Chapter 610: It’s on Fire
Chapter 610: It’s on Fire
Ulysses wasn't too concerned at first.
James had quite a reputation as a doctor, but Ulysses still trusted hard data from instruments more — that was real, measurable evidence of someone's condition.
But then James simply took his pulse and laid out his situation in detail, even pointing out injuries that no one else knew about. That stopped Ulysses cold.
The stab wound in his abdomen was over ten years old, left by a mercenary's combat knife. Barely anyone knew about it.
Yet James named it without hesitation, and clearly described the pain it had caused him all these years.
The wound from the knife had been too large and too deep. Back then, eager to get back to work and prove himself, he'd returned to the front line without proper treatment. That decision had haunted him ever since.
Every winter, the wound would burn and sting like it was being torn open all over again.
The scar would flare up red time after time, leaving Ulysses needing nearly half a month to recover.
He'd had it checked before, but nothing serious had ever shown up. Now, hearing James spell it out, he narrowed his eyes.
"Dr. Williams really is something else — one quick pulse check and you've got my whole condition figured out."
"But a wound like that shouldn't be a big deal, right?"
He smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. "When you say I'm close to dying, are you just trying to scare me?"
As he spoke, his gaze sharpened, fixed on James's face, trying to read whether this was all a bluff.
But James's expression didn't flicker.
"Winter's coming again. It won't be long before that wound starts reacting to the cold. Then you'll know for yourself whether I'm bluffing."
He picked up a sheet of paper and tore it cleanly in two, then glued it back together. Then tore it again, glued it again, tore it again...
He kept going. By the time he pressed the pieces together one last time, the paper was a ragged, limp mess — no amount of glue could hold it properly anymore.
Ulysses felt a jolt.
"You're saying the muscle around my wound is like that paper — torn apart beyond repair?"
He didn't want to believe it. But thinking about how the pain had been lasting longer and longer each time, a heaviness settled in his chest.
"Pretty much."
James spoke plainly.
"And more importantly — you're getting older. Your body doesn't produce blood or heal the way it used to."
"If that wound tears open a few more times this winter, there's a good chance it won't heal on its own. Stitching it shut by force won't hold either."
"At that point, it's basically a fresh stab wound that can't close and can't be sutured."
"So tell me — doesn't that sound like you're running out of time?"
James poured Ulysses a cup of coffee as he said this, a small gesture of goodwill.
Ulysses held the cup, a glint flickering in his eyes.
"If you were to treat it, Dr. Williams, how would you go about it?"
His gaze was still locked on James as he asked, searching for something in his expression.
"Simple enough."
"While the tissue still has some ability to heal, we open the wound on purpose, cut away the dead flesh that's built up over the years, and apply a trauma salve."
James met Ulysses's stare without flinching.
"Then we suture it properly so it heals all the way through, inside and out. After that, a course of herbal medicine to help the body recover."
"Done right, that wound won't keep splitting open on its own anymore — as long as it's not torn by brute force. And you won't be staring down a life-or-death situation every winter."
"There's one condition, though. The trauma salve needs to be six-star grade. Anything less won't be enough to heal a wound left by a combat knife."
James leaned back in his chair. "Something for Mr. Gonzalez to think about."
"Cut it open, remove the dead tissue, apply the salve, suture it, then recovery..."
Ulysses gave a slight nod, then asked, "The best trauma salve on the market is only five-star. Do you have a six-star formula, Dr. Williams?"
"Give me some time. I can make one."
James smiled, casual and unhurried. "Though I'll need a hundred million as my fee."
"The fee isn't a problem. But treating this wound — I'll need to go back and sort a few things out first."
Ulysses smiled. "You know how it is. Things have been busy lately. Finding time to deal with this isn't easy."
James smiled back.
"I understand. But I'd suggest moving quickly, Mr. Gonzalez. The way things stand, I'd say you can afford maybe three more tears before it's too late."
Ulysses stood up. "Alright. I'll get back to you as soon as I can, Dr. Williams."
He shook James's hand, exchanged a few casual words, then turned and left — without taking the Polygonum multiflorum.
"James, are you actually going to treat him?"
After Ulysses and his people disappeared, Valentin stepped out from the hallway. He'd clearly heard the whole conversation.
"I'm a doctor. He's a patient. If he's willing to let me treat him, I'll save his life — for a hundred million."
James quickly stood and poured Valentin a cup of coffee.
"That said, judging by Ulysses's expression just now, there's no way he'll let me anywhere near him."
"He's deeply suspicious by nature, and we have history. The fact that I was so eager to examine him — in his mind, that means I'm up to something."
"So knowing my treatment method is enough for him. He'll never let me touch the wound itself."
"He'll be afraid I'll do something during the procedure and make sure he dies without a trace."
"He'll use someone he trusts, and have them follow my method to handle the wound."
James had clearly seen right through Ulysses. "Which also tells us his peace offering was never genuine."
"So you did all that for nothing?"
Valentin laughed.
"Well, the hundred million didn't come through — but three stalks of Polygonum multiflorum isn't bad."
James narrowed his eyes slightly, almost too quiet to hear:
"One more person in play. Looks like I need to get Mary moving on those samples..."
Over the next two days, James didn't see any patients, and he didn't bring up the Ulysses matter again. After meeting with Mary, he moved quickly to set up a project team.
The two of them brought on staff to get Mary White Ointment off the ground.
This project was central to the Smith Corporation's three-year strategy, so Mary took personal charge of everything — she was hands-on with every detail, even making several trips to check on the office renovation.
On the afternoon of the third day, Mary called James and asked him to come by the Mary Pharmaceuticals R&D center to see if anything else was needed.
James didn't hesitate. He gave Abigail Smith a few instructions and headed over.
The building sat in a quiet, out-of-the-way location — just three seven-story blocks — but it was more than enough space for the research team.
"Fire! There's a fire! An e-bike battery exploded!"
His car had just pulled up when James stepped out. He hadn't even made it through the front entrance before he heard a series of loud bangs.
Then came the screaming.
He looked up. The stairwell of the admin building was already glowing red. Flames burst from the first floor, then shot upward — the second and third floors ignited almost instantly, like a chimney drawing fire.
Within moments, thick black smoke was pouring from the building and flames were roaring into the sky.
The heat hit him from dozens of yards away.
It happened so fast there was no time to react.
Screams erupted inside the building. Then the exit on the far side burst open.
People poured out — construction workers, employees like Poppy, Reese Moore and others. Everyone was panicked, legs shaking. Reese Moore stumbled and fell several times, clearly shaken badly.
"What happened?"
James rushed forward and grabbed Poppy by the arm. "How did the fire start?"
"One of the construction workers' e-bike batteries exploded. It set off a pile of building materials and the curtains caught fire."
Poppy's face was streaked with soot. "Lucky we got out fast. A few seconds slower and we would've been trapped."
She was still shaking.
James scanned the crowd. "Where's Ms. Smith?"
"Ms. Smith?"
Poppy froze for a moment, then let out a sharp cry, her face going pale.
"Oh no — Ms. Smith went up to the seventh floor to get some air..."
She hadn't even finished the sentence before James was already running into the fire.