Lord, give up! Madam has too many vests

Chapter 318

Yan Lan's heart was pounding like a drum. The last time she felt such intense unease was on the morning her mother had the accident.

"What's wrong?" Qin Shi noticed that something was off about her.

“That technology conference…” Yan Lan turned and grabbed Qin Shi’s wrist, “I’ll go with you.”

Qin Shi chuckled, his warm hand resting on her pregnant belly: "I don't want our child to come on this business trip."

"But..."

"The R&D director will be coming with me," Qin Shi comforted him. "You just rest well at the clinic, okay?"

Looking into her husband's determined eyes, Yan Lan could only nod in the end.

Qin Shi took her to the small clinic, which had been renovated and reopened and looked brand new. Because of the previous closure and rectification, the once bustling waiting area was now empty.

Yan Lan put on a mask, hung her stethoscope around her neck, and began organizing the medicine cabinet. Sunlight streamed through the newly installed glass windows, casting dappled shadows on the floor.

"Ding-a-ling—" The doorbell suddenly rang.

"Uncle Tao?" Yan Lan looked at the man standing at the door in surprise.

He was wearing faded work clothes today: "Girl, last time at the racetrack..." Uncle Tao scratched his head sheepishly, "Something came up urgently."

Yan Lan glanced at his face and gestured for him to sit down. Her slender fingers rested on his wrist, her brow furrowing involuntarily—his pulse was erratic, his internal organs were damaged; this was hardly the body of a fifty-year-old.

“Uncle Tao,” she said softly, her voice sounding muffled through her mask, “your health…”

“It’s an old problem.” Uncle Tao waved his hand, revealing several gruesome scars on the cuffs of his work clothes. “I was injured in the army when I was young.”

Yan Lan's gaze swept over the scars, then settled on his dark circles under his eyes. These were no ordinary old wounds; they were clearly somatic symptoms resulting from years of insomnia and psychological trauma. But she didn't ask any more questions, turning to take out her silver needle box.

"Let me give you a few acupuncture needles." She lit the alcohol lamp, the silver needles lightly brushing against the flame. "It will help you get a good night's sleep."

Just as Uncle Tao was about to decline, he saw Yan Lan's skillful technique; the needle tip had already gently pierced the Neiguan acupoint on his wrist. A tingling sensation came over him, and his nerves, which had been tense for many years, miraculously relaxed.

The setting sun cast warm dappled light on the examination bed. When Uncle Tao opened his eyes, the clock on the wall already showed past four in the afternoon. He paused, startled. How long had it been since he'd slept so deeply? Ten years? Twenty years?

"Awake?" Yan Lan was tidying up the medicine cabinet; her protruding belly was particularly noticeable beneath her white coat. "How are you feeling?"

Uncle Tao stretched his shoulders, and his joints, which had been aching for years, felt much lighter. Looking at the young female doctor in front of him, he seemed to see the shadow of an old friend in a daze.

“Girl…” his voice was hoarse, “your acupuncture technique…”

“I learned it from my master.” Yan Lan didn’t turn around, putting the silver needles back into the box one by one. “She said that insomnia is a mental illness, and it should be treated by addressing the liver meridian.”

Uncle Tao's hand suddenly trembled, and a few drops of water from the teacup spilled onto his trousers.

He quickly lowered his head to hide the shock in his eyes—the method, the words, were exactly the same as those of that person twenty years ago...

“Oh, right,” Yan Lan took a paper packet from the drawer, “this is a calming herbal tea. Drink a cup before bed. Remember to come back for your follow-up appointment next week.”

Yan Lan said casually.

Uncle Tao opened his mouth as if to decline, but when he saw Yan Lan's eyes filled with a gentle smile, his throat tightened slightly.

"One thousand is enough." Yan Lan saw him take out his phone and offer a low price; Uncle Tao didn't look well-off.

"Then... I'll come again next week."

Uncle Tao finally responded in a low voice.

At exactly six o'clock, Yan Lan had just taken off her white coat when her phone suddenly vibrated.

She swiped the screen, and William's emails immediately came into view:

[X, we've found a clue. Your mother's death wasn't accidental; it was murder.]

Yan Lan's fingers tightened suddenly, her nails scratching several white marks on the phone case.

She stared intently at her phone screen, her breathing quickening involuntarily. Images of her mother's death flashed through her mind—

“Assassin…” she murmured, her voice so soft it was almost inaudible.

The email included several blurry old photos: a strange man wearing a baseball cap; an airline ticket; and... a transfer receipt with the "Prison Network" logo.

Yan Lan's chest heaved violently. She suddenly looked up at the deepening night outside the window.

One by one, the streetlights lit up, casting swaying shadows on her pale face.

A mystery from many years ago has finally found a clue...