Chapter Eight: Is This Really Possible?

“You’re getting close—go on,” Song Xueqi said, silencing the others to let Lu Hao continue.

Lu Hao pressed on, “Miss Song, may I ask—does your brother sometimes drift in and out of consciousness? When awake, does he seem dazed, as if he’s dreaming? And does he say strange things?”

Chen Fan, standing nearby, burst out angrily, “Are you out of your mind? Or just insane? Things are chaotic enough—can you stop interrupting?”

Director Zhao stepped forward to explain to Song Xueqi, “Miss Song, this man’s not right in the head. Earlier he was recklessly treating his own father with needles—almost killed him.”

“Enough! All of you, be quiet!” Song Xueqi suddenly snapped, grabbing a bottle and smashing it to the floor, exuding the air of a formidable woman. “Gao Ping, get these people out. I don’t want to hear another word from them.”

“Yes, Miss. I’ll remove them at once.” The bodyguard, Gao Ping, seized both men by the collars, ready to drag them out.

Now Director Zhao grew anxious. “Wait! Wait! This patient is under my care, Miss Song. I’m responsible for your brother’s safety. If this doesn’t work, we’ll have to revert to our treatment plan. I promise, I’ll keep quiet from now on, all right?”

But Song Xueqi ignored both Zhao Qiang and Chen Fan, focusing intently on Lu Hao. “You’re absolutely right. Every symptom matches exactly,” she said, a flicker of hope dawning in her eyes.

“This kind of black magic originated in Thailand as a form of sorcery,” Lu Hao explained. “The practitioner uses a spiritual medium—perhaps a doll made from a corpse—and collects something from the victim, such as hair or skin. Through secret rituals, a connection is forged, and then the curse is cast.”

As Lu Hao spoke, Song Xueqi’s pupils dilated. She had indeed heard of such practices in Thailand, but never imagined this dark magic would strike so close to home.

She nodded gravely. “Now that you mention it, my brother did go to Thailand for a study tour. After returning, he suddenly fell gravely ill, and no one could determine the cause.”

She now regarded Lu Hao as an expert of the highest order.

“If my guess is correct, the curse is a particularly sinister one, known as the Ghost Descent,” Lu Hao continued. “If not properly dealt with, it could even claim his life.”

He asked, “Tell me, does your brother experience convulsions and tremors around one or two in the morning?”

At this, Song Xueqi could no longer remain composed. “How do you know that?” she gasped, horror on her face.

“That confirms it,” Lu Hao said. “I’m certain he’s been cursed. But I can treat him. Please have my silver needles sterilized, and bring sulfur, angelica root, and the fresh blood of a rooster—one just slaughtered, brimming with yang energy.”

Lu Hao took a deep breath. Dealing with such black magic was at the very limits of medical science. If not for the legacy of the Azure Dragon and the wisdom passed down from those who had faced such curses before, he too would have been helpless.

“Hurry!” Song Xueqi ordered, turning to Chen Fan and Zhao Qiang. “Sterilize the needles and gather the herbs. Only you two can handle this.”

“Yes, yes!” Chen Fan and Zhao Qiang nodded rapidly and rushed to do as instructed.

Song Xueqi stared them down coldly. “Let me warn you: don’t try anything, or you’ll answer to me. This is my brother’s life at stake. If I catch you sabotaging anything, you’ll pay with your lives.”

“Gao Ping, go get the rooster blood.”

“Understood.”

The group split up, returning soon after with what was needed.

Lu Hao began the treatment, following the methods passed down from the Azure Dragon legacy. He first smeared the rooster’s blood over the boy’s body, dyeing him a vivid red, then ground the angelica and sulfur into a paste and coated his own hands with it. Then, with practiced precision, he inserted silver needles into sixteen acupuncture points.

“Out!” he commanded, suddenly striking the crown of the boy’s head.

Miraculously, the boy—who had been unconscious—bolted upright and vomited a lump of black matter. The thing writhed and twisted as if alive.

It had sharp, menacing jaws. As it fell to the boy’s abdomen, it tried to burrow back inside, but the rooster blood kept it at bay.

Lu Hao, quick as lightning, grabbed it with his medicine-smeared hand.

The creature shrieked, a piercing, inhuman sound.

“Wretched beast! How dare you prey on my people in China! Die!” Lu Hao cried, driving a silver needle straight through the creature.

When at last he finished, the seven- or eight-year-old boy—the young heir of the Song Corporation—lost the sickly bluish hue that had covered his body, as if a tide had retreated.

“Sister!” the boy opened his eyes, burst into tears, and called out.

“I’m here!” Song Xueqi hurried to him.

Everyone present was stunned beyond words. No one could have imagined Lu Hao capable of such feats.

“He actually knows how to deal with Thai black magic?”

“That’s real skill—he saved the Song heir. He’s made it big now.”

“No wonder he dared treat his own father—he’s got something up his sleeve, all right.”

Lu Hao wiped the sweat from his brow. Seeing the boy’s recovery, he finally relaxed.

“This curse was a ghost monkey. It’s been expelled, but further steps are needed to fully cleanse him. Otherwise, the curse could return.”

Without hesitation, Song Xueqi stepped forward and placed a bank card in his hand. “There’s a hundred thousand in this card—meant for my brother’s tuition, but I’m giving it to you now. This is just a token of my gratitude. From now on, I entrust my brother’s health to you.”

She handed him a Diamond VIP card. “With this, you’ll enjoy the highest privileges at any Song Corporation establishment.”

At this, Chen Fan could barely contain his jealousy, nearly drooling in envy.

How could this be? he fumed inwardly.