Chapter Seven: The Descent of the Curse

Chen Fan was so furious he could barely speak, but not a single word came out. After all, he was in charge of this business, and it was essentially his lifeline. If he lost the money from those kickbacks, how could he ever afford to visit the Euphoria Club with his little mistress? He hurried to explain.

"Miss Song, please, let me explain," he stammered. "I didn't mean it. I have a mental illness—sometimes I can't control my thoughts, that's why I said those things."

But the bodyguard at his side showed no mercy. He grabbed Chen Fan by the collar and slapped him twice, hard.

"Cut the crap. If you were really mentally ill, could you be working as a doctor here?"

"And you dare spout nonsense in front of our miss? I'll beat you to death!"

Another harsh slap landed on Chen Fan's face, knocking several more teeth loose. Now at least half his teeth were gone, and eating in the future would be a real problem.

At this moment, Director Zhao Qiang sighed and lowered his head, hurrying to explain, "Madam Song, this is entirely my subordinate's fault. We are to blame, and I apologize to you. I declare that all your medical expenses here this year will be waived."

A look of disdain crossed Song Xueqi's face. "Ha, with your hospital's level of care? I have no interest."

"I'm giving you one last chance. You must save my brother. If you fail, your Minghui Hospital can close its doors for good."

Zhao Qiang instantly realized that today might be the turning point in his hospital's fate. If he offended Song Xueqi, everything would be over.

"Rest assured, Madam Song," he said, taking a deep breath. "To show you my determination," he turned to address everyone present, "if anyone here fails to cure Madam Song's brother, I will deduct all year-end bonuses from everyone, including myself."

"And furthermore, this month's salary will be withheld, and annual salaries will be halved."

At this, everyone fell silent. No one expected that this wretched Zhao Qiang, unable to cure the patient himself, would swear on the welfare of his entire staff.

Meanwhile, Wu Rui cursed him in her heart. Zhao Qiang, I wish you’d swear on your own mother’s life. She lived paycheck to paycheck, spending every cent on food, drinks, and shopping, and sometimes even borrowed just to maintain her glamorous appearance. If their salaries were halved, how could she keep up her persona among her friends?

Zhao Qiang slammed his fist on the table, his face flushing with anger. "Call in every expert in the hospital. Start reviewing these test results and diagnosing immediately."

"We will now give our all to consult on Miss Song's brother's case and ensure his safety."

Soon, every available expert in the hospital gathered—those who were busy had their patients reassigned so they could attend. Even the elderly physicians, stooped with age and cloudy-eyed, joined the consultation.

In unison, they arrived at the same conclusion. "Miss Song, your brother appears to be suffering from food poisoning," they stated confidently.

Their recommended treatment consisted solely of antibiotics, anti-infective agents, various antidotal drugs, and blood cleansing. Nothing more. In fact, each doctor simply followed the previous one's prescription.

When Song Xueqi heard this, her lips trembled with anger.

"Do you think our Song family hasn't provided my brother with a nutritionist? Haven't hired a toxicologist? That every bite he eats is random?"

"I've already taken him to three hospitals. Each of you spouts the same nonsense. Can none of you see beyond your cold machines?"

"If this were poisoning, we would have discovered it long ago. I have in my hands one of the world's most advanced toxin detectors."

She was seething. "If you can't find the cause of his illness or cure my brother, your hospital has no reason to exist."

"But if you can save him, I'll reward you with one hundred thousand yuan in cash, on the spot."

Zhao Qiang's face darkened. Even if she offered a hundred thousand, there was no one in the city—or even the whole province—who could earn that money from her. His body was covered in purple blotches, it wasn’t hereditary, nor was it poisoning. That left only one possibility: some strange, unknown disease.

And when it came to illnesses unrecorded in medical textbooks, they were utterly helpless.

As all the experts fell silent, a voice suddenly broke the quiet.

"Miss Song, are you serious about that?" Everyone turned to see who had spoken—it was Lu Hao, who had previously tried to treat his own father by force.

Chen Fan seized the chance to vent his anger. "Are you insane? Is this a place for you to make a scene?"

"Lu Hao, today Miss Song is the heiress of the Song Group, not just anyone. If you dare spout nonsense in front of her, don’t blame us if we rip you to shreds."

Director Zhao was even more direct. His face darkened and he pointed at Lu Hao, shouting, "Throw this man out!"

The hospital security guards immediately moved to drag Lu Hao away.

Zhao Cuihua, watching Lu Hao being restrained, grew anxious. She tried to help him, shouting, "What are you doing? Let him go! If you can’t cure him and my little brother can, why stop him?"

The chubby guard, wielding his baton, sneered, "If you could cure someone, pigs could climb trees—and I’d be performing brain surgery myself!"

Just as Lu Hao was being hauled away, he suddenly spoke. "In my opinion, your brother isn’t poisoned. He’s been cursed!"

At his words, a flash of inspiration lit up Song Xueqi’s eyes. She seemed to have caught hold of a thread of hope.

The fat security guard swung his baton at Lu Hao’s head, but Lu Hao caught it. Still, he didn’t hold back his insults—after all, this was his chance to impress the director.

"Get lost! You think you’re in a Chow Yun-fat movie? Curses are something from Thailand!"

Chen Fan shouted, pointing at Lu Hao, "Drag this cripple out and give him a beating!"

"Wait!" Suddenly, Song Xueqi's voice rang out.