After glaring at the annoying "fly", Ann Vaughn ignored her and turned to the frail-looking "Young Master Crawford," saying, "You’ve got sothing tucked under your armpit, making it impossible to check your pulse, right?"
"Moreover, your health is perfectly fine; there’s nothing wrong with you. If Young Master Crawford were indeed so ill that he needed dical attention, then surely, you’re not really Young Master Crawford."
The faces of the "Young Master Crawford" and his assistant suddenly changed.
Before they could speak, Cynthia Sheridan was about to mock them, but Sherry instantly shouted at her, "Shut up, or I’ll stuff your mouth with a rag if you continue to squabble!"
Cynthia Sheridan: What the hell are you talking about???
"You’re the first to notice," the assistant looked impressed, "Indeed, this person is not our young master. Our master had encountered many harmful quack doctors before, and dared not risk again, thus resorting to this desperate asure."
Once he finished speaking, the "Young Master Crawford" pulled out what was under his armpit—a tomato.
What a bizarre thod...
"We’re counting on you to treat the young master’s illness; please follow ," the assistant said, leading the way.
As Ann Vaughn got up, Cynthia Sheridan’s sharp voice stopped her, making her ears ache, "Wait!"
The assistant paused and turned, looking at her puzzled. "Miss, soone will soon co to deliver your fee for the visit, then you can leave. Is there anything else?"
"I noticed long ago that this person had sothing under his armpit and was not Young Master Crawford. Just because I was behind this woman and didn’t manage to say, doesn’t an you should overlook as the owner of The Snowbell Clinic."
Cynthia Sheridan continued arrogantly, "Moreover, I have a dicine that will make the disease go away instantly upon taking it!"
Realizing she was the owner of The Snowbell Clinic, the assistant guessed her identity and imdiately changed his tone, "Oh, it’s Miss Sheridan, my apologies. Please co with us."
"Hmph, that’s more like it." Cynthia lifted her chin proudly and walked past Ann Vaughn.
Ann Vaughn: "..."
Why is her hand so itchy?
Inside the room, the real Young Master Crawford was sitting at the desk reading, looking even paler than the fake "Young Master Crawford", occasionally coughing, his face flushing montarily and then paling again.
The room was filled with a rich, pungent sll of dicine.
The assistant led them to the door but didn’t enter. "Our young master isn’t seriously ill, actually. Here is the dical record. Might you have any treatnt options?"
Cynthia quickly snatched the dical record, and after reading it, she nearly threw it away, stepping back a few paces, "Lung cancer is just a small illness?!"
Hearing her words, Ann Vaughn asked the assistant, "This illness can be treated at the hospital nowadays; why haven’t you taken him there?"
"Our young master has advanced lung cancer, with little chance of cure, and he dislikes Western dicine, believing it’s suffering, so we invited many traditional dicine practitioners," the assistant explained truthfully.
So that’s the case.
Ann Vaughn nodded; there indeed was no cure at other places, but she believed she might have a solution.
"Did you bring that thing?" Ann Vaughn turned to ask Sherry.
"I thought it might co in handy, so I brought it," Sherry nodded.
"That’s good."
If she hadn’t brought it, going back and forth would waste considerable ti, which the patient couldn’t afford.
Just as Ann Vaughn was about to say sothing to the assistant, Cynthia Sheridan pulled out a wooden box containing a brown pill.
"This is our family’s ancestral Spiritual dicine; just one pill can cure any ailnt."
The Sheridan family’s ancestral Spiritual dicine?!
The assistant’s eyes lit up; everyone knew the Sheridan family was Marinia’s wealthiest, their deep heritage unimaginable.
Many ancient legends supposedly originated from the Sheridan family, like the Phoenix Tail Bone, Dragon Pattern Pearl, and Mariner’s Tear, initially discovered by them.
Though likely embellished, a powerful and wealthy family’s ancestral dicine could hardly be underestimated.
Ann Vaughn also observed the "Spiritual dicine" nearby, taking a gentle sniff of the air, detecting a sweet and refreshing scent, a feeling of delight.
It’s more akin to a tonic; it offers little help against lung cancer.
The assistant accepted the Spiritual dicine from Cynthia and promptly arranged for soone to test it and ensure there were no issues before administering it to Young Master Crawford.
After he took the dicine, the assistant asked eagerly, "Young Master, how do you feel now?"
"Sweet, like candy."
"..."
Cynthia stubbornly insisted it might take at least half an hour for the dicine to take effect. The assistant could only ask Ann Vaughn to wait for half an hour.
If its effect really happens, great; if not...
Their only hope would rest on Ann Vaughn.
Ann Vaughn didn’t mind; she was curious whether the tonic might have any effect on Young Master Crawford’s body.
Seeing Cynthia’s expression, it seed she treated that thing like a miracle pill.
Half an hour later, the family doctor checked Young Master Crawford and shook his head at the assistant.
"Impossible!" Cynthia’s face changed, unable to believe the Spiritual dicine she worked so hard to obtain from the Sheridan family was useless!
"The ti must be too short; just wait another hour, no, just one day! Once the dicine takes effect, your family’s young master will definitely recover!"
Does that sound reasonable?
Young Master Crawford was barely hanging on day by day; he couldn’t afford to wait!
The assistant’s face nearly turned green; if not constrained by Cynthia’s status as the Sheridan family’s lady, he would have scolded already.
He turned to Ann Vaughn and bowed, "Miss Vaughn, we’re counting on you."
Ann Vaughn nodded lightly, "I’ll give it my best shot."
"What could she possibly do? Dreaming." Cynthia sneered coldly.
The Sheridan family’s ancestral Spiritual dicine couldn’t cure this Young Master Crawford, suggesting he was destined to die young.
Unless Ann Vaughn had divine intervention, it wasn’t possible to save him.
With this thought, Cynthia left with her phone, sending a ssage to Jane Sheridan.
No matter how much Cynthia mocked, Ann Vaughn remained unfazed, handing the cancer cell inhibitor over to the assistant, "Let Young Master Crawford give it a try."
The inhibitor was scarce and took Ann Vaughn nearly a year to begin making progress.
Once Young Master Crawford took the inhibitor, Ann Vaughn continued recording his pulse.
Minute by minute, Young Master Crawford’s coughing frequency gradually reduced, and the painful expression threatening to hack out his lungs eased significantly.
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