Chapter 223 Heading to the Venue
Derrick, consumed by a maelstrom of emotions, teetered on the brink of hysteria. His face, flushed and contorted, was a mask of unbridled rage. Edwin, his chest heaving with indignation, pointed a trembling finger at his grandson.
"Derrick! Have you lost all sense of reason? How dare you speak to me in such a manner? Kneel!"
James, sensing the situation spiraling out of control, felt a knot of dread tighten in his stomach.
‘Derrick was clearly beyond reason, and reprimanding him at this point would only exacerbate the situation.’ He thought.
As if to confirm his fears, Derrick's rage intensified at his grandfather's words. His body shook with such violence that it seemed he might shatter.
"Kneel? You want me to grovel at your feet again? I'm done!" Derrick roared, his voice raw with pