Dashing Student-Chapter 681: Using a Knife to Kill

The man’s forehead veins bulged, his coarse hands clenching the hem of his clothing until his knuckles turned white: "Doctor Zhang, my senior sister had an accident while practicing, she fell from a three-meter-high plum blossom pole and landed on her waist first..."

His voice suddenly choked, his Adam’s apple bobbing violently: "Please, come and take a look at her!"

Zhang Zhicheng quickly stepped forward, his fingers, like dried tree bark, gently placed on Wu Qiong’s slender wrist.

The consultation room instantly became so quiet that a pin drop could be heard, leaving only Wu Qiong’s rapid breathing and the cicadas chirping outside the window.

"This..." Zhang Zhicheng’s brow furrowed deeper and deeper, the pulse beneath his fingers was as chaotic as hemp, sometimes as rapid as drumbeats, sometimes so faint it was almost undetectable.

His age-spotted hand trembled slightly, and fine beads of sweat seeped from his forehead.

"Quick, lay her flat on the treatment bed!" Zhang Zhicheng’s voice suddenly rose, slicing through the heavy air like a sharp sword.

A few men in training suits scrambled into action, their movements exceptionally gentle, as if transporting a fragile porcelain piece.

Wu Qiong was carefully turned over, the hem of her loose white training clothes lifted slightly, revealing a shocking section of her waist—

The skin that should have been as white as jade was spread with blue-purple bruises like a spider’s web, a walnut-sized lump protruding on the third lumbar vertebrae, with surrounding skin a sinister purple-black.

"Hiss—" Zhang Zhicheng drew in a sharp breath, his cloudy old eyes suddenly widening.

He reached out his trembling index finger, gently touching the injured area.

At the instant of contact, Wu Qiong’s whole body shuddered violently, letting out a muffled groan suppressed to the extreme, her pearl-like teeth biting a trace of blood from her lower lip, while bean-sized sweat droplets rolled down her ash-white cheeks.

Zhang Zhicheng’s expression was as heavy as iron, his hands slowly moving down along Wu Qiong’s spine.

Suddenly, his fingertips paused, his face changing abruptly: "The third lumbar vertebra is dislocated, the fourth..." His voice dropped sharply: "suspected fracture! This..."

He quickly withdrew his hand, repeatedly wiping the cold sweat from his palm on the navy-blue long robe, a dark patch of water stain spreading on the fabric.

The clinic fell silent, even the sound of breathing became cautious. Everyone’s gaze was fixed on Zhang Zhicheng’s constantly moving Adam’s apple, awaiting his verdict.

"Forgive me for being straightforward." Zhang Zhicheng spoke with difficulty, his voice as dry as sandpaper rubbing: "Such an injury..." He shook his head, his grizzled goatee trembling slightly, "My humble Huichun Hall is truly powerless. If the bone is forcibly set, I’m afraid it will injure the spine..."

"What?!" The square-faced man suddenly burst out, his iron grip grabbing Zhang Zhicheng by the collar, lifting him entirely off his feet.

The coarse fabric collar cut into the elder’s slack skin, making a squeaking sound that sent shivers down one’s spine: "Aren’t you called the ’Bone Setting Saint’? Didn’t you personally set my junior brother’s fractured leg last year?"

"Aqiang... let go..." Wu Qiong’s weak voice came from the treatment bed, her pale lips trembling, every word squeezed out with all her strength: "Do not... be discourteous..."

Zhang Zhicheng staggered back two steps, giving a wry smile as he tidied his disheveled collar, clear finger marks left behind: "I am indeed skilled in treating common injuries, but Miss Wu’s wounds..."

He hesitated, his murky eyes sweeping over Wu Qiong’s twisted waist, "With one wrong move, the consequence could be paralysis at the least, and at the most..."

His gaze suddenly drifted to the door, his tone shifting: "However, I do know someone who might be able to treat this injury."

