Chapter 54 Three Needles Show Results

In Mrs. Huo's bedroom, time seemed to stretch out.

Song Zhiyi's movements as she disinfected the needles were so practiced they were almost instinctive—she wiped the silver needles with alcohol swabs, leaving no angle untouched, from the tip to the shaft. Sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains, refracting tiny fragments of light onto the needle tips.

Mrs. Huo lay on her side on the bed, her eyes half-open and half-closed, but her peripheral vision involuntarily followed Song Zhiyi's hand. Those hands, which she had once thought were "not delicate and beautiful enough," were now as steady as a surgeon's, every movement precise and controlled.

"Auntie, I'm about to insert the needles." Song Zhiyi's voice was very soft, as if she was afraid of disturbing something. "Let's start with the Fengchi acupoint."

Her fingers landed on the nape of Mrs. Huo's neck, pressing slightly: "Is this area prone to stiffness and soreness?"

"...Yes," Mrs. Huo admitted in a low voice. She had never mentioned this detail to outsiders, not even Mr. Huo knew.

"That's it." Song Zhiyi didn't say much, and took out a one-and-a-half-inch acupuncture needle.

The moment the needle touched her skin, Mrs. Huo's body tensed. But the expected stinging pain did not come; instead, a strange soreness spread outwards like ripples from the point of needle prick—upwards to the top of her head and forwards to the depths of her eye sockets.

“Soreness and distension are normal reactions to the Qi.” Song Zhiyi’s voice was calm and steady as she twisted the needle handle with her fingers, her movements gentle yet powerful. “This means the acupoint has been located accurately.”

Mrs. Huo was speechless. The soreness was uncomfortable, but strangely, as the needle sensation spread, the excruciating pain at the back of her head, which felt like it was being clamped by iron clamps, began to loosen.

The second needle was placed on the temple. This time, Huo's mother saw Song Zhiyi's technique clearly—she first gently massaged around the acupoint with her fingers, then quickly inserted the needle, with almost no pause when the needle tip pierced the skin, and the depth was extremely precise.

"Shallow needling at the temples mainly relieves headaches and dizziness." Song Zhiyi explained softly as she performed the procedure, as if talking to herself or comforting the patient. "Your headache is accompanied by a noticeable pulsating sensation in the blood vessels, which indicates that there is a factor of vasospasm."

Mrs. Huo closed her eyes. She could indeed feel her temples throbbing every time she had an attack, as if a heart were growing there.

The third needle was inserted at the Hegu acupoint. Song Zhiyi took Huo's mother's left hand and positioned the needle at the web of her thumb and index finger. Huo's mother's fingers were icy cold, but Song Zhiyi's hand was warm and steady. As the needle went in, a strong tingling and numb sensation shot from the back of her hand straight to her elbow, and Huo's mother couldn't help but hiss.

"Hegu (LI4) is a key acupoint for pain relief, so the needling sensation will be quite strong." Song Zhiyi's fingers still gently held the needle handle, the warmth of her fingertips transmitted through her skin. "Bear with it, it will be over soon."

After the three needles were inserted, Song Zhiyi did not leave. She pulled up a chair and sat on the edge of the bed, her gaze slowly moving between the three silver needles, as if observing some invisible current. Her right hand hovered above the needles, occasionally making subtle adjustments—not to move the needles, but to adjust her breathing and posture.

Huo Zheng leaned against the door, watching this scene unfold.

He had seen Song Zhiyi on the battlefield: amidst the smoke and fire, she knelt beside the wounded, her hands stained with blood, yet her eyes were as calm as if she were in a laboratory. He knew then that this woman carried within her a veteran—not the kind who fought, but the kind who protected.

At this moment, in the luxurious bedroom of the Huo family, her demeanor was exactly the same as before. It was as if, whether in the ruins of a war-torn city or in the secluded mansion draped in brocade curtains, she was the same person: focused, composed, armed with professionalism and wielding compassion as her weapon.

The antique wall clock ticked away. Sunlight moved slowly across the carpet.

About ten minutes later, Song Zhiyi began to insert the needles—she gently twisted the needle handles, the movements were very small, yet they carried a certain rhythm. Mother Huo felt the soreness and distension under the needles rise and fall like the tide, wave after wave, washing away the stubborn fortress of pain.

Ten more minutes passed.

Song Zhiyi checked the time and began removing the needles. The order was the reverse of when she inserted them: first Hegu (LI4), then Taiyang (EX-HN5), and finally Fengchi (GB20). After removing each needle, she pressed the needle hole with a sterile cotton pad for a moment, her movements as gentle as if she were handling fragile porcelain.

