Soul Resurrection Needle

"Miracle Doctor, please take me as your apprentice!" Dr. Gregory Finch practically shouted, bowing his head so deeply his forehead nearly grazed the hardwood floor.

Torin stared at the bizarre spectacle, his chest still heaving from the immense exertion. He possessed no energy left to deal with a groveling physician.

Genevieve stood by the wall, her eyes darting between the exhausted young man and the prostrating doctor in pure bewilderment. She took a step forward, her brow furrowed. "Dr. Finch, what on earth are you doing? My dad hasn't even woken up yet. He is still unconscious on the ground."

She simply could not fathom why a renowned medical professional was addressing this rugged twenty-year-old as a miracle doctor while her father remained motionless.

Gregory, however, was consumed by a feverish academic fervor. He snapped his head up, his eyes shining with manic enthusiasm. He rapidly explained to the confused heiress, "Ms. Mercer, you don't understand! You are not aware of what just happened. This gentleman just flawlessly executed a mythical, long-lost ancient acupuncture technique. It is known in medical legends as the Soul Resurrection Needle. It is capable of snatching a dead man back from the underworld itself! Therefore, Mr. Mercer will be just fine."

"He's that good?" Genevieve gaped at Torin, her previous venomous doubts wavering. If Gregory spoke the truth, the title of Miracle Doctor was well earned.

Hearing the grandiose title, Torin felt a wave of internal confusion. *Soul Resurrection Needle?* He had merely applied the fundamental meridian-blocking techniques he casually learned from the eccentric old man, Titus, during their dreary days in prison. He was unaware the outside world viewed those basic lessons as legendary medical miracles.

"I still cannot believe you actually know the Soul Resurrection Needle," Gregory babbled, his voice trembling with awe. "Miracle Doctor, I am Dr. Gregory Finch, the deputy president of the Oakhaven Association of Traditional Medicine. I have only ever read about this technique in fragmented ancient texts. I never expected to have the honor of witnessing it in action today. I beg of you, please accept me as your student."

He pressed his face toward the floor again, subjugating his immense pride and prestigious status before a youth fresh out of prison.

Before Torin could formulate a response to the kneeling deputy president, a series of wet, heavy coughs shattered the silence in the private room.

Robert Mercer's chest hitched. His eyelids fluttered open, his breath catching as consciousness finally returned.

"Dad!" Genevieve shrieked. Tears burst from her eyes. She aggressively rushed forward, her hands reaching out to pull her father into a desperate embrace.

Torin moved with lightning speed. He lunged forward, his hand shooting out to intercept her. He caught her by the shoulder, gently but firmly halting her momentum to prevent her from disrupting the delicate setup.

"Don't touch him," Torin instructed, his voice strict. "He is not supposed to move his body yet."

As Torin held her back, his fingers slid down and accidentally brushed against her slender hand. A brief, electrifying moment of warmth sparked between them. The sudden sensation jolted Torin, forcing his weary heart to skip a beat. The calloused roughness of his fingers pressing against her smooth skin sent a pulse of heat up her arm. Genevieve felt the intense warmth radiating from his hand. The previously hostile heiress froze in her tracks. A deep, sudden blush rushed up her neck and painted her cheeks crimson.

She looked into his intense eyes and whispered, "This is all thanks to you."

Torin quickly released her hand, breaking the magnetic tension. He took a steadying breath, shifting his focus back to the patient. "You have to wait for me to carefully remove the embedded needles first."

Stepping back from the heiress, Torin squared his shoulders. He extended his right hand over Robert's chest. Taking a sharp breath, he channeled his profound internal energy. He executed a swift, almost magical wave over the billionaire's body. An invisible magnetic force surged through the air. All eighty-one silver needles vibrated simultaneously before shooting upward, cleanly extracting themselves from Robert's flesh. They clinked softly as they gathered perfectly into Torin's waiting palm.

He calmly handed the bundle of needles back to the kneeling doctor. "It is done."

Gregory stared at the needles in Torin's hand, his reverence solidifying into fanaticism at the display of sheer skill.

With her previous doubts erased by the undeniable results, a teary-eyed Genevieve knelt on the floor. She carefully supported her weakened father's back, helping him sit up.

