Chapter 14: Why Should I Save You?

“How dare you!” Seeing his master insulted, Nie Xian could no longer contain himself—manners be damned. He jabbed a finger at Ye Cheng’s nose and cursed him outright.

“My master isn’t worthy? Do you have any idea how much he’s contributed to the entire field of medicine, how many lives he’s saved?”

“So? What’s that to me?” Ye Cheng’s face remained utterly indifferent as he gazed at the man before him. His words chilled the hearts of all the doctors and nurses present, who secretly cursed Ye Cheng for his cold-bloodedness.

“You… you’re truly despicable!” Nie Xian’s upbringing prevented him from uttering anything harsher. He turned to his master.

“Master, let’s go. With someone like this, who’s utterly devoid of even the most basic medical ethics, how could he possibly know the Thirteen Needles of Soul Recall?”

With that, Nie Xian cast a cold glance at Director Wu Qingyun standing nearby.

“As for your hospital, you’d better transfer it by tomorrow. Don’t go tarnishing the reputation of our Ancient Medicine Sect!”

The director, who in others’ eyes was a man of great prestige and virtue, could only nod repeatedly at this moment. Years ago, he’d been taken as a disciple by Zhang Quan, the leader of the Ancient Medicine Sect, but with his average talent, he’d never risen high in the ranks. In the face of this brilliant young successor, he had no right to argue.

“Ancient Medicine Sect? What a joke. With just a few of you, you dare call yourselves the Ancient Medicine Sect?”

The whole room reeled in shock! If words could kill, these would have left none alive.

Ye Cheng had just offended the entire Ancient Medicine Sect, hundreds of esteemed physicians—figures who stood at the pinnacle of traditional medicine and whose influence extended into countless worldly powers. This young man was either recklessly arrogant or simply foolish to challenge them so openly.

He was doomed.

A few who already disliked Ye Cheng began to jeer and gloat.

But Ye Cheng paid them no mind. He went about collecting his things, already prepared to leave this place full of trouble.

“Young man, I’ll give you a chance to take back what you just said,” came a voice—the Ancient Medicine Sect’s leader, the white-bearded old man Zhang Quan. Stroking his beard, his eyes glinted with menace as he stared at this brazen youth.

Over the years, he’d snatched nearly a thousand people from death’s door. Yet this impudent boy dared insult the Ancient Medicine Sect, a medical order with a legacy spanning millennia!

“Did you know that among the three you killed, one belonged to a hidden sect? Did you know that the police have already surrounded this hospital?” Zhang Quan sneered coldly.

“Show me your Thirteen Needles of Soul Recall. If you do, perhaps I’ll pull a few strings to spare your life. Otherwise, with the Lu family’s methods, you’ll wish you were dead.”

Ye Cheng remained as nonchalant as ever, not even bothering to glance at the shouting old man. He continued gathering his belongings.

Beside him, Ye Mengxue wisely chose to remain silent. Though she was confused, she still chose to trust her brother.

“I’ve offended plenty of people already. If anyone wants trouble, they’ll just have to get in line,” Ye Cheng replied, almost making Nie Xian grind his molars to dust.

Who had this man tangled with before? Petty, insignificant powers—how could they possibly compare to the Ancient Medicine Sect? To liken those mundane factions to them was an insult of the highest order!

“You’re courting death, boy!” Zhang Quan, his temper always quick to ignite, was now thoroughly enraged. Even minor mistakes from his juniors usually earned them severe punishment—how could he tolerate Ye Cheng’s repeated insults?

“Courting death? And what right does an old man who won’t survive the year have to accuse me of seeking death?” Ye Cheng’s gaze fixed on Zhang Quan’s lower abdomen, a faint, knowing smile curving his lips.

“What did you say—who won’t survive the year?!”

Seeing Ye Cheng mock his master again and again, Nie Xian, beside himself with rage, strode toward Ye Cheng, raising his hand to slap the arrogant youth.

But to his surprise, it was his master Zhang Quan—the one who’d just been insulted—who stopped him.

“Master, you…”

“You all wait outside. I have something to discuss with this young man.”

Zhang Quan’s gaze toward Ye Cheng grew increasingly uncertain and conflicted.

At first, he’d simply thought Ye Cheng was a lucky brat, stumbling upon the Thirteen Needles of Soul Recall by sheer coincidence.

Later, Ye Cheng’s brazen arrogance made him think the boy was a fool with a death wish.

But this last remark struck a nerve.

Ye Cheng was right—he wouldn’t live out the year. To be precise, not past autumn.

No one knew this, not even his own son or his most trusted disciples.

Zhang Quan stared intently at Ye Cheng, as if searching for the slightest trace of fear on the young man who’d so clearly pronounced his death sentence.

He found none. From start to finish, Ye Cheng radiated a serene, absolute confidence, a composure that never faltered regardless of whom he faced.

It was the first time Zhang Quan had seen such an expression on someone so young. In his mind, Ye Cheng’s image grew shrouded in even deeper mystery.

Who, exactly, was this young man’s master?

Before leaving, Nie Xian thoughtfully arranged for the bodies at the scene to be dealt with, leaving his master a tidy room. As for whether his master might be in danger—he had no concerns.

His master was a true expert of the Profound Realm, far superior to so-called grandmasters like Zhao Wuji of River City. How strong could Ye Cheng possibly be?

Once everyone had left the ward, Zhang Quan finally spoke.

“How did you know I wouldn’t survive this year? Don’t tell me you were just making empty boasts.”

“How do I know? Because my medical skills surpass yours.”

A snort of laughter escaped Zhang Quan—this was the greatest joke he’d heard all year. Ye Cheng could claim superiority in any other aspect, and he might let it slide, but in medicine, Zhang Quan acknowledged no equal.

But in the next moment, Ye Cheng forced him to swallow his words with cold, hard facts.

“When you were young, a practitioner of the Ice Palm struck your heart. You never found a proper cure, and the cold energy has lingered in your body ever since, hasn’t it? No matter how many potent herbs you’ve taken, nothing worked, did it?”

Stunned, Zhang Quan stared at Ye Cheng as if seeing a monster.

Every word was true—down to the last detail, matching his own experience precisely.

He knew Ye Cheng couldn’t have heard it from anyone else; no one else was aware of the incident. Zhang Quan was a proud man—he’d never let anyone know of such a humiliating defeat.

“You… you have a way to cure me?”

Zhang Quan relented. If Nie Xian were present, he would have been dumbfounded—his master, a man who’d never begged anyone in all his life, now speaking so humbly to a youth barely over twenty.

“I do.”

Excitement lit up Zhang Quan’s face.

No one is unafraid of death. Even if he couldn’t be certain Ye Cheng could cure him, any sliver of hope was worth seizing.

“But why should I cure you?”

Ye Cheng’s reply left Zhang Quan stunned, his mind momentarily unable to process what he’d just heard.

Was this young man mad?