Chapter 569
The Ghostly Doctor, Fang Cheng is an Honest Kid!
Chapter 569 The Ghostly Doctor, Fang Cheng is an Honest Kid!
The alleys of Jinshui Fish Market are very narrow, with low, old brick houses on both sides.
The peddler delivering goods on his tricycle made a clanging sound as the wheels rolled over the uneven road.
In the seafood shops, baskets of clams and shrimp were stacked up, ice crystals melted on the cement floor, and the fishy, salty smell filled the entire street.
Deep within this old town area by the sea lies a clandestine clinic without a sign.
In the waiting room outside, an old television was crackling and playing the midday news.
The operating room at the very back, which had been converted, was now blindingly bright with its operating lights.
On the operating table, Huolong was shirtless, with open wounds on his chest and abdomen.
The skin, repeatedly wiped with disinfectant, gleamed with a cold light.
Three figures surrounded the stage.
The surgeon was wearing a mask and a cloth cap, with only his eyes showing.
Those eyes were exceptionally bright, sharp as an eagle's, yet deep and still like an ancient well.
At the same time, the equipment in his hands seemed to grow from his fingertips.
Every surgical movement was precise and efficient, without any unnecessary attempts.
"Give me a little more light."
His voice was deep and resonant, echoing throughout the operating room.
The young assistant on the left quickly adjusted the shadowless lamp, lowering the beam by an inch to clearly illuminate the wound.
The older black market doctor on the right swallowed unconsciously.
Sweat streamed down his temples, but he dared not move, letting the sweat drip onto the edge of his mask.
Although the two pieces of shrapnel removed from the injured person today were much shallower than the lung surgery performed last night, they were still extremely dangerous.
The wound was clearly torn by some kind of large-caliber high-explosive bullet, with extremely irregular edges and shrapnel deeply embedded in the muscle tissue.
A slight mistake could sever an artery and cause massive bleeding.
Such a horrific injury would deter any surgeon, even a chief physician, from operating on it in any top-tier hospital in Dongdu.
Having worked as a black market doctor for so many years, this was the first time he had ever seen someone survive such severe injuries.
The red-haired foreigner in front of me has a vitality that's even stronger than a cockroach.
But the surgeon's hand remained as steady as a rock.
The scalpel made a precise incision along the cleaned wound path, avoiding all important blood vessels and nerves.
"suck."
The assistant immediately applied a negative pressure suction device to quickly remove the oozing blood and maintain a clear view.
The first piece of shrapnel revealed a menacing corner.
The metal surface was covered in dark red bloodstains, stuck tightly between the muscles.
The surgeon replaced the hemostat with a forceps, made a very small adjustment to the angle, and loosened the tear little by little along the original direction of the tear.
"Don't rush."
These words seemed to be spoken to himself, yet also to reassure his nervous assistant beside him.
The shrapnel was completely removed and dropped into a stainless steel tray with a crisp, light sound.
The black market doctor on the right breathed a sigh of relief, then his heart jumped into his throat again.
Because the second piece is in a more tricky position.
It clung tightly to the ribs, its trajectory convoluted, making it almost impossible to see its entirety.
The surgeon replaced the surgical probe with a surgical probe and carefully inserted it into the wound to confirm the exact direction and depth of the shrapnel.
A few seconds later, he withdrew the probe, flipped his wrist, and the scalpel re-entered at an unbelievable angle.
Then the tweezers were inserted, and paused for a moment.
The metal was firmly clamped in the next second.
Instead of pulling it out directly, the surgeon gently rotated it to completely separate the shrapnel from the surrounding tissue.
The movement was so subtle that it was almost imperceptible.
But the second piece of shrapnel, which was successfully removed and landed in the dish, proved everything.
The two black market doctors breathed a sigh of relief almost simultaneously, feeling their backs were soaked with sweat.
"Stop the bleeding, clean the wound, and suture."
The surgeon's voice remained steady as he began the finishing touches.
The electrocoagulator beeped a few times, and the wrist flicked to draw the needle and thread.
The entire process of suturing the wound was so smooth and quick, it was like an art performance.
With the last stitch, the knot is tied.
He glanced up at the stable vital signs on the monitor, then slowly straightened up and spoke in a deep voice:
"ended."
Seeing this, the two black market doctors who were acting as assistants finally felt relieved.
The surgeon took off his blood-stained surgical gown and mask, revealing a well-defined face.
His temples were already somewhat gray, his face was solemn, and the lines at the corners of his mouth were very tight, as if he rarely smiled.