"Dad, how do you feel?" she asked, her voice cracking with emotion.

"I'm fine," Robert wheezed, letting out a slight, tired smile. "I feel good, to be honest. Like a heavy weight has been lifted off my chest." He glanced around the room, his gaze snagging on the prestigious doctor still prostrating on the floor. "What is going on here?"

Genevieve quickly briefed him on the magnitude of the situation. She recounted how Torin applied the impossible Soul Resurrection Needle, saving him from the brink of death, and how the arrogant medical deputy president instantly dropped to his knees to beg for apprenticeship.

Robert listened, thoroughly astounded. When Torin diagnosed him with a mere glance, Robert was impressed. But to see an esteemed figure like Gregory Finch groveling proved this incredibly young man possessed god-like medical skills.

Realizing the immense debt he owed, Robert looked up at Torin with pure gratitude. "Young man, you have saved me twice already. From this day onward, you are officially an esteemed benefactor of the entire Mercer family. I solemnly swear that I will readily and immediately fulfill any request you might have, as long as it is within my power."

"You are being far too kind, Mr. Mercer. I barely did anything. Consider this a blessing you deserve for your past charity," Torin replied cordially.

But as Robert smiled in relief, Torin's expression rapidly shifted into a grim, serious tone. He crossed his arms, his gaze piercing through the billionaire's facade.

"However," Torin stated bluntly, chilling the overjoyed room, "although I successfully utilized the Soul Resurrection Needle to pull you back from the brink and save your life temporarily, the underlying root of your ailment remains."

Robert's smile vanished. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Torin warned, his voice echoing like a death knell, "that you will still inevitably die within a mere three months if the core ailment isn't properly treated."

Terror immediately seized Robert's heart. The horrifying reality completely stripped away his powerful billionaire facade. Fearing his imminent demise, Oakhaven's wealthiest and most powerful man scrambled forward and instantly dropped to his knees on the hard floor, joining the doctor.

"Please, sir!" Robert desperately pleaded, his voice cracking with sheer panic. "I am willing to give away every single asset I own! Take my money, my properties, my shares! Just please, I beg you, save my life permanently!"

Torin frowned, highly uncomfortable with these grand, groveling gestures from older men. He did not want Oakhaven's most powerful figures bowing at his feet.

"Stand up," Torin strictly demanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Mr. Mercer, there is no need for that. I am obliged to save you after running into you. My name is Torin Voss. You can just call me by my name."

"I can't do that. Mr. Voss, you're my savior," Robert insisted stubbornly, refusing to rise.

Torin firmly declined the wealthy man's desperate offer of financial assets. He could not afford to buy the necessary medicinal herbs himself, as the prices were astronomically out of reach for ordinary people. "Keep your assets. Instead, I request that you utilize your vast resources to acquire a specific list of exceedingly rare, expensive medicinal herbs for me."

"Sir, whatever you need, just say the word!" Robert nodded eagerly. He turned to his daughter. "Genevieve, prepare a pen and paper to write them down."

Torin grabbed a notepad from the nearby table and quickly jotted down a long, complex list of obscure herbs. He handed the handwritten paper to Genevieve.

"Most of the herbs on that list are explicitly for your father's ongoing treatment," Torin honestly explained to her as she scanned the paper. "However, a few specific items are desperately needed to formulate a cure for my own mother. She tragically lost her sight, and I need these artifacts to restore her vision."

While Torin knew the Mercers' vast, unlimited wealth made acquiring the rare herbs plausible, he harbored deep, quiet doubts in his heart about the final two items on the list.

He needed a spiritually endowed calligraphy brush. It had to be an artifact used long-term by a truly famous scholar, allowing it to absorb human intellect and spiritual energy, or it had to be intricately made from a rare spiritual animal's fur. Alongside it, he needed a unique cinnabar rosary meticulously crafted from the wood of ancient trees.

Torin knew that combining these specific spiritual artifacts would easily allow him to cure his mother's ruined eyes. But encountering them in the modern world demanded sheer, impossible luck and a truly discerning eye. Only those in the know would even recognize them. He stared at the list in Genevieve's hands, wondering if Oakhaven's richest family possessed enough luck to secure a miracle.