She Became Rich After Divorce

Chapter 291: Needles

Chapter 291: Needles

Time had dwindled down to the last minute. Cheyenne's gaze remained locked onto his eyes, watching as his long, sweat-drenched eyelashes quivered.

Trembling.

Hidden beneath his gaze was fatigue, pain, and a hint of yearning. In Master Iker's eyes, she saw a desire for victory. It was a determination to conquer all obstacles and emerge victorious.

He wanted to stand up!

He wanted to become the same towering and glorious Iker of the past.

Cheyenne bit her lip and her obsidian-like eyes gained a cold, determined glint, akin to the moonlight of autumn. She looked directly at him.

"Master Iker, have you decided?"

"Continue... Miss Lawrence."

He knew that if he continued with this needle, the previous pain might he suffered have been in vain. If he stopped now, following old Mr. Edwards' treatment plan, a daily herbal bath and acupuncture for three months might still lead to recovery. However, as he experienced the searing pain that felt like his heart was being roasted, he realized how slow time could pass, with every minute and second feeling like an eternity.

Three months...

It was too long.

"Alright."

Cheyenne smiled, radiant as a fireworks display in the night sky, dazzling and captivating. Calmly, she continued to insert the silver needle, defying old Mr. Edwards' shocked objections, driving it in.

Layne's rough hand, clutching the timer, trembled uncontrollably. Cold sweat poured down his entire body, his scalp tingling.

This was too audacious!

Even in the medical records of the Edwards family, the ancestors who had developed the Thirteen Needles dared to use the twelfth needle only up to four centimeters.

Throughout his thirty-plus years of practice, Layne had never ventured beyond three centimeters.

Cheyenne's action was unprecedented, and Layne couldn't determine whether it was good or bad. As he rapidly considered how to remedy the situation if it failed, he saw Cheyenne preparing to use an even longer needle, measuring twenty-two centimeters.

Only thirty seconds remained.

In an instant, his face turned ashen.

"Stop, Cheyenne! That's a long needle!"

But it was too late. Cheyenne placed one hand below Iker's navel, an inch from the previous insertion, and with her other hand, she gripped the handle of the long needle. She inserted it at a forty-five-degree angle, with her thumb and forefinger against the needle's shaft, continuing to push it in.

Iker's gaze remained steady as he observed her fair, cool hand resting against his abdomen, and the slight coolness seemed to soothe the underlying heat. Black blood flowed slowly from the needle's tip, and just as it was about to drip into the water, Cheyenne immediately caught it with a nearby metal tray and covered it.

"Grandpa!"

Layne's round, wide eyes remained fixed on the silver needle. The voices echoing in his mind repeatedly questioned when and how Cheyenne had learned this final level of the technique.

It was only when he heard Cheyenne's loud shout that he snapped out of his shock, lowering his head to check the timer. The numbers had just stopped at "0".

In that split second, she also removed the long needle and had Tanner and Omari assist in lifting Iker out of the bath. She turned around.

It wasn't until Layne came over and tapped her on the forehead that Cheyenne's limbs began to regain some strength.

When she decided to use the final needle, she only had a ten percent certainty. But as a doctor, and with Iker as the patient, she couldn't afford to show any fear.

The sound of rushing water filled the bathroom, and the damp air now carried a faint stench. This was the pus and blood flowing out.

Iker, who had fainted from the excruciating pain, had no idea that he had once again appeared in front of others, thoroughly cleaned.

Tanner and Omari didn't even bother with bath towels. They simply scooped him up and carried him to the bedroom.

At Davon's Estate, the man was dressed in a white bathrobe, with a slightly open collar revealing a tantalizing snippet of his tanned neck and delicate collarbones. He sat silently behind the desk, holding a small black circular box in his well-defined, large hands. A red light shimmered within the darkness, giving it an eerie appearance.

A faint, intermittent rustling sound emanated from the small black box, which was no bigger than a palm, but the source of the sound remained unclear in the dimly lit room.

Davon could faintly hear a few key phrases coming from inside the room.

"Treatment for the leg."

"Pull."

"..."

There was also the sound of water and laughter, which led to a bizarre thought crossing his mind: Was Iker's leg getting better?

The air was thick with restlessness, but the elderly man sitting across from Davon appeared calm and sipped his tea. In his other hand, he held two silver spheres, each about the size of a walnut, with smooth surfaces that indicated they had been frequently handled and played with.

"Master Davon, there's no need to worry too much. I'm certain that in this world, nobody could have learned the complete Thirteen Needles technique. No one could save Master Iker's leg."

Davon, hearing his confident words, finally felt some relief. However, he still had his doubts and decided to investigate the matter tomorrow.

Adrian, on the other hand, thought it was unnecessary, but he realized that this was a perfect opportunity to test Layne's skills. So, he agreed.

The following day, Cheyenne, expended most of her energy treating Master Iker the previous night, slept until well into the morning. The voices downstairs drew her attention, and it took her a while to remember who the owner of the voice was.

Granduncle!

Why was he here?

Cheyenne hurriedly changed out of her nightgown and into a wine-red silk dress with a V-neck. Golden chains adorned the shoulder straps, highlighting her delicate, fair shoulders. Her long, seaweed hair was braided into a fishbone plait, with a matching red satin butterfly bow for both a sexy and cute touch.

When she appeared, everyone's eyes brightened. Omari, in particular, fell silent, gazing at her in amazement as she walked towards him.

Davon, seated on the couch, appeared unmoved, but the strong spark of interest that flickered briefly in his eyes didn't escape Omari's notice. As men, they understood each other well. The intrusive nature of that look left a deep impression on him. NôvelD(ram)a.ôrg owns this content.

This awareness prompted Omari to squint his eyes, shift his body to block Davon's view, and deny him that sight. The latter, aware of Omari's childish behavior, smiled discreetly and withdrew his gaze gracefully.

Cheyenne, meanwhile, couldn't help but notice a guest who had no business being there, sitting at the other end of the couch.

She approached and greeted him politely. "Granduncle? What a pleasant surprise; I didn't expect you to visit."

The elderly man nodded and smiled kindly at Cheyenne. "I came uninvited, my dear grandniece, please don't blame me."

Cheyenne smiled back. "Of course not."

As she spoke, her gaze naturally fell upon the black velvet-covered box on the table, exuding an air of mystery. She couldn't help but wonder, "What's inside?"