As the last needle left the Fengchi acupoint, Mother Huo let out a long, silent breath.

The monster that had tormented her for over ten hours retreated.

It hasn't completely disappeared—there's still a dull ache in the back of my neck and a feeling of heaviness in my head—but the sharp, agonizing pain that felt like it was splitting my skull apart has definitely subsided. In its place is a tired relaxation, like a rest after a long battle.

She slowly opened her eyes.

The bedroom was still the same bedroom, the sunlight was still the same sunlight, but the world became bearable again.

Song Zhiyi was packing up her acupuncture supplies, placing the used silver needles into a small metal box for strict sterilization upon her return. Her profile appeared serene in the light and shadow, her eyelashes casting fine shadows beneath her eyes.

"How are you feeling, Auntie?" she asked without looking up, as she tidied up.

Mrs. Huo remained silent for a few seconds. What should she say? Should she admit that this daughter-in-law, whom she had always looked down upon, had truly cured her chronic illness? Or should she continue to maintain her haughty and aloof demeanor?

Ultimately, the physiological comfort brought about by pain relief overcame the psychological discomfort.

"...Much better." Her voice was still a little weak, but much clearer. "My head...doesn't hurt as much anymore."

Song Zhiyi nodded, as if she had expected this outcome. She closed her acupuncture kit and stood up: "This is just an emergency treatment to relieve the symptoms. A complete cure requires systematic treatment."

She walked to the window, pulled back the curtains a little to let more light in: "Does your mother usually spend long hours working at her desk? Or do you often look down at her phone?"

Mrs. Huo was stunned. She did indeed spend a lot of time every day dealing with documents for the family foundation, and she was used to scrolling through her phone before bed—these were habits she had never mentioned in detail to the doctor.

“Your second and third cervical vertebrae are clearly problematic, compressing the occipital nerve.” Song Zhiyi turned around, standing with her back to the light, her figure outlined in a pale golden circle by the sunlight. “This is not a simple migraine, but a cervicogenic headache. Painkillers can only numb the nerves, treating the symptoms but not the root cause.”

She spoke calmly, without accusation or preaching, simply stating the facts.

But every word was like a needle, piercing through Huo's mother's years of seeking medical treatment in vain.

Huo Zheng spoke up at the right moment: "Third sister-in-law, Zhiyi is right. You should have your cervical spine checked."

Mrs. Huo didn't reply. She leaned against the headboard, her fingers unconsciously stroking the silk quilt. As the pain subsided, reason returned, followed by a complex mix of emotions—gratitude, embarrassment, shock, and a hint of indescribable guilt.

This woman, whom she always felt was unworthy of her son and the Huo family, just now used three silver needles to do something that countless experts and famous doctors had failed to do.

Throughout the entire process, Song Zhiyi did not seek credit, did not flatter, and did not even glance at her twice—that focus was pure, directed solely at the disease itself.

"You..." Mrs. Huo began, her voice hoarse, "Who did you learn acupuncture from?"

Song Zhiyi had already packed her things and looked up when she heard this: "My mother."

Three simple words, no further explanation needed.

Mrs. Huo wanted to ask something else, but Song Zhiyi glanced at her watch and said, "Auntie, please rest a little longer. I'll go write a prescription. Follow-up treatment will require the use of medicinal diets and rehabilitation exercises."

She bowed slightly and left the bedroom.

The door closed gently.

Mrs. Huo leaned against the headboard, the lingering sensation of the needle still present on the back of her neck, like the dampness on a beach after the tide has receded. She raised her hand and touched her temple—the throbbing had stopped.

The ginkgo tree outside the window swayed in the wind, and a golden leaf stuck to the glass before slowly sliding down.

Huo Zheng walked to the bedside and handed her a glass of warm water: "Third Sister-in-law, have some water."

Mrs. Huo took the water and sipped it slowly. The water was just the right temperature, flowing down her throat and soothing her tense body caused by pain.

"She..." Mrs. Huo paused, "...has she always been this...capable?"

Huo Zheng laughed, a laugh with a complex meaning: "Third Sister-in-law, have you ever seen someone rescuing people amidst gunfire? I have. She wasn't holding silver needles, she was holding a scalpel."

He paused for a moment, then lowered his voice: "So, for her, curing a headache with three acupuncture needles is probably as ordinary as us drinking a cup of tea."

Mrs. Huo tightened her grip on the water glass.

The water droplets that had condensed on the glass slid down and left a cool sensation on her fingertips.

Downstairs, Song Zhiyi was already sitting in her study, spreading out paper and pen, and beginning to write down a medicinal diet recipe.

Sunlight shines on the rice paper, the ink is not yet dry, and each character is clear and concise.

Like her.