A phone call was made.
Before long, a man in a black suit arrived at the hospital ward, carrying a box of silver needles.
He didn't ask questions—knowing better than to get involved in things beyond his understanding. He delivered the box and left swiftly, not lingering a second longer.
"Here are the needles," said the One-Eyed Man. "You may proceed."
He was fully prepared. This time, he would observe with utmost attention—trying to understand how a handful of ordinary silver needles had robbed him of consciousness before.
"So shiny..." Old Zhang murmured, eyes sparkling.
"They really are," Lin Fan agreed. "Slender and gleaming. This time, focus. Don't get distracted. Treat him seriously. I believe in you—this time, his eye might grow back."
Old Zhang studied the One-Eyed Man's scalp with exaggerated care.
Lin Fan pointed at the crown of his head. "This bump doesn't look good."
Smack!
A needle plunged in.
"If it looks bad, stab it," Old Zhang said solemnly.
His fingers were nimble—every needle fast, precise, and ruthless. That was his acupuncture philosophy: wherever feels wrong, stab it. A technique forged through countless years.
No one else could replicate it.
Otherwise, what would all his effort have been for?
The One-Eyed Man focused intently. Oddly, he felt… nothing.
Not even a twinge.
Given the spot was so critical, he should've sensed something.
But he didn't.
Old Zhang's eyes swept his head, looking for any imperfections. Even if it looked fine a moment ago, now—he saw flaws.
Second needle.
Third.
Lin Fan pointed again. "There's something wrong here."
"I noticed it too," Old Zhang said, grim as a surgeon.
Fourth.
…
Twelfth.
The One-Eyed Man's heart began to race—not from pain, but from the lack of it. That, in itself, was terrifying.
How were they doing this?
He remembered it clearly—last time, it was the thirteenth needle that ended him.
Let's see what happens this time.
Thirteenth.
As the final needle slid in, the world turned black. His legs buckled—and he collapsed to the floor with a loud thud.
Old Zhang stood frozen, needle still in hand, eyes wide.
He looked at Lin Fan in confusion. "W-What happened to him?"
Lin Fan frowned in thought. "Probably fell asleep."
At the doorway, a nurse who had witnessed everything screamed with all her might.
"D-Doctor! Help! Help!"
The scream echoed down the corridor, drawing alarmed nurses and doctors from all directions.
There were no sirens, no alarms—yet something in that scream carried weight. Urgency. Dread.
They rushed in, lifted the One-Eyed Man onto a stretcher, and wheeled him straight to the ER.
When Deputy Director Li heard what had happened, he nearly fainted.
How is anyone supposed to survive in this place?
Meanwhile, Lin Fan and Old Zhang lay quietly on their beds—both deep in thought.
Did we do something wrong?
Whirr...
Another stretcher rolled in.
It was the same man who had volunteered to switch rooms with Li Ang. He stopped at the door, eyeing Lin Fan and Old Zhang—the patients everyone warned him about.
He had done his homework.
Mental patients were unpredictable. Dangerous.
And worst of all—when they committed crimes, they bore no legal responsibility. Only civil compensation from family.
How was that fair?
But he looked down at the frail little girl on the stretcher—and clenched his fists.
His daughter had leukemia. Treatment had drained his savings.
When he learned about a free hospital room, he didn't hesitate.
Lin Fan and Old Zhang looked at the man. Then at the girl.
She was bald.
They exchanged puzzled glances.
"What happened to her? Why is her head shiny? Very strange…"
A doctor whispered to the man, "It's not too late to regret this."
"No," he said firmly. "We'll stay."
Zhang Hongmin gently lifted his seven-year-old daughter onto the hospital bed, then dragged over a chair between her and the two lunatics.
He would protect her—no matter what.
"Daddy…" the girl whispered.
He smiled and stroked her forehead. "Be good. Rest. When you're better, you'll be a lively little princess again. I'll be right here."
"Mm," she nodded.
Lin Fan and Old Zhang curiously examined her. Then turned to Zhang Hongmin.
"She looks fine to me," said Lin Fan.
"I can do acupuncture," Old Zhang offered. "I could take a look."
Zhang Hongmin didn't reply.
He stared at them with a taut jaw—high alert.
But Lin Fan just smiled and stared back—eyes deep, emotionless.
That gaze could chill any man to the bone.
Zhang Hongmin's throat moved.
He tried not to look away.
He had to stay strong—for his daughter.
He straightened his spine, met Lin Fan's gaze, and refused to flinch—even as sweat beaded down his face.
A father's love is sacred.
Even mortal flesh may rival the divine.
—
After a while, the little girl awoke.
She looked at Lin Fan.
Lin Fan looked at her.
She found his smile warm—like sunlight.
She liked him.
He pulled down his eyelids and stuck out his tongue.
She giggled, soft and clear like wind chimes.
But her body hurt. She frowned slightly.
Still, she bore it.
She didn't want Daddy to worry.
Zhang Hongmin saw Lin Fan teasing his daughter.
He immediately stepped between them, shielding her with his body.
His eyes said: Hurt her, and I will end you.
Lin Fan leaned forward, curious.
The girl peeked around her father's side.
Their eyes met again.
"Hee hee!"
"Hee hee!"
To her, Lin Fan's smile was like sunshine—gentle and kind.
To her father, it was something monstrous.
Dark. Ominous.
Whirr...
Another stretcher.
The One-Eyed Man was back.
Expressionless. Still.
In his ears, the doctor's voice rang:
"It's a complicated case—temporary paralysis of your right leg. Requires rest."
The doctor had spoken kindly, but the look in his eyes was damning:
You let a mental patient needle you.
Now look where you are.
Temporary paralysis.
The One-Eyed Man didn't even feel pain—only disbelief.
He, a titan among warriors…
Brought down…
By a madman with needles.
This isn't real.
This can't be real.
He couldn't accept it.
(End of Chapter)