I Am The Lost Medical God

CHAPTER 5

 

The silence that followed my words did not last long.

Greg stared at me for a moment, then let out a short, dismissive laugh. He shook his head slowly, as if I had just told the most ridiculous joke of the evening.

“You speak with a lot of confidence for someone who does not even belong in this room.”

A few guests laughed again, grateful that the tension had dissolved back into entertainment.

But all of a sudden, to everyone’s shock, Greg’s smile faltered for half a second.

His hand, which had been lifting the wine glass again, suddenly froze mid-air.

Then his face became pale as he inhaled sharply, gasping for air.

“Ah—” The sound escaped him before he could control it.

The glass slipped from his fingers and shattered against the floor.

For a split second, no one understood what had happened.

Greg’s hand flew to his chest, clasping it tightly.

“What… what is this?” he muttered hoarsely.

His breathing changed immediately. It became shallow and strained, as if an invisible weight had settled heavily over his lungs.

He staggered backward.

“Greg?” someone called uncertainly.

His knees buckled without warning.

He collapsed onto the floor.

The banquet hall exploded into chaos.

“Call an ambulance!”

“What happened to him?”

“He was just fine!”

Women stepped back in panic, holding their dresses up. Men rushed forward instinctively. Chairs scraped loudly against the floor as everyone got up from their chairs.

Sonia stood abruptly, her face pale.

“Greg!” she called out.

Several guests who happened to be physicians pushed their way through the crowd quickly. These were not ordinary doctors. They were private consultants to powerful families, men accustomed to handling rare illnesses and expensive emergencies.

One of them knelt beside Greg immediately.

“Check his pulse,” he said urgently.

Another pressed two fingers against Greg’s neck, then moved to his wrist.

“It’s irregular,” he reported. “And weak.”

“What about his breathing?”

“Rapid and Labored.”

Greg groaned in agony. His fingers dug into his chest as if he were trying to tear something out from inside.

“It hurts,” he gasped. “My lungs… it feels like they’re collapsing…”

Panic spread across the hall like fire.

Sonia’s mother grabbed her husband’s arm tightly. “Do something! He cannot die!”

Her father’s face turned rigid. “Call Doctor Han immediately,” he ordered. “Get him here now.”

The name alone created movement. Phones came out instantly.

Within minutes, the elegant banquet atmosphere had transformed into something resembling an emergency ward.

Guests stood in clusters, whispering anxiously.

“What is happening to him?”

“Is this a heart attack?”

“He’s too young for that…”

When Doctor Han arrived, the room parted for him without anyone needing to ask.

He was an elderly man with silver hair and sharp, disciplined features. His reputation preceded him. Across the country, he was regarded as the highest authority in internal medicine.

Hope filled the room the moment he stepped forward.

Doctor Han knelt beside Greg without wasting time.

“What are the symptoms?” he asked sharply.

“Sudden chest pain,” one of the earlier doctors replied. “Breathing difficulty, and his pulse is unstable.”

Doctor Han placed his stethoscope against Greg’s chest, listening carefully. His brows drew together.

He pressed against Greg’s abdomen, then checked his pupils.

“Strange,” he murmured.

Greg’s body trembled as another wave of pain hit him.

“It’s getting worse,” someone whispered.

Doctor Han spoke to his assistant quickly. “Administer standard pain relievers first. Moderate dosage.”

The medication was given promptly.

Everyone waited.

Greg continued gasping.

Nothing changed.

“Increase the dosage,” Doctor Han ordered.

More medication was administered.

Still nothing.

Greg suddenly screamed… a sharp, broken sound that cut through the hall and sent chills down several spines.

His breathing grew even more strained.

“What is going on?” a guest shouted in fear.

Doctor Han’s forehead was beginning to shine with sweat.

“This does not align with any typical pulmonary condition,” he muttered under his breath.

The murmurs returned, but this time they were not mocking.

They were afraid.

“If Doctor Han cannot diagnose it…”

“Is Greg Winchester going to die?”

Sonia stood frozen, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. Her eyes darted from Greg to the doctors and then, for just a second, they flicked toward me.

She quickly looked away, as if unsure why she had done so.

I exhaled quietly.

Then I stepped forward.

“This is pointless,” I said calmly.

The words rising calmly above every other voice in the room.

Every head turned toward me.

Doctor Han straightened slowly and looked at me with visible irritation.

“And who are you?” he demanded.

I glanced briefly at Greg, then back at the doctor.

“His lungs are not the primary issue,” I said evenly. “The pain is only manifesting there.”

The room fell silent again.

I continued without raising my voice.

“This is acute reverse qi pressure. Emotional agitation has caused an upward surge, creating internal blockage. That is why the pain feels concentrated in his chest.”

Several people stared at me as if I had started speaking another language.

Doctor Han’s expression hardened.

“That is superstition,” he said coldly. “There is no clinical basis for such a claim.”

I nodded slightly. “By modern standards, yes.”

A few nervous laughs broke out.

“Listen to him.”

“He is pretending to be a doctor now?”

“This is absurd.”

Greg’s mother pushed forward desperately. “Can you save my son or not?” she demanded, her voice trembling.

“Yes,” I answered without hesitation.

The certainty in my tone made several people blink.

Doctor Han’s eyes narrowed.

“On what grounds do you make such a claim?” he asked sharply. “Do you understand the seriousness of this situation?”

“I do,” I replied calmly.

“And what exactly do you propose to do?” Doctor Han challenged. “Since our methods are apparently ineffective.”

The room was quiet.

I looked at Greg, who was still writhing in pain on the floor.

Then I said simply,

“Bring me a glass of water and a pinch of salt.”

For a moment, no one reacted.

Then laughter erupted.

“A glass of water?”

“Salt?”

“Is this a joke?”

Doctor Han’s face darkened completely.

“You are insulting the medical profession,” he said sternly.

I met his gaze without blinking.

“If you believe I cannot treat him,” I said evenly, “then allow me to try. If I fail, you will have proven your point.”

The room grew tense once more.

Greg groaned loudly, interrupting any further mockery.

His mother looked between Doctor Han and me, desperation overwhelming her pride.

“Please,” she whispered. “I don’t care who does it. Just save him.”

The atmosphere changed.