The emergency room descended into chaos.
Alarms screamed. Doctors barked orders. Nurses sprinted across the room like startled birds, clutching IV bags and defibrillators.
Song Jiaojiao's heartbeat faltered on the monitors, her breathing shallow and irregular. The flicker of life they'd celebrated just moments ago was slipping away.
Outside the glass doors, Chen Wanli stood still as stone. His sharp gaze pierced through the panic, calmly observing as if watching ants scurry across a battlefield.
"She's rejecting the spiritual energy," he murmured, more to himself than anyone else.
"The soul hasn't fully anchored. Her body's fighting to return to death."
Tang Yanan rushed to him, her voice shaking. "What's happening? You said she would live!"
Chen didn't turn. His voice was low and certain. "She can. But not by their hands."
Director Zhang Debiao stormed out of the ER, face flushed with frustration.
"She's seizing! Oxygen saturation is crashing—if she dies now, I swear—"
"You'll blame me?" Chen cut in smoothly, his tone laced with steel.
"You already planned that the moment she sat up in the morgue."
Zhang's sneer twisted. "You're no doctor—just a lunatic with a god complex. This isn't your Taoist fantasy land. It's a hospital. We follow science here."
Chen finally turned. His eyes, once ordinary, now glinted with something ancient—profound and terrifying.
"Then keep watching. Because science just ran out of answers."
Before anyone could stop him, he pushed open the doors to the emergency room and stepped inside. The staff moved to intercept—then froze. One look at his face silenced them. There was no madness in his eyes, only certainty carved into every inch of his being.
Song Jiaojiao was convulsing now, her body arching off the bed. The monitors blared flatline warnings.
Chen didn't hesitate. He placed his right palm on her forehead and his left over her abdomen, eyes closing as he inhaled deeply.
A soft, bluish light began to pulse from his hands.
He spoke, not loudly, but with power that filled the room:
"Heaven's gate, open. Earth's veins, awaken. Soul, return to its place. Let life be extended by the mandate of Heaven!"
The light intensified, flowing like mist into her skin. The tremors stopped. Her body fell still.
A second passed.
Then another.
Suddenly—*beep*.
Then another.
A steady rhythm returned to the heart monitor.
Her fingers twitched.
Her lips parted, breath whispering through.
"She's breathing…" one nurse said, stunned.
"Pulse is stable!" another cried. "Oxygen levels rising!"
Outside, Director Zhang stood in slack-jawed disbelief.
Tang Yanan brought a hand to her mouth. Her husband—her so-called failure of a man—had just dragged someone back from the edge of death.
Chen Wanli turned toward the glass, his expression calm.
"I told you," he said, voice as soft as a breeze, yet sharp as a blade. "Only I, could save her."