127: A Master's Touch, Bringing the Dead Back to Life

Watching Nasser’s slightly anxious gaze, Mutou asked, "Your father's condition..."

Nasser immediately pulled out his phone and spoke rapidly in a foreign tongue. His expression shifted as he said, "It is very bad. The doctors have declared he cannot live for more than two days. I just asked again, and they said... he has already fallen into a coma!"

Mutou did not want the man to die, lest his own plans go to waste. After a moment of thought, he said, "I will go with you, but I must prepare first." With that, he turned and headed upstairs.

Nasser was overjoyed. "Thank you, Mr. Mutou. Even if you cannot save my father, I will always remember your great kindness!"

Mutou nodded without a word and slipped into his room. In truth, he didn't need to prepare anything; he simply summoned Ya Xinyi and briefly explained the Arab prince’s request for medicine. "I don't know the full extent of the situation, and I am worried the pills might not be enough. Since you spent time at the Hundred Herb Sect, you must know some medical and healing arts beyond just alchemy, right?"

Ya Xinyi replied calmly, "As long as the person is not yet dead, our pills and methods will naturally be able to save them."

Mutou was delighted. "Come with me."

Ya Xinyi asked curiously, "Can’t you just summon me out once you arrive, since I am already inside the 'Harem'?"

Mutou replied, "It is better if we go together. You can experience something on Earth called an airplane—it’s quite interesting! Besides, if I suddenly summon you out once we arrive, it would be far too shocking."

Ya Xinyi, being of a gentle nature, did not insist further and followed him downstairs.

Seeing that Mutou had not brought any belongings upstairs but had returned with a young, beautiful woman, Nasser assumed Mutou was reluctant to part with his lover. He stepped forward and whispered, "Mr. Mutou, if you can cure my father’s illness, you may choose any beauty from my palace."

Mutou realized the misunderstanding and smiled slightly. "This is my wife and fellow disciple. She is well-versed in pharmacology, and her presence will make the endeavor more certain."

In Arab countries, the status of women is relatively low. Nasser had initially dismissed the beauty as a mere mistress, but upon hearing this, he immediately changed his tone. "So, your wife is a master of traditional medicine? My apologies for the disrespect!"

Mutou found this amusing; the prince even knew a few ancient Chinese idioms. Had it not been for the sincerity on his face, he would have thought the man was showing off his sense of humor.

"Hey... Mutou, are you just going to leave us behind?" Zigui asked upon seeing Mutou preparing to leave with Nasser.

Mutou paused, a mischievous thought crossing his mind: it might get complicated over there, but since they insisted on coming... He turned to Nasser and said, "These friends of mine would also like to come along. Could you please make arrangements?"

Nasser thought for a moment and said, "No problem." He whispered a few instructions to his bodyguard, who then made a rapid phone call to arrange a flight.

Gu Feng and the bald man, having nothing better to do, were egged on by Zigui and decided to join to see the foreign sights. Upon hearing they could all go, sisters Mu Siyu and Mu Siqing were delighted, taking Ya Xinyi’s arms and chatting happily.

Seeing the large group, Li Yun arranged for two cars to take everyone to the airport, heading straight for the tarmac. However, the aircraft waiting there was not the helicopter Nasser had mentioned, but a small passenger jet. Mutou quickly realized that seeing how many people there were, Nasser had chartered a plane. It seemed the wealthy and powerful were indeed different.

It was already midnight. As Hong Kong is an international metropolis, the airport remained incredibly busy. However, as a prince, Nasser naturally possessed some influence, and they were granted flight clearance shortly after boarding. Soon, the small jet pierced the night sky, heading toward the Arab nation.

...Several hours later, the aircraft arrived at the capital where Nasser resided. As it was not a helicopter, it could not land directly at the palace and had to land at the nearest airport. Numerous vehicles were already waiting, among which a long Lincoln stood out—evidently Nasser’s personal transport.

"How is my father?" Nasser asked anxiously as he stepped off the plane, while respectfully ushering Mutou and the others into the long Lincoln.

"It is very bad, Your Highness... I fear he will not live to see the sunrise!" The middle-aged man, who appeared to be the prince’s butler, had tears in his eyes. "He has fallen into a coma and is in his final moments. The doctors say he has only two or three hours left. If it weren't for the hope of seeing you, I fear he would have already..."

Watching Nasser’s grief-stricken expression, Mutou didn't know how to comfort him, so he simply patted his shoulder. "Don't worry. As long as your father still has a breath of life, we will certainly be able to save him!" He suddenly startled—why had he spoken in Arabic? And since Nasser and his butler had spoken in Arabic, why had he understood them perfectly?

