Chapter 7

Goldspire City, Hudds Ventures.

"Dad, something's happened to the Blackwell Enterprises." Lucy stood in front of Hudds, her expression complicated.

"What happened?" Darian's question came instinctively.

"It's… Michelle. Her father—he passed away. Suddenly."

As Lucy spoke, she couldn't help but recall what Emory had once said at Dr. Ian's clinic.

"What? Clark's dead?" Darian was stunned, unable to process it right away.

"The autopsy report says it was due to cold exposure…" Her voice trailed off, hesitant.

"Cold exposure?"

Darian fell into silence.

Because he remembered—

Back at the clinic, Dr. Ian had clearly treated Clark Blackwell's condition. If that were true, how could he die from something as mundane as cold?

"Dad, do you think… maybe we really did meet a miracle doctor?"

After a brief pause, Lucy's voice grew steadier, tinged with awe. "Maybe it wasn't just cold. Maybe… it was some kind of cold poison invading your system."

"…Hmm." Darian considered her words, his face growing serious.

"Lucy," he said finally, "Come with me. We're going to the hospital. I want to get checked."

When the test results came back, both father and daughter were stunned.

The chronic cold condition that had plagued Darian's body was gone.

"Dad, he's real! He really is a miracle doctor!" Lucy could hardly contain her excitement. "I knew I wasn't wrong. And that ridiculous Michelle kept calling him a fraud. Serves her right that her father—"

"Enough." Darian cut her off, voice stern. "Don't gloat."

But inside, he was already thinking about how he could build a connection with someone like Emory.

…

Elsewhere.

When Emory returned to Dr. Ian's clinic, Cora had already left with Helen.

He had just spent thirty thousand to buy the Iris Nightshade. He planned to head home and begin treating his wife's legs.

But just then, trouble broke out at the clinic.

"Dr. Ian! You fraud! You said you cured my father! Then why—why did he die from cold exposure?! Get out here, Dr. Ian!" A woman's scream rang out, raw and unhinged.

Emory turned, his gaze drawn toward the commotion.

And there, kneeling in front of the clinic doors in mourning garb, was Michelle, screaming through tears.

He let out a soft sigh.

'What's done is done,' he thought, and began to turn away.

But Michelle saw him.

"Wait! You—stop right there!"

She sprinted toward him like someone on the edge, her eyes bloodshot, voice breaking. "Why didn't you save my father? Why?!"

Emory looked at her calmly.

"You didn't believe in me," he said. "So how could I have saved him? In your eyes, I was nothing but a fraud."

"I… I…" Her mouth opened, but no words came.

Michelle finally dropped into a crouch, her whole body trembling as she choked back sobs.

Regret.

Frustration.

But… there was no medicine for what she needed now.

…

Half an hour later, Emory returned to Cora's home.

"You're back," Cora said softly, her eyes warm as she looked at him. "Mom has calmed down from what happened at the clinic. She even bought pork ribs—we're having braised ribs for dinner."

"Hmph. I didn't buy any for Emory," Helen said coldly. "Emory, we don't support freeloaders in this house. You've married into our family, so when are you planning to get a job? Didn't you claim you know medicine? Or do you really expect Cora to support you for the rest of her life?"

"I..." Emory started to say he'd begin job hunting tomorrow, but before he could finish, Cora's phone rang.

"What? Aunt Hilda was in a car accident? Is it serious? Okay, I understand. We'll come right away."

She hung up and turned quickly to Helen. "Mom, it's Aunt Hilda—she's been in an accident."

"Your Aunt Hilda? Hilda Madison? Isn't she abroad?"

Helen was stunned.

"She came back today with Alice," Cora explained while putting on her coat. "Emory, come with us to the hospital. When I was little, Aunt Hilda took good care of me. Now that she's hurt, I have to see her."

"Of course."

When they arrived at Goldspire City Hospital, several members of the Madison family were gathered around a hospital bed, their expressions filled with worry.

