Seeing Ye Qiu's serious expression, the onlookers began to believe him a little. The security manager scrutinized him and asked, "Are you a doctor?"
"No," Ye Qiu shook his head.
"Then why are you shouting? If you delay the treatment, are you going to take responsibility?" the security manager reprimanded him angrily. Turning to the crowd, he shouted, "Is there a doctor here? Is anyone a doctor?"
"I am a doctor," a bespectacled man in a black suit raised his hand.
"Great, come and take a look at this old man," the security manager ran over to him with a smile. If someone died in the mall, it would affect business, and he would bear significant responsibility.
"But I'm a Western doctor. Without equipment, I can't perform a proper check-up—based on my experience, it looks like a hemorrhagic stroke," the bespectacled man crouched down, looked at the old man's face, and diagnosed based on his closed eyes and facial droop.
"Since you know the diagnosis, please treat him," the security manager urged.
"But I have no equipment—I'm just out shopping with my wife, empty-handed. How can I treat him?"
"Should we send him to the hospital?" The security manager, now having a doctor to rely on, asked eagerly.
"That might not work. In his current condition, the journey could be fatal—"
The security manager's eyes shifted back to Ye Qiu. After hesitating for a moment, he turned back to the bespectacled doctor and asked, "Doctor, what should we do now?"
"Well—"
Time was of the essence. Ye Qiu couldn't waste any more time arguing. Having developed a liking for the boy from their earlier conversation, he decided to help.
Ye Qiu crouched down and spoke to the anxious boy, "Your grandpa has had a stroke. If you trust me, I can treat him. But moving him now would worsen his condition—it could be very serious."
The old man indeed had a hemorrhagic stroke, a common condition in elderly people during autumn and winter. The fall likely caused a severe jolt, rupturing a blood vessel in his brain. Moving him now could be fatal. Even if he survived, he might be left with severe aftereffects. Many stroke survivors end up wheelchair-bound, unable to care for themselves.
"Can you really save my grandpa?" the boy grabbed Ye Qiu's hand.
"I can," Ye Qiu nodded. He turned to the crowd and said, "Please clear the area to ensure good airflow."
Then he asked the security manager, "Is there a pharmacy in the mall?"
"Yes, we have both Chinese and Western pharmacies," the manager replied, thinking it was worth a try. If the young man succeeded, everyone would be fine. If not, Ye Qiu would be in more trouble than he would.
"Go to the Chinese pharmacy. I need a box of long needles and a box of fine needles, disinfecting alcohol, and cotton swabs—also, get a pharmacist to assist," Ye Qiu instructed the manager.
The manager, seeing no better option, ran to get the supplies himself as his subordinates were still lying on the ground from Ye Qiu's earlier blows.
Soon, the manager returned with the required items, accompanied by an elderly pharmacist in traditional Chinese attire.
"Fine needles—alcohol—cotton swabs—" Ye Qiu ordered.
The elderly pharmacist, wanting to help, was impressed by Ye Qiu's unfamiliar yet effective technique of promoting blood flow. He focused on assisting Ye Qiu, preparing the required items swiftly.
Ye Qiu took the sterilized fine needle and gently inserted it into the old man's Neiguan point.
Then he used the various lengths of fine and long needles to stimulate the Shuigou, Sanyinjiao, Jiquan, Chize, and Weizhong points. The pharmacist, assisting Ye Qiu, watched his movements closely, showing a range of emotions from doubt to astonishment, and finally joy.
After using eighteen needles, Ye Qiu moved to the old man's head, propping him up and gently massaging the Renzhong point. Three minutes passed, then five, but the old man remained unconscious.
Logically, the old man should have woken up. What was going wrong?
Ye Qiu was puzzled. He had heard about this treatment method from the old man but had never performed it himself. Could something have gone wrong?
Ye Qiu's confused expression did not go unnoticed by the onlookers. Seeing no improvement, they began to murmur.
"Sure enough, inexperienced kids can't handle serious matters—who let this kid take on such a life-and-death situation?"
"Yeah, the old man was probably tormented to death by him. At first, it looked like he knew what he was doing, but he turned out to be all show."
"The poor old man, what a pity. If he had passed away peacefully, it would have been a blessing. But he had to suffer because of this kid."
Because the incident happened in the bustling Oriental Plaza, the crowd continued to grow, eventually reaching over a thousand people. The mall manager arrived, organizing staff to disperse the crowd.
The murmurs worried the boy even more. He anxiously asked Ye Qiu, "Big brother, can you really save my grandpa?"
"I should be able to," Ye Qiu nodded, still deep in thought. What had gone wrong?
The shift from a confident "can" to a hesitant "should be able to" shook the boy's confidence. He pulled out his phone to call for help, having forgotten to notify his family in the panic.
Just as the crowd started to grow restless, Ye Qiu's face lit up with realization.
Gently massaging the old man's back, he suddenly delivered a sharp palm strike to his back.
"What are you doing?" the boy shouted, ready to fight Ye Qiu.
The security manager hesitated, unsure whether to intervene, fearing he couldn't handle Ye Qiu alone.
"Cough—" the old man suddenly coughed, expelling a thick phlegm, and slowly opened his eyes.