As Jiang Chen continued to examine the structure, a gloomy expression gradually clouded his face. His thoughts shifted to the system.
The system, sensing his need, promptly responded:
[A prosperous house paired with coiled dragons—ominous. The family will suffer incurable abdominal pain.]
Jiang Chen understood the implication, but on the surface, he merely acted as though he had spotted something strange. Turning to Director Yao, he asked:
"If I'm not mistaken, these carvings weren't here originally. They were added later, weren't they?"
"You're absolutely right, Doctor Zhang," Director Yao said quickly. "There were just the two columns at first. The dragon carvings were embedded onto them much later."
Jiang Chen nodded, as if piecing something together. He paused thoughtfully and then said, "Forgive me for asking, but could you recall—since the dragon carvings were added, has anyone in your household been experiencing frequent abdominal pain?"
Director Yao visibly tensed up, his expression one of absolute shock. "Doctor Zhang… how did you know that?"
"No need to ask how I know. Just answer the question."
In truth, Jiang Chen had already used his divine sight to spot the problem on the dragons.
"It's true," Yao admitted. "Someone once told my grandfather that placing coiled dragons on the pillars would bring success to future generations. We added the carvings about six months ago. About a week or two after that, both my father and my son suddenly experienced excruciating stomach pain. At first we thought it was intestinal blockage, but the hospital found nothing. We suspected roundworms, gave them deworming medicine, and two worms came out. But I always found it strange—how could just one or two worms cause that much pain? And both of them got it at the same time! Ever since, it's been a recurring problem."
Jiang Chen nodded. "That confirms it."
"Please, Doctor Zhang, enlighten me!"
Jiang Chen looked him in the eye. "Does anyone in your family regularly kill snakes?"
"Yes," Director Yao replied. "Every spring, my grandfather catches a few snakes to soak in wine."
"Well, here's the issue. Those dragon carvings on their own are harmless. They're even symbolic of good fortune. But the problem lies with the snakes your grandfather killed. They were living peacefully in the mountains when he brought them home and drowned them alive in alcohol. Their deaths were brutal and unjust. After death, their anguished spirits had nowhere to go. Then they encountered the carvings—creatures of the same species—and attached themselves to them, forming a malevolent force. Since roundworms and snakes both belong to similar phyla, the dark serpent energy has stirred up the parasites in your family's stomachs. That's why it's been like Sun Wukong rampaging inside Princess Iron Fan's belly."
"Oh my god, Doctor Zhang, you're incredible! If not for your visit today, this evil presence would've continued to torment my family!"
"Indeed."
"So… how do we get rid of it?"
"Simple. There's one thing all snakes fear above all."
"What's that?"
"Pipe bowl oil."
"Right! I remember that. When I used to forage with my grandfather as a child, we'd rub that oil on our shoes to prevent snake bites!"
"Exactly. Find someone who still smokes from a pipe, collect some pipe bowl oil, and smear it over the dragon carvings. After three days, the snake spirits will be dispersed. Then you must remove the carvings entirely and throw them out—lest more spirits attach themselves in the future."
"Got it. I'll take care of it this afternoon. Once the dragons are dealt with… will my grandfather's condition improve?"
"No. Based on what you've described, his illness wasn't caused by the snake spirits. There's another source."
"Oh? There's more?"
"Yes."
"Then—"
"You'll understand once I see your grandfather."
Inside the villa, a blooming hibiscus plant and two large-leafed houseplants greeted them at the entrance. A huge aquarium held a majestic golden arowana. With plants and water in harmony, the atmosphere was serene and auspicious.
Jiang Chen couldn't help but admire it silently, even feeling a twinge of envy: I want a villa like this someday too.
The living room walls were adorned with seven or eight antique paintings. A glance through his divine sight revealed wisps of ancient soul energy—every single painting was authentic!
He paused to think: no surprise there. The Yao family had been esteemed doctors for generations. These must be heirlooms. Of course they'd all be genuine.
Aside from the paintings, there were two antique shelves filled with jade, lacquerware, and small curios. Thankfully, there were no potentially harmful old beds or trunks—the kind known to carry lingering negative energy.
Jiang Chen surveyed everything carefully but found nothing out of the ordinary.
"All these furnishings were passed down from our ancestors," Director Yao explained.
"They all carry righteous energy. I see no malevolence in them," Jiang Chen said, shaking his head.
"Would you like to see the other rooms?" Director Yao offered.
Just then, a creaking noise came from the south-facing bedroom. An elderly gentleman stepped out slowly.
His features strongly resembled Director Yao's. It had to be his grandfather—Master Yao, the old doctor.
Jiang Chen stepped forward. "Good day, Master Yao."
The old man examined Jiang Chen for a moment, then stroked his beard and nodded approvingly. "You must be Doctor Zhang? Puttong has spoken highly of your medical skills. I've long wished to meet you. And now that I have, I can see you truly possess the bearing of a sage-healer."
His tone was formal, like something out of a historical drama.
"I'm just a humble student in your presence, Master Yao," Jiang Chen said politely.
The three of them sat down on the sofa. The old man asked, "I hear from Puttong that you're currently working in grassroots medical care?"
Ah, the beauty of the Chinese language. The title "village doctor," usually looked down upon, sounded so much better as "grassroots medical care."
Jiang Chen couldn't help but admire the old man's poise. Even in casual conversation, the depth of family legacy shone through.
"I'm a village doctor," Jiang Chen replied, neither boastful nor humble.
"Oh, that's admirable. Puttong lacks firsthand experience at the grassroots level," the old man nodded. "From your accent, I gather you're local?"
"Zhangjiabu Village."
"Has your family lived there long?"
"Over twenty generations. It's all in our genealogy."
This line of questioning had a purpose. Years ago, Puttong had told the old man about a village doctor who used the legendary Seven-Star Needle technique to revive a dying woman at the township clinic. It reminded the old man of a mysterious Zhang family healer his ancestor had once met—one who had also mastered the Seven-Star Needle. They had tried to buy his needle manual for a hefty price, but the doctor had vanished.
Perhaps he hadn't disappeared after all. Maybe he had simply stayed hidden in the region—and Jiang Chen could very well be his descendant.
Now that the old man had confirmed Jiang Chen indeed knew the Seven-Star Needle, he couldn't help but feel excited.
Twenty generations? From the same village? If that mysterious doctor had passed the technique down, then Jiang Chen must have inherited the true legacy.
Still, the plan he'd made with Puttong was to take things slow—build trust gradually. It wasn't yet time to ask about the Seven-Star Needle manual.
"Twenty generations, you say? Such a rich heritage! No wonder you were able to revive someone at the clinic," the old man said, subtly probing further.