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Chapter 102 Emergency in the Hospital
Technique
Appliepie’s parents stared at Sloane, their expressions torn between disbelief, shock, and a deep, complicated
anger. Boone's fate-committed to a psychiatric hospital for life—was hard to process, even after everything he
had done.
After a long pause, Appliepie’s mother murmured, “I guess... that’s karma.”
Sloane didn’t linger. After finishing the acupuncture session, she left behind a personalized massage and
rehabilitation regimen for Appliepie’s father, then quietly exited the ward.
But as she passed by a nearby room, her steps cto a sudden stop.
Inside, several doctors were gathered around a hospital bed, their faces grave. On the bed lay an elderly man,
pale as paper. The monitor beside him showed dangerously weak vitals.
“Prepare the cardiac stimulant,” the attending physician instructed. “Standard dose.”
Sloane's expression changed. She pushed the door open without hesitation.
“Stop! Don’t inject that! You've misdiagnosed him!”
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Her voice cut through the tension like a blade. The room went silent. All eyes snapped to her.
The attending physician frowned, clearly annoyed. “Who are you? This is a critical patient. Don’t interfere.”
The patient's family turned on her, bristling with anger. “Who do you think you are? If something happens to our
father because of you, can you take responsibility?!”
Sloane stepped forward calmly. “I’m a doctor too. | know what I'm doing. This isn’t a typical cardiac condition-
this is a rare form of variant cardiomyopathy. If you give him that stimulant, you'll only accelerate the
breakdown. It'll kill him.”
The attending scoffed. “And you diagnosed that how, with your intuition? Get out. Don’t pretend to be a doctor
just because you've read a few medical books,”
Sloane didn’t argue. She reached into her bag, pulled out a set of needles, and moved toward
the bed.
“No tto explain. I'm saving him.”
Despite the shouts and protests, she swept past them, stepping up to the bed. Her fingers
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Chapter 102 Emergency in the Hospital Heir to a Lost Technique
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found the pressure point at the top of the head. As the needle pierced the skin, the heart monitor suddenly
flared with jagged spikes, blaring alarms.
“Stop! What are you doing?!” one of the family members shrieked, lunging forward.
But the attending stopped them. “Wait! That needle’s near the cerebral cortex. One wrong move and he’s gone.”
The family member froze, lips trembling, eyes wide with fear.
Sloane's fingers remained steady as she adjusted the angle and pressure of the needle. Gradually, the heart
monitor stabilized. The jagged lines smoothed out. The alarms went
silent.
Then she moved to the second needle-straight to the sternum.
The room held its breath. Every eye was locked on her.
Sweat beaded on Sloane's brow as she carefully measured depth and angle. Slowly, the old man’s breathing
steadied. The ghostly pallor on his face gave way to a faint, rosy flush.
“Dad!” the family burst into tears, crowding around the bed.
Just then, the doors burst open. Dr. Benjamin and the hospital's elderly director rushed in.
The moment the director caught sight of Sloane’s needlework, his pupils contracted. He took a staggering step
forward, voice trembling with disbelief.
“This... this is the dry needle technique! That method was lost decades ago!”
The room fell into stunned silence.
Benjamin stared, stunned. “Director, are you sure? That's the legendary dry needling method your teacher
mentioned-"
“Quiet!” the director barked, waving a hand to silence him.
His
gaze never left Sloane, eyes filled with something deeper than curiosity-recognition, awe, and something almost
reverent. It was as if he wasn't just seeing her-but the shadow of someone else behind her.
As Sloane inserted the final needle, the old man exhaled deeply. His color slowly returned, his features relaxing.
He was stable.
The family cried out in joy, overwhelmed with gratitude.
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Chapter 102 Emergency in the Hospital
Heir to a Lost Technique
The director followed closely behind Sloane, barely giving her space to breathe.
“Young lady,” he asked urgently, “where are you from? Who taught you?”
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