“What…” Frank frowned. “Examination is vital in Draconian traditional medicine, and gloves aren’t a part of it. I need direct contact to examine the patient’s body temperature, skin texture, and other details to properly diagnose him—”
“Shut up!” Kendra clearly could not stand his long-winded explanation, almost spitting out her dentures. “Put those gloves on, or get out of here! We never asked for you! Some hillbilly like you doesn’t get to touch my husband—I care for hygiene even if you don’t!”
Frank almost snapped at Kendra’s outburst.
He had every intention to help George, but his family repeatedly harassed him, clearly having no intention to let him live!
“Hmph.”
He snorted, but decided to bear with it and put on the gloves for the sake of seeing Vicky.
“Now, now, Mr. Lawrence.” Titus chuckled even as he put on the gloves. “You don’t get to blame those gloves if you misdiagnose Mr. Turnbull.”
“Draconian traditional medicine doesn’t even observe proper hygiene. How scandalous…” Professor Roberts sighed, shaking his head.
Frank ignored them as he gently lifted George’s eyelid and immediately saw the black dot in his pupils.
“A bug?” he thought right then, but without touching George directly, he had no way of determining the actual bug.
Closing his eyes, he put his fingers and felt George’s pulse, and he scowled even as he slowly opened his eyes.
Turning to Glen, he asked, “Your father’s been sick for a while, hasn’t he?”
Glen did a double take but shook his head. “No, it’s recent—”
“He only fainted recently, didn’t he?” Frank sneered. “If my hunch is right, he’s been paralyzed and bedridden for half a year now.”
“Nonsense!” Kendra snapped. “He was alive and kicking just a week ago!”
“Heh.” Titus scoffed at Frank for his blunder right away. “Mysticism is really failing you, huh?”
“Hmph.”
Frank snorted, ignoring him and nodded. “Alright, I made a mistake there. I’m guessing Mr. Turnbull’s been taking supplements constantly.”
“You think?!” Kendra snorted in annoyance.
The most important man of the Turnbull family certainly needed supplements as old age takes over—like any authority figure in respectable families would.
Even as everyone threw Frank looks of disdain, Professor Roberts was chuckling. “So this is the trick of charlatans here?”
It was certainly a common trick—charlatans and conmen always asked general questions to deduce specific details about their victims, which they then used against them.
“Uh-huh…” Frank nodded. “And Mr. Turnbull’s been eating hundred-year panaxes all this while?”
“Nonsense. It’s deer musk!” Kendra waved him off impatiently. “Just leave already. You’re obviously a charlatan, even less reliable than Abel Loggins before you.”