He neatly arranged the used equipment, categorizing them, and his tone returned to its usual indifference:
"Administer antibiotics on time, observe the drainage tube for six hours, and call me immediately if there are any abnormalities."
"Yes Yes!"
The two black market doctors nodded repeatedly, their eyes filled with awe.
"Your skills are truly amazing; we admire you from the bottom of our hearts."
The man didn't reply; he simply washed his hands and dried them with a towel.
He then took out a pair of reading glasses from his pocket and slowly put them on.
With the lens pressed down, those sharp, eagle-like eyes instantly became gentle and cloudy, almost completely obscuring the glint in them.
He looked like he had aged ten years in an instant, turning into an ordinary middle-aged man you could see anywhere on the street.
He packed his things, pushed open the door, and went out.
"Oh my God……"
Watching the man's retreating figure, the young assistant wiped away his sweat; his legs were still a little weak.
"Who is this guy? He's incredible."
The older black market doctor looked thoughtfully at the door that had closed again.
"I think the way he used the knife just now reminded me of someone else."
"Who?"
"Ghost hands."
"Ghost hands?!"
The young assistant was taken aback, clearly having never heard of this name before.
"That was a ruthless character who retired from the underworld more than a decade ago."
The black market doctor lowered his voice, a strange excitement lurking in his tone:
"At that time, the most outstanding and mysterious black market doctor in the entire Dongdu Road was known as the reincarnation of Hua Tuo, the Ghost Hand Divine Doctor."
"Legend has it that his hands can kill without leaving a trace, and can also forcibly pull the dead back from the hands of the King of Hell."
"Besides him, I can't think of anyone else in this world who could have such extraordinary skills."
....................................
The corridor was dimly lit, and the walls were peeling.
Lin Fusheng raised his head, his gaze sweeping across the corridor to the reception room outside.
The old television on the wall was showing the midday news.
The footage shows an aerial view of a building rooftop, riddled with bullet holes and cordoned off, resembling a battlefield ruin.
Two people were sitting on the sofa.
A young, handsome man, dressed in a simple sweatshirt, with a tall and straight figure, was intently staring at the screen.
The other one wore black-rimmed glasses, looked middle-aged, and was refined and scholarly, like a university professor.
When his gaze fell on the young man, Lin Fusheng's tense facial features softened slightly.
"Uncle Lin."
Hearing footsteps, Fang Cheng immediately turned around, stood up, and called out. The professor also stood up, his eyes filled with anticipation.
"Old Lin, was the surgery successful?"
"My life has been saved."
Lin Fusheng nodded, walked to the water dispenser, and filled a glass with water.
"The lung lobe was treated properly yesterday, and the two pieces of shrapnel removed today are not a big problem. As long as there is no subsequent infection, he should wake up within three days."
"Thanks for your hard work."
The professor breathed a sigh of relief and thanked him sincerely:
"If it weren't for your help this time, we wouldn't know who to ask for help, and the trail would have gone cold."
Fang Cheng was also somewhat surprised.
He was quite surprised when the professor told him last night that the surgeon invited was Lin Fusheng.
Unexpectedly, Uncle Lin, who usually only helps neighbors with bone setting and massage at his traditional Chinese medicine clinic, is actually capable of performing such extremely dangerous surgical procedures, and his skills are even more advanced than those of professional doctors.
Don't give me that.
Lin Fusheng, however, was unmoved. After taking a sip of water, his tone turned cold:
“If you hadn’t said that this person was related to A-Cheng, I would never have gotten involved in this mess.”
The professor opened his mouth, but didn't refute it; he just lowered his head and gave a bitter smile.
There was a hint of helplessness in that smile, as well as guilt for unresolved past grievances.
As he spoke, Lin Fusheng's gaze fell on the television screen.
The subtitles scrolled at the bottom of the screen, and the host sat upright, announcing in a deep voice:
"...On the evening of May 23, a vicious terrorist attack occurred at the Silver Wing Building on Jinhai Road."
"During the pursuit of the suspect, an armed helicopter crashed due to pilot error..."
"Currently, the military and police have jointly established a special task force to conduct a thorough search of the entire city and are offering a reward for relevant clues. We hope that any citizens with information will actively come forward..."
Lin Fusheng stared at the ruins on the television for a few seconds.
He then turned to the professor, his voice low and carrying a clear warning:
"Old Ye, I don't care what kind of operation you're planning or what kind of investigation you're trying to do, just stay away from A-Cheng."
"He's an honest kid, don't lead him down that dead-end path."
The professor's lips twitched slightly, and he couldn't help but think to himself, "What do you mean?"
Fang Cheng, who beats people up with his fists at the drop of a hat, is still seen as an honest kid in your eyes?
