Chapter 87: The Man Whose Strength Was Drained

At that moment, Zhao Xuan opened the video of Chen Anquan's punch strength test.

Punch strength: 265 kilograms!

"That's even more pathetic! I could beat that with just my little toe back in the day!"

"Dad..." Zhao Xuan, her eyes brimming with tears, looked at Zhao Hai, who seemed to be having another one of his delusional episodes. "I'll go with you this afternoon, all right?"

"Good!" Only then did Zhao Hai relax. He returned to his usual lazy self and continued eating.

Watching her father's shameless and boastful demeanor, Zhao Xuan could only shake her head helplessly before turning away and heading toward her room.

With a thud, she locked the door behind her, climbed onto her bed, and buried herself completely under the covers, sobbing softly.

In her eyes, the father who dismissed everyone else as useless was, in fact, the most hopeless of all.

But as his daughter, what else could she do?

Naturally, she had to try everything to cure his illness!

About ten minutes later, after the tears had dried on her cheeks, she picked up her phone again. Looking at her chat with Chen Anquan, she sent a message:

"Chen Anquan, my father doesn't want the prepared rehmannia anymore. Could you please persuade him to take it?"

She didn't want a refund. She wanted Zhao Hai to try the rehmannia, just in case it worked wonders this time.

She had been through this hope countless times before, and though she'd failed each time, she still believed there must be another way.

She had consulted professional doctors; they had said Zhao Hai suffered from severe trauma to his head and spinal cord. Western medicine could do nothing, but traditional medicine might offer a chance through the theory of replenishing essence and marrow.

Prepared rehmannia was the main herb for that, which was why she kept hoping it could cure her father.

Seeing there was still no reply from Chen Anquan, she wondered, "Is he working out again?"

In her eyes, Chen Anquan made a living gathering herbs in the mountains every day. No nine-to-five, every day was like a Sunday. It didn't seem so bad.

She felt a twinge of envy. If not for her... boastful father, she might have considered becoming a journalist and seeing the world.

She was determined not to give up on her father. Even with the faintest hope, she wanted to try.

Bang!

Opening her door, Zhao Xuan stepped out, slinging her small backpack over her shoulder.

Before leaving her room, she had washed the tear stains from her face, touched up her makeup, and, after taking a deep breath in front of the mirror to steady herself, allowed a gentle smile to return to her lips.

Her smile was genuine, natural, and gentle, like a ray of winter sunlight—mild but comforting.

"Xuanxuan, let's go!" Zhao Hai called from the sofa, eager to leave as soon as Zhao Xuan emerged.

She nodded, glancing again at her phone and the unanswered chat from Chen Anquan.

"Dad, let me help you," Zhao Xuan said as she approached the sofa, supporting Zhao Hai by both arms.

Gritting his teeth, Zhao Hai summoned what strength remained in his withered arms. As he rose, the bony ridges of his back protruded sharply, like the skeleton of a dinosaur being lifted.

He shuffled forward, trembling as though afflicted with Parkinson's disease, making his way toward the door.

Normally, Zhao Hai almost never went out—he spent his days at home, drinking or staring into space.

"Ah!" he muttered, squinting against the sunlight and, with Zhao Xuan's help, staggered into her car.

Zhao Xuan was worried, not knowing where Chen Anquan was at the moment. She dialed his number.

"Hello?" Chen Anquan answered, pausing in his training at the quarry.

"It's me, Zhao Xuan. Are you home?"

"Yes, I'm home. Is something wrong?"

Zhao Xuan glanced in the rearview mirror at her father, who was lying in the back seat, eyes closed in thought. She took a deep breath. "Check your messages."

With that, she hung up and began typing: "My father is seriously ill. I want to cure him, but he wants a refund. We're coming over—please, try to persuade him!"

She sent the message and started the car.

After an hour's drive, they arrived at the basketball court.

Chen Anquan, having estimated their arrival, returned to the court a few minutes after their car pulled in, dressed in black athletic wear.

The back door of the car had been left open—Zhao Hai couldn't stand the confined space and needed fresh air, though he couldn't tolerate the chilly breeze outside either.

"Zhao Xuan, I'm back," Chen Anquan greeted her, puzzled by her worried expression.

He remembered Zhao Xuan as a cheerful woman, always wearing a gentle smile that seemed to reflect a calm and pleasant mood.

"Sorry to bother you," Zhao Xuan apologized, smoothing a few stray hairs from her bun and revealing two small dimples.

"It's nothing, don't worry," Chen Anquan replied with a smile. Losing a client like her was the last thing he wanted—if he could keep her as a regular, so much the better!

"Hey, kid!" came a cold voice from the back seat—Zhao Hai.

Chen Anquan frowned and looked at him.

Zhao Hai's appearance was unforgettable: withered arms, disheveled hair, a scruffy beard, and clothes that were little better than rags. Most striking of all was his hollow gaze, as if all the energy had been drained from him.

Zhao Xuan's smile faded a little. "This is my father."

"Hello, sir," Chen Anquan greeted him politely.

"Kid, you're a real swindler! Charging Xuanxuan eighty yuan a pound for prepared rehmannia! Do you think I don't know the market price?"

Chen Anquan's smile froze as he glanced at Zhao Xuan, puzzled. She had warned him, but her messages had been too brief.

So this hollowed-out man was here just to pick a fight!

Chen Anquan was confident in the quality of his own product. "My prepared rehmannia is exported to Japan and Korea, made by my own hand through nine steaming and nine drying cycles. It doesn't come cheap. You can't compare it to the twenty-yuan-a-pound junk out there!"

Zhao Hai scoffed, "Nonsense! I've taken more medicine than you've eaten rice. Don't think I don't know what real export-grade rehmannia is!"

"If you know so much, why come here at all?"

"I don't care!" Zhao Hai burst out petulantly, like a child. "Whatever you say, I want a refund!"

Zhao Xuan looked at Chen Anquan in embarrassment and quickly messaged him: "Please, try to talk my father out of the refund. I really want him to get better."

Chen Anquan read her message, feeling a heavy weight in his heart.

He couldn't be sure whether his prepared rehmannia would cure Zhao Hai, though he suspected the Crimson Demon Flower might.

But he wasn't a fool—he couldn't just give such a treasure to outsiders. Who knew if they would simply take it and turn on him?

The wild rehmannia from the mountaintop was even more precious—he had a hunch it might be more effective than the Crimson Demon Flower itself.

As for Zhao Hai's drained and broken body, Chen Anquan had seen many such cases in his days as a rehabilitation therapist.

"Sir, the medicine has already been sold—there's no reason to take it back," Chen Anquan said, spreading his hands with helpless resignation.

"Hmph! I don't care! I heard you're supposed to be some kind of martial artist, but your punch strength is only 265 kilograms and your hundred-meter dash is 9.58 seconds. Pathetic!"

Chen Anquan's anger flared. Most people couldn't break Usain Bolt's world record in a lifetime, but in Zhao Hai's mouth, even that was worthless?

The biggest failure here was Zhao Hai himself!

"Xuanxuan, bring out the rehmannia!" Zhao Hai barked, cursing as he ordered his daughter.

"Dad..." Zhao Xuan stood her ground. "Dad, why not at least try it for a few days? If it doesn't work, then we'll talk about a refund."