"Mom, what did the doctor say? Will I ever walk again?" On the bed, Hilda was suffering from multiple compound fractures in both legs. She looked up at Madeline with desperation in her voice. "I don't want to spend the rest of my life in a wheelchair. I don't want to be disabled."

"Hilda... The doctors here said your legs are beyond saving. There's no way to fully recover—unless you use prosthetics."

Madeline looked at her paralyzed daughter, her heart breaking. Today was supposed to be a family reunion. No one had expected something like this to happen.

"Prosthetics? No! I don't want prosthetics! I just want to be normal again—I don't want that..." Hilda began to cry.

Watching from beside Emory, Cora felt a deep sympathy rise within her. As someone living with a disability herself, she understood better than anyone the crushing weight of that despair.

"There is another way. Aside from prosthetics... there is something else that could heal Aunt Hilda," Emory said quietly, breaking his silence.

"Emory! Who asked you to speak?" Scarlet snapped, glaring at him with obvious disdain.

"Who is he?" the others murmured, unfamiliar with Emory.

"He's Cora's husband," Scarlet replied casually. "Emory. A bumpkin from the mountains."

She left out the part where she had once been engaged to him.

"Cora's husband?" Hilda looked Emory over, then asked with a glimmer of hope, "Emory, you said there's another way to heal me. What is it?"

"This." Emory pulled out the Iris Nightshade he had purchased from Dr. Ian's clinic.

Not only could the Iris Nightshade get rid of the Paralies parasites in Cora's body—it had the power to heal disabilities and fractures of all kinds.

"You're saying this... can fix my legs?" Hilda froze, incredulous.

The next second, Scarlet burst out laughing. "Emory, are you trying to be funny again? You couldn't even treat Cora, and now you want to scam Aunt Hilda? You don't even have a medical license! Can you stop embarrassing yourself?"

"Enough, Emory! This is a hospital, not a stage for your nonsense," another family member snapped.

When they heard he didn't have a license, any remaining trust evaporated. The hope on Hilda's face hardened into scorn.

"You're disgusting, Emory. Who uses a herb to treat a disability? If this thing really works, why haven't you used it on Cora? What—am I your guinea pig now?"

She turned her anger on Cora. "And you—why would you marry a con artist like this? Were there no real men left in Goldspire?"

Faced with Hilda's tirade, Cora blushed and stammered, "Aunt Hilda! Emory isn't a con artist! Maybe... maybe he was just trying to comfort you…"

In that moment, seeing the herb in Emory's hands, even Cora began to waver. Maybe he really didn't know medicine. Maybe all his talk about curing her was just an attempt to ease her pain.

Because if Emory truly were a brilliant doctor, why would he marry a disabled woman like her?

"I don't need his comfort—and he's not qualified to give it," Hilda said coldly.

"Emory, just put your silly herb away," Scarlet mocked. "A hillbilly like you coming to the city to make a fool of yourself... You don't know medicine. Stop pretending you're something you're not."

"Who said I don't know medicine?" Emory's voice turned sharp, a faint sneer tugging at his lips. "Watch closely. I'll cure Cora right now—so you can all stop judging me."

With that, he crushed the Iris Nightshade in his hand.

Drip. Drip.

Clear liquid began to fall from the petals of the herb, and Emory carefully caught it in a crystal glass.

Before long, he had filled two glasses. The herb itself, having given all its essence, began to wither and curl in his hands.

"Didn't you say you were going to cure Cora's legs?" Scarlet scoffed. "What are you messing with a herb for? Getting nervous now? You're all show, no substance. So what if you're a national-level archer? You still aren't good enough for me."

Emory ignored her completely.

He gently poured one of the glasses of the liquid onto Cora's legs.

Then, turning to Hilda, he placed the second glass before her.

"Aunt Hilda," he said calmly, "for the kindness you showed Cora when she was young, this glass is for you. It can heal your legs. Whether you use it or not…"

Crash.

Before he could finish, Hilda swatted the glass off the table.

The crystal shattered on the floor.

"This worthless crap? You think it can heal me? Do you take me for an idiot, like Cora?"