He quickly realized it was the influence of the Dragon King’s innate skill, "Shadow Imprint."

In his grief, Nasser did not notice this. Hearing Mutou’s guarantee, he felt a mix of joy and anxiety, nodding repeatedly. After a long silence, he said in shock, "Mr. Mutou, you speak our language?"

Mutou smiled, not knowing how to explain, and simply remained silent. Nasser, worried for his father, did not press further and kept urging the driver to speed up. The businessman’s car was pushed to the speed of a sports car, kicking up a trail of dust as they raced toward the palace.

However, the car was stopped at the palace gate. The old King was currently at the side of his dying son, and the guards were on high alert, especially regarding strangers like Mutou. But under Nasser’s roar, the guards dared not block them further. Yet, before they could reach the bedchamber, a cry of mourning echoed out. Nasser’s legs went weak, and he nearly collapsed, his face pale and tears streaming down his face as he murmured, "We were... a step too late!"

Mutou was also stunned, thinking that perhaps the prince’s fate was sealed and nothing could be done for the dead. But Ya Xinyi said, "The spirit has not yet dispersed. Within a short time, it is still possible!"

Nasser did not understand her words, but Mutou was overjoyed. He pulled Nasser up and said, "Take us there quickly! It might not be too late!"

When a father passes away, one is usually consumed by immense grief and unable to hear anything else, but Mutou’s words, "It might not be too late," gave him the strength to push forward toward the bedroom.

Inside and outside the prince’s chamber, countless servants were kneeling on the ground. Nasser stumbled in with Mutou and the others, finding several people gathered by the bed. An old man dressed as a doctor was shaking his head and sighing, while another man in distinct, noble attire was weeping silently. Nasser’s sudden intrusion drew everyone’s attention.

"Hmph! As the eldest son of the prince, you were not by his side when he passed. Is this how a son should behave?"

The speaker was a middle-aged man who bore a resemblance to Nasser, clearly an uncle. Nasser, unable to speak, threw himself at his father’s bedside, seeing that his father had no breath, and burst into tears. The man added, "What is the point of putting on such a show now!"

Seeing Nasser in such a state, Mutou pushed his concerns aside and pulled Ya Xinyi to the prince’s side. "See if he can still be saved!"

Just then, the middle-aged man roared, "Who are these idlers? Drag them out!" Several burly men moved to grab Mutou. Mutou let out a cold hum and, without looking back, waved his hand, knocking the men back through the air.

The crowd was shocked. The middle-aged man shouted, "Nasser, what kind of demons have you brought here? Do you want to harm your grandfather?" He pulled out a pistol and fired at Mutou with a "pop." Mutou turned, pointed a finger, and froze the bullet in mid-air before flicking it away. The crowd stood in stunned silence, and the middle-aged man screamed in terror, "Demons... protect... protect the King!"

The guards, who had been kneeling, swarmed forward but dared not rush Mutou, instead forming a protective circle around the King and the middle-aged man.

In that brief moment of delay, Nasser finally snapped out of his grief. Seeing Mutou’s supernatural abilities, he recalled what Solas had told him about Mutou being no ordinary person. His confidence that Mutou could save his father rose, and he shouted, "Stop! These are the masters I brought to save my father!"

As he shouted, a "hu" sound came from the bed. Ya Xinyi had produced several golden needles from somewhere and pierced them into the man’s Shanzhong, Yintang, and Baihui acupoints. The man suddenly let out a gasp, leaving the doctor by the bedside wide-eyed in shock.

The old man, heavily protected by the guards, lunged toward the bed, grabbed his hand, and cried, "Faisal, you... you are not dead!"

Nasser was also overjoyed. "Father, you have awakened!"

Only then did Mutou look at the person on the bed. He looked to be in his forties, with a seven-part resemblance to Nasser, a full beard, and a classic Arab appearance. As Mutou looked at Faisal, the man opened his eyes and his lips moved as if trying to speak.

Mutou asked, "Xinyi, is he alright?"

Ya Xinyi shook her head. "No, I have only temporarily brought him back to life. Let me check further." She reached out to take his pulse, examining him carefully.

In Arab countries, women held low status. If any other woman had reached out to touch a prince so casually, she would likely have faced severe punishment. But having seen her miraculous hands bring the dead prince back to life, everyone watched with bated breath. The old man asked, "What is she doing?"

It seemed they were unfamiliar with the concept of pulse-taking in traditional Chinese medicine. Nasser, having some knowledge, looked at Mutou and said, "It seems to be an ancient Chinese medical technique; I don't understand it either." He then introduced them: "This friend is the master I invited to treat my father. Mr. Mutou, this is my grandfather, the King of our country!"