"Have you gathered enough for the surgery fees yet? The illness can’t be delayed," Zhang Fan asked nonchalantly.
The surgery would cost at least over 200,000 yuan.
If he were to step in and treat it himself, it would be a massive favor.
At this thought, Zhang Fan glanced at Lan Ruoxi’s striking face and allowed a faint smirk to curl his lips.
Lan Ruoxi clenched her fingers until her knuckles turned white, anxiety lacing her voice as she pleaded, "Doctor, please examine my mother’s condition."
Though her mother claimed to feel much better, Lan Ruoxi’s heart still trembled with unease.
Zhang Fan briefly checked Liu Yuefen’s tongue coating and complexion before his expression shifted to disbelief. "She’s already recovered?"
Lan Ruoxi’s beautiful eyes instantly lit up.
She was really cured?!
"Mom, did you hear that? The doctor said you’re fine!"
Lan Ruoxi threw herself into Liu Yuefen’s arms, tears streaming down her face like pear blossoms in the rain.
Liu Yuefen chuckled softly, patting her daughter’s back. "Silly girl, why cry when we should be celebrating?"
"Impossible! That’s impossible!"
Zhang Fan looked as if he’d seen a ghost.
"Tell me, what happened to your mother recently? This kind of illness doesn’t just heal on its own," he insisted firmly.
"Nothing out of the ordinary..."
Lan Ruoxi trailed off, her pupils suddenly contracting as a memory surfaced.
Last night, a shadowy figure had slipped into their hospital room—she wasn’t sure what they’d done.
Her thoughts raced as she forced herself to stay composed.
The image of that young man from last night grew clearer in her mind.
"Doctor, could I check the hospital’s hallway surveillance footage?" Lan Ruoxi asked seriously.
Zhang Fan nodded. "Of course, I can help with that."
"Thank you, Doctor! You’re such a kind person!"
A pure, radiant smile graced her lips.
Zhang Fan swallowed hard. Innocent yet alluring—this must be what they meant by a "pure-yet-seductive" girl.
He could feel it—love was coming his way.
Meanwhile, Lan Ruoxi’s cheeks flushed slightly as she recalled the figure from last night.
It had to be him. There was no doubt!
**"Ding! Oppressing the Son of Destiny has reduced his Destiny Points by 5. Host’s Villain Points +20!"**
Still half-asleep, An Yi groggily awoke to the system’s notification ringing in his ears.
"What’s going on? Why did my Villain Points suddenly increase?"
He was utterly baffled.
He hadn’t done anything!
At this rate, Zhang Fan—who hadn’t even clashed with An Yi yet—had already lost 10 Destiny Points, dropping to 90.
If his Destiny Points fell to an average person’s level, An Yi’s mission would be complete.
"An Yi, you’re awake! Auntie Zhou needs help moving to another ward. Come on!" Shen Muxuan waved at him, her smile bright.
Auntie Zhou’s condition had stabilized, and now she only needed observation. She no longer required a private room.
"She can walk now, right? It’s good for patients to move around a bit."
"Stop yapping! Am I the patient here or are you? Get to work!"
An Yi carried some luggage to the entrance of another ward—then froze.
So did the people inside.
Inside the room were two figures: an elderly man he didn’t recognize and a young man who was unmistakably Lin Chen!
This couldn’t be a coincidence!
Their eyes locked, an invisible tension crackling between them.
"What are you doing here?" Lin Chen demanded coldly.
An Yi scoffed. "Do I need to report to you? Does this hospital belong to you?"
"You—!"
Lin Chen’s expression darkened.
For some reason, An Yi irritated him beyond just yesterday’s basketball defeat.
"Such fiery tempers in the young! Barely met and already butting heads," the elderly man—frail-looking and unremarkable—chimed in cheerfully, clearly enjoying the spectacle.
He was the old man Lin Chen had supposedly "knocked down" in the park, now hospitalized.
"An Yi, who’s this?" Shen Muxuan peeked inside, sensing the hostility.
An Yi shrugged. "No idea."
Lin Chen snorted and crossed his arms, refusing to engage.
"Tsk tsk. Grudges are best dissolved, not deepened. If you’re so worked up, why not settle it with a fight?" The old man grinned mischievously.
An Yi gaped at him.
This geezer was trouble!
"Hey, feeling any better?" Lin Chen asked gruffly.
The old man feigned exhaustion, waving a wrinkled hand with a dramatic sigh. "At my age, your punch hit too hard. I don’t think I’ll recover."
Lin Chen: "..."
An Yi gasped theatrically. "Bro Lin, you punched this poor old man? My, my, bodyguards these days are brutal!"
Ignoring the jab, Lin Chen turned away.
Seizing the opportunity, An Yi took the old man’s hand with righteous fervor. "Don’t worry, Grandpa! If anyone dares lay a finger on you, just tell me. I’ve got your back!"
"Oh, young man, you’re a true saint!" The old man clutched An Yi’s hand, eyes brimming with tears.
An Yi chuckled modestly. "It’s nothing, really."
The scene was surreal.
Beside them, Shen Muxuan rubbed her arms, her skin crawling.
"Though... perhaps a roast chicken might speed up my recovery," the old man mused gravely.
"Fine. But if you keep making demands after this, I’m done with you," Lin Chen growled before storming out.
As he passed An Yi, their shoulders collided sharply.
In that instant, their eyes met—and both struck simultaneously.
Shen Muxuan yelped, "Stop! Stop fighting!"
A fist met an elbow.
The impact sent both staggering back a step, a surge of energy reverberating between them.
"You got stronger?"
An Yi and Lin Chen stared at each other in disbelief.
In just one day, both had grown significantly.
Lin Chen had unlocked his inner energy after his recent breakthrough.
An Yi, meanwhile, had discovered his while practicing the Nine Yang Needle technique.
Watching this unfold, the old man’s playful gaze sharpened into something far more serious.
**Both of them had reached the Ming Jin stage!**
In an instant, the old man stroked his chin, deep in thought.
He was indeed a martial artist—and a formidable one at that.
At the lakeside park, he’d crossed paths with Lin Chen and, recognizing his potential, decided to test his character. If Lin Chen proved worthy, the old man intended to take him as a disciple.
Martial artists only grew shrewder with age.
He could tell Lin Chen had reached the Ming Jin stage without a master—a rare genius.
Yet today, he’d encountered another self-taught prodigy.
**Two in one day?!**