"Who?" Several men in training suits asked in unison, their voices causing the porcelain bottles on the medicine cabinet to tremble slightly.

Zhang Zhicheng stroked his beard, lowering his voice: "A new ’Health Care Hall’ has opened next door, presided over by Doctor Chen Nan."

A complex look flashed in his eyes: "His medical skills are extraordinary. Last month, a waiter at the Drunken Immortal Tower fell from the second floor, dislocating his cervical vertebrae. Even Doctor Liu of Renhe Hall said to prepare for the worst, but he set it right with just a few moves..."

The square-faced man furrowed his thick brows, suspicious: "Is it really that miraculous?"

Zhang Zhicheng sighed lightly, taking a handkerchief from his sleeve to wipe his forehead, his words full of bitterness: "We practitioners often look down on each other, but if I hadn’t witnessed it myself, why would I..."

He suddenly coughed violently, his hunched back shaking like a dry branch in the wind: "Doctor Chen’s accuracy in acupuncture points, the ingenuity of his techniques, I am ashamed to say I cannot compare even after forty years of practice."

He looked at the convulsing Wu Qiong, his voice suddenly rising: "Quickly! This injury cannot be delayed! If delayed another half an hour, not even a god could save her!"

The men exchanged glances, the square-faced man stomped his foot forcefully, the granite floor emitting a dull thud: "Let’s go!"

They carefully lifted Wu Qiong back onto the stretcher, their movements as gentle as cradling new-fallen snow.

Wu Qiong let out a painful moan, her fingernails digging deep into the softwood edge of the stretcher, leaving a few bloody scratches.

Watching the hurriedly retreating figures, Zhang Zhicheng’s mouth twitched slightly imperceptibly.

His youngest apprentice, Wang Ergou, approached timidly, asking nervously: "Master, is Miss Wu’s injury really that serious?"

Zhang Zhicheng suddenly turned around, slapping his withered palm against the rosewood medicine cabinet with a bang, causing the jars to jingle.

He glared at his apprentice venomously, his eyes bloodshot: "If I could treat her, would I send a patient to the Health Care Hall? Do you think your master is senile?"

Wang Ergou shrank back, muttering stubbornly: "But... if even you can’t treat this injury, then that wet-behind-the-ears Chen Nan..."

"Heh..." Zhang Zhicheng suddenly let out a strange cold laugh, the wrinkles on his face smoothing out eerily.

He slowly stroked his beard, his voice so soft only those nearby could hear: "The reason I’m sending Wu Qiong to the Health Care Hall is to borrow the knife of the Wu family martial arts center..."

His murky eyes flashed with a hint of cunning, his branch-like fingers gently tapping on the medicine cabinet: "Wu Qiong’s lumbar vertebrae are already shattered like a cracked porcelain bowl. Even a Daluo Golden Immortal couldn’t save her. Once that naive boy Chen Nan takes over..."

Wang Ergou suddenly widened his eyes, drawing in a sharp breath: "You mean to say, Master..."

"Old Master Wu dotes on this granddaughter." Zhang Zhicheng chuckled sinisterly, revealing a few yellowed teeth: "At that time, do you think the rough men of the Wu family will listen to any explanation?"

He turned to look in the direction of the Health Care Hall, a meaningful smile emerging on his face: "Ultimately, the Traditional Chinese Medicine Street in Luoyang City will still be the domain of my Huichun Hall." ƒrēewebnoѵёl.cσm

There are many clinics in South City, but the business has always been best at Huichun Hall.

However.

Since the opening of Chen Nan’s Health Care Hall, business at Huichun Hall has plummeted!

For this reason, Zhang Zhicheng planned to use the Wu family martial arts center’s knife to eliminate Chen Nan!

A cold smile also emerged on Wang Ergou’s face: "The Wu family martial arts center has many disciples. Once if any accident happens to Miss Wu, Chen Nan and his Health Care Hall are destined to disappear in South City!"