face. He had witnessed a miracle with his own eyes. The arrogance, the skepticism—it all vanished in the face of the impossible. He had no choice but to believe.

Frank immediately reached down, gripping Leo’s arms and hoisting the heavy man up. “Mr. Bailey, please, control your emotions. Since I have stepped in, I will not let the King of Hell take him today. But I need tools.”

Frank turned to the stunned medical team. “I need a set of Silver Needles. Acupuncture grade. Now!”

One of the hospital’s resident doctors snapped out of his trance. “I... I have a set in the TCM ward! I’ll get them!” He sprinted out of the room.

Less than sixty seconds later, the breathless doctor returned, handing a leather pouch to Frank.

Frank unrolled the pouch, revealing rows of gleaming, slender needles. He moved to the head of the bed, his demeanor shifting. He was no longer the unwanted guest; he was the master of the room.

He pulled back the hospital gown to expose the old man’s chest. With fluid grace, he selected a long needle.

He didn't hesitate. He thrust the needle into a major acupoint. Then another. And another.

He utilized the Nine Cycles Star Technique to guide his hand. In total, he placed nine needles. With each insertion, Frank didn't just pierce the skin; he twisted the tail of the needle, vibrating it slightly to channel a precise dose of Spirit Power directly into the blockage.

To the naked eye, the needles seemed to hum. A faint, almost imperceptible mist seemed to rise from the injection sites.

Dr. Ross watched, his scientific worldview crumbling. He stepped closer, staring at the placement of the steel filaments. Curiosity warred with his ingrained bias.

“Is this... is this the legendary acupuncture of TCM?” Ross muttered, half to himself. Then, his ego tried to reassert control. He shook his head. “No. This is madness. Poking skin with metal cannot restart a heart or cure cellular failure. There is no scientific basis for this. It’s a placebo! It won’t work in the long run.”

But even as he spoke, the color was returning to the old man’s face. The grey ash tone was fading, replaced by a faint, living pink.