Nine Restoring Yang Needles

Silence.

A heavy, thick silence fell over the room.

Then, as if the dam had broken, the crowd erupted into thunderous applause.

Admiration. Respect.

Yes, respect.

In the world of painting, Master of Clouds was a revered idol. And Alice, this unassuming woman, had just received a custom-made masterpiece from him—something so exquisite, so mind-bending that it was considered a treasure across the globe.

To everyone present, it was clear that in the eyes of Master of Clouds, Alice was someone of immense significance.

She wasn't just some ordinary attendee; she was the chosen one. The sole recipient of his unparalleled artistry. The mere fact that she held this painting meant that in the eyes of the world, she was not someone to be trifled with.

A wave of realization swept through the crowd: This strange, unremarkable woman was now forever tied to the legendary Master of Clouds.

It made sense, then, why Alice had been given the VIP seat—the true mark of importance.

Standing before them, holding the masterpiece, Alice's delicate body trembled slightly. She could hardly believe it herself. How could she? How could she deserve such a gift from someone as esteemed as Master of Clouds?

She was no longer Queen Rose—the captivating, powerful woman who held the world in the palm of her hand. She was no longer the cold-faced killer known as Night Rose, feared by all. She was simply Alice—an ordinary admirer, a fan who had been chosen by the artist himself.

But then again, Alice had her own significance. She was not just any woman; she was John's most respected elder sister—the third elder, to be precise. And of course, everything that had happened tonight was thanks to John's behind-the-scenes machinations.

Just days before, Alice had been humiliated by the Johnson family, those pompous, arrogant people who thought she wasn't worthy of being in their circle.

"Fine," she had thought. "I won't join your pretentious group. I'll make my own way and show you who the real elite are."

And so she had—by creating a feast for them all with her own hands, making them all realize just who she was.

Now, those same renowned collectors who had once ignored her were flocking to her side, eager to show their admiration. They were offering to take her on private tours of their collections of rare paintings and calligraphy. They were offering deals, but Alice wouldn't bite. The priceless Blooming Rose was now in her hands, and no amount of money could make her part with it.

A particularly wealthy merchant prince even offered her billions for the painting, but she refused with grace. The merchant prince, far from being angry, handed her his business card, almost pleading for her friendship.

Why? Because they all believed that through Alice, they could somehow connect to Master of Clouds. They thought that, surely, Alice must be close to him, that she knew him intimately. After all, it was only someone with that kind of relationship who could be gifted such a rare, one-of-a-kind creation.

From that moment onward, Alice's name would be forever linked with Master of Clouds. And to those who adored painting and calligraphy, she was destined to become a figure of immense importance.

Meanwhile, Philip, Julian, Wade, and his son stood at the far edge of the room, watching Alice being showered with admiration. The bitterness in their hearts was evident.

They had been so close to meeting Master of Clouds. And now, it was all slipping away from them.

Philip, Julian, and Wade's son couldn't help but curse Roe in their minds.

"If it weren't for him," they thought, "we could've been the ones to meet Master of Clouds. We could've been the ones with the opportunity."

They were furious—furious at Roe, at his blind arrogance and his attempt to undermine Alice that night.

"Damn him," they muttered, knowing they had squandered the golden opportunity.

But it was too late now.

And as the tension thickened, Wade's body jerked suddenly. His face flushed with a deep, sickly purple as he collapsed to the ground.

"Dad!" Roe cried out, his voice trembling with panic.

Julian's eyes snapped to attention. He quickly pulled out his acupuncture kit and tried to administer the same treatment as he had done before, but this time… things were different.

This time, there was no relief. Wade's convulsions grew worse, and his head began to leak blood from his seven apertures.

"How could this be?" Roe roared, grabbing Julian by the collar. "How could this be happening again?"

Julian was frantic, his hands shaking. "I don't know! It worked before! I… I'll call my teacher! Maybe he can—"

"Stop!" Roe shouted. "It's too late! My father is already dead! Your teacher won't be able to help!"

In a fit of rage, Roe's fist flew, striking Julian's glasses off his face and shattering them into pieces.

And then, in a desperate panic, Roe spotted John across the room. His heart lurched, and without thinking, he rushed toward him, his voice full of pleading.

"Mr. Lopez! Please! My father is dying! Save him, please!"

John raised an eyebrow, glancing over at Roe with a cold, indifferent look. "Someone's doubting my medical skills again?" he said, his tone dripping with scorn.

"I—I should've trusted you that day, Mr. Lopez! I know I was wrong! Please, save my father!"

Roe's voice cracked with desperation. He had nowhere else to turn.

Though John was no stranger to cruelty, there was something in his eyes that softened at the sight of Wade's pitiful son. Perhaps it was the reminder of how he had once been—lost, alone, searching for anything to cling to.

With a sigh, John approached Wade, moving with quiet confidence.

"I know what you're thinking, Alice," John said, glancing at her before continuing. "I've got this."

With a flick of his wrist, John produced his needles and gently but swiftly began working on Wade. His movements were precise, smooth—an art form in themselves. The crowd watched in stunned silence, unable to look away.

John's skill was nothing short of extraordinary. Every needle he lifted seemed to cause a ripple in the air, each movement more mesmerizing than the last.

Julian's eyes widened in shock. He couldn't fathom what he was witnessing. Not even his teacher, the so-called master, could move with such finesse.

John finished his work in one fluid motion, pulling the last needle from Wade's body and watching as Wade's chest rose with a heavy breath. A moment later, Wade coughed violently, spitting out a mouthful of thick, black blood—the remnants of Julian's misguided attempts.

"Dad! Are you okay?" Roe gasped, his hands trembling as he reached for his father.

Wade blinked, his eyes fluttering open. He took a deep breath, feeling a weight lift from his chest. "I… I feel better. It's not as tight in here anymore. Thank you, Mr. Lopez. Thank you."

"Thank you, Mr. Lopez! Thank you, Miss Moon!" Roe cried, falling to his knees in gratitude.

With all the dignity he could muster, Wade bent his head to Alice and John.

The world had shifted once again—this time, in favor of those who truly understood the art of life, death, and everything in between.