Before long, a servant came running back, panting as he handed over a bundle of needles wrapped in cloth. When Luo Tianhe opened it, he was a little surprised: it was a complete set of acupuncture needles.
Without further hesitation, Luo Tianhe took out a needle of suitable size. With his other hand, he pulled out the young master's left hand and quickly pricked the tip of his middle finger. Then he pinched the fingertip between two strong fingers and squeezed hard.
The fingertip was frighteningly pale. Not a drop of blood came out.
Jiang Cheng, standing nearby, couldn't help frowning. He had seen clearly how deeply the needle had gone—it had definitely pierced the flesh. So why hadn't a single drop of blood appeared? It was as if... all the blood in the young master's hand had been drained.
Luo Tianhe held his breath, then pricked the young master's index finger and thumb as well. This time, there was no need to squeeze; bright red blood immediately welled up. The drops fell onto the bed, blooming into spots of blood.
But strangely, the blood didn't look vivid. On the contrary, it seemed oddly dull, as if it had been stripped of its color.
Yuan Shanyuan seemed to realize something. He strode forward and squeezed the young master's already-punctured middle finger, but just as before, no blood came out. The finger was like a piece of pale, frozen meat.
"Don't waste your efforts." Luo Tianhe's expression turned grave. "The yang fire in his body has already gone out. The blood at his fingertips has stopped flowing."
Ignoring Luo Tianhe, Yuan Shanyuan casually took another silver needle from the bundle. It was much longer than the one in Luo Tianhe's hand, and his needling technique was more than a level above