**
After leaving the Su family villa, Director Li rushed back to the hospital and reported Su Zhentian's recovery to his superiors.
At first, the hospital's experts scoffed, dismissing it as exaggeration. But when they examined Su Zhentian themselves, their jaws dropped.
It was like seeing a ghost in broad daylight.
These were the industry's elite, accustomed to pronouncing death sentences with finality. Yet a man they'd deemed terminal was now fully healed—no surgery, no side effects.
It defied logic.
They clamored to find the miracle worker behind Su Zhentian's recovery. The hospital dean issued a directive: locate this "senior master" at all costs.
The First Hospital of Shanghai mobilized. Doctors and expert teams were dispatched to the Su family villa, working in shifts to monitor it round-the-clock, hoping to catch a glimpse of the mysterious healer.
Unbeknownst to them, the "senior master" they sought was already at their hospital.
…
Lin Fan parked his Lamborghini at the First Hospital of Shanghai and walked with Bai Shishi toward the ward.
Hospitals, he thought, were the great equalizer. The parking lot brimmed with vehicles, from beat-up sedans to luxury cars, proof that wealth couldn't shield anyone from illness.
Birth, aging, sickness, death—true equality.
Due to Bai Shishi's tight finances, her father's ward was a cramped, no-frills room with ten beds squeezed inside. Capitalists would weep at the efficiency.
Ward 366.
The door opened, unleashing a wave of disinfectant stench. Lin Fan grimaced. Long-term stays here would break anyone.
The room was stark white, cold, devoid of warmth. Ten patients lay listlessly, staring at the ceiling with hollow eyes.
Family members bustled about, delivering homemade breakfasts. Hospital food was pricey, and outside options were often unhygienic, so most brought their own.
Seeing Bai Shishi, several greeted her warmly. Strangers at first, they'd bonded over shared hardship in the ward.
Bai Shishi approached a bed by the window, carrying egg and lean meat porridge. On it lay a middle-aged man, Bai Shan, his skin dark, hands calloused from years of manual labor—likely construction work. His family's poverty was evident.
Bai Shishi opened the porridge, her voice soft with worry. "Dad, eat something. I got you lean meat porridge—it's good for your stomach."
Bai Shan smiled weakly, waving her off. "No appetite. You eat it."
"Shishi, this stuff's expensive. Don't buy it again. You need money for school—don't waste it on me."
Tears welled in Bai Shishi's eyes. "Dad, you're my father. Every cent I have comes from you. How's that a waste?"
Bai Shan's rough hands gently wiped her tears. With a bitter smile, he relented. "Alright, don't cry. I'll eat."
Bai Shishi nodded, carefully feeding him the porridge.
Bai Shan ate, warmth spreading through him. "Delicious," he said, nodding.
But tears soon streamed down his face.
Bai Shishi panicked. "Dad, what's wrong? Is it bad?"
He shook his head, wiping his eyes, ashamed. "I'm useless. I didn't help you—now I'm a burden."
"Sometimes I think dying would be better, so I wouldn't drag you down."
"I never got much education, just worked construction. But you're different, Shishi. You've got a future. I don't want to hold you back."
Bai Shishi set down the porridge, hugging him tightly, sobbing. "Dad, don't say that! You'll be fine—you have to be!"
Lin Fan watched, a mix of envy and emptiness stirring within. Compared to Bai Shishi, he was lucky—his parents hadn't faced such hardship. But he didn't even know who they were, or if they were alive. He'd been alone as long as he could remember.
After Bai Shishi finished feeding her father, Lin Fan pulled her outside.
She gripped his arm, eyes full of hope. "Lin Fan, can you cure him?"
He nodded. "Yes."
He'd observed Bai Shan closely. In traditional Chinese medicine, diagnosis relied on observation, listening, questioning, and pulse-taking. Bai Shan's leukemia wasn't as complex as Su Zhentian's fractures, but it was still tricky.
Herbal preparation was needed before acupuncture could begin.
Lin Fan grabbed a pen and paper, jotting down dozens of Chinese herbs, and handed it to Bai Shishi. "Get these, boil them into a decoction, and have your dad drink it. Rest for half an hour after, then I'll start treatment."
Bai Shishi scanned the list and nodded. "Okay, I'll buy them now."
She trusted Lin Fan completely. Hospital treatments for leukemia often failed, even with matched bone marrow. Lin Fan wasn't a doctor, but she'd seen him save Su Zhentian with her own eyes.
Before meeting him, despair had consumed her. Now, he was her beacon of hope.
…
Meanwhile, on the hospital's top floor, in a luxurious ward decked out like a five-star hotel, an old man lay frail on a single bed.
A young woman stood by, her face etched with worry.
Behind her, a young man in a sharp suit, sporting a trendy Korean hairstyle, slid his arms around her waist. He looked like an idol drama heartthrob—a certified lady-killer.
Sensing her scent, he grinned. "Don't worry, your grandpa'll be fine. I've called the hospital's best doctor."
The girl leaned into him, nodding gratefully. "Thank you."
Chu Ying's smile turned sly. He leaned close, whispering in her ear, "If you want to thank me, you'd better perform well tonight."
**