You have to understand, I'm not the one leading him now; I'm clearly his assistant, doing whatever he says.
In front of his old friend, the professor appeared to be constantly at a disadvantage, completely lacking his usual composure and calmness.
Fang Cheng stood aside without saying a word, but he understood what Lin Fusheng meant.
Although Uncle Lin didn't ask any questions, he probably already guessed seven or eight parts of it.
As he was pondering this, Lin Fusheng suddenly turned to look at him.
"What have you been up to lately? It's been a while since you've come to the store."
The aloofness on his face vanished instantly, and he reverted to the kind and gentle neighborly elder:
"Is it because you think my place is shabby and I don't pay you, so you don't want to come here and work for free?"
"No way, Uncle Lin."
Fang Cheng smiled and casually brushed it off:
"I've been very busy with work lately and just can't find the time."
"No matter how busy you are at work, you must take a break and not ruin your health."
Lin Fusheng didn't press further, but simply patted him on the shoulder:
"Come over and sit down whenever you have time. I'm not a heartless boss, and I won't force you to work. When you're not here, I always feel like I'm missing someone to talk to."
He paused, his tone becoming more earnest:
"Acheng, don't let the massage and bone-setting techniques I taught you become rusty. They're your livelihood and life-saving skills."
Upon hearing this, Fang Cheng's heart stirred slightly.
To be honest, I haven't been going to Master Lin's bone-setting clinic much lately.
The main reason is that the underworld in the Jiangbei area is calm, unlike before the Lunar New Year when there were constant disputes and the various gangs were in complete chaos.
With fewer people fighting, there are fewer patients needing treatment for fractures and sprains.
Instead of idling around in the shop, it's better to practice other skills at home and gain more experience points.
But he certainly couldn't say those words out loud.
"I remember, Uncle Lin."
Fang Cheng smiled and agreed:
"My hands are itching a bit, and I'd like to give someone a massage. I'll go over there when I have some free time in the next couple of days."
As he spoke, he took out his car keys from his pocket:
"Let's go, I'll take you back to Old Factory Street."
"No need, I can take a taxi back myself. Don't delay your business..."
"I'm also heading home, it's just on my way."
Without waiting for a reply, Fang Cheng took the cloth bag from Lin Fusheng's hand and walked towards the door first.
Lin Fusheng glanced at him, a hint of warmth appearing in his eyes. He didn't refuse again, but shook his head helplessly.
Before leaving, Fang Cheng turned back and made a phone call gesture to the professor who remained behind.
The professor understood and nodded slightly, indicating that he would keep an eye on the fire dragon's situation and notify him immediately if there was any news.
....................................
A black Land Rover SUV drove out of the Jinshui Fish Market and merged into the traffic on the main road.
Outside the window, billboards and skyscrapers of varying heights flashed past.
The car was quiet, even somewhat dull.
Lin Fusheng sat in the passenger seat, his brows slightly furrowed, as if he were thinking about something.
Fang Cheng gripped the steering wheel, his gaze fixed ahead, and did not speak.
The engine roared, and the car moved steadily forward.
When the car drove onto the bridge leading to the JB district, Lin Fusheng finally broke his silence.
"Acheng, are you... hanging out with him now?"
Lin Fusheng did not name names, but Fang Cheng knew he was referring to the professor.
"That's it."
Fang Cheng gently turned the steering wheel, and the car drove smoothly along the lane.
"He's a very cunning person, and his mind is more complicated than a maze."
Lin Fusheng leaned back in his chair, gazing at the receding river view outside the window, his tone flat, as if he were talking about a complete stranger:
“Back then, he and I argued many times because of our differing beliefs. If you get too close to him, you'd better be careful.”
"Thank you for the reminder, Uncle Lin."
Fang Cheng looked straight ahead and slowly said:
“But he’s on my side now, and I trust that.”
Lin Fusheng sighed, not pressing the topic further, but instead turned to look out the car window, his voice lowering slightly:
"Was last night's incident related to the military?"
"It's just a personal grudge, not what you think."
Fang Cheng spoke calmly and briefly.
Lin Fusheng fell silent.
He knew Fang Cheng didn't want to say more, so he didn't press the matter further.
Everyone has their own path to walk, and some things are beyond his control as an elder.
The carriage fell silent again, with only the sound of tires rolling over the road echoing in the background.
After a long while, Lin Fusheng seemed to have made up his mind and suddenly spoke:
"Acheng, would you like to hear about your dad's life when he was young?"
Fang Cheng's fingers, gripping the steering wheel, paused slightly before he nodded.
"it is good."
(End of this chapter)