Chapter 42: The Vicious Beauty (1/2)

The ER nurses scrambled, shoving through the crowd. I watched helplessly as Li Qian was wheeled into the operating room.

How could this happen? Pregnant women usually have "heaven's protection"—an extra yang fire on top of the three standard ones. This fire wards off evil—when do you hear of pregnant women being possessed? Even in accidents, many expectant mothers cheat death, proving heaven's mercy.

Li Qian had no signs of vitality. To the Divine Eye, healthy people glow with yang fire, their Yintang (between the eyebrows) yellow - red; the fortunate have a shining Yintang. Loss of vitality shows in three ways: gray Yintang (spirit possession), green Yintang (encounter with a spirit animal like a snake or weasel), or black Yintang (approaching death).

There's a fourth exception: feng shui can block vitality, letting death qi thrive—effective in days. Li Qian was young, so premature death was impossible. The spider larvae crawling from her stomach reminded me of the method I'd taught Zhao Na.

Chaos reigned in the ER corridor. "Must be from spicy crayfish or wild game parasites," one nurse whispered.

"Right, but those larvae look like spiders. Since when are spiders a tonic?"

Spider larvae in the belly, death qi invading—this was no accident. I didn't call Zhao Na. Li Qian might be unpleasant, but she'd done me no wrong. If her death resulted from my careless feng shui advice, I'd be complicit. Grandpa had taught me never to use feng shui to harm.

Alone in the corridor, I heard Li Qian's screams through the doors. Guilt welled up. A young doctor rushed out: "Where's the director? The patient's water broke, massive hemorrhage! Parasites in the abdomen—we need to operate now! Contact the family!"

"Dr. Hao, her phone is locked!" a nurse fretted.

"Call 110 for emergency contact! Hurry!"

Noticing me, they asked, "Who are you?"

My mind raced. Li Qian's condition reeked of feng shui malevolence. If I'd caused this, I couldn't abandon her. "Is the patient named Li Qian?"

"You know her?" The doctor brightened.

Nodding, I posed as her colleague, praying my youthful face wouldn't arouse suspicion. He handed me papers: "Sign here. No liability—just standard procedure."

"I need to confirm it's her first. Contacting family is too late."

Reluctantly, he pulled me into the OR, warning me to stay quiet. Fresh out of school, he radiated dedication, free of the cynicism of older doctors. Medicine is sacred; no doctor prioritizes money in an emergency—some just lose their way with age.

Changing into scrubs, I followed Dr. Hao. Medics hovered unsurely, waiting for obstetrics. Li Qian, on 强心针 (cardiac stimulant), groaned weakly. Blood and amniotic fluid stained the table as an older doctor prepared for delivery.

Just then, the chief surgeon entered. A black qi exhaled from Li Qian's Baihui acupoint—her soul was departing. Mother and child were both dying. My hands chilled. Qi Men masters like Liu Changsheng risked death for vengeance, but Li Qian was an ordinary woman. A cold wind emanated from her spine.

"The baby's out!" the obstetrician shouted, then screamed, "My god—what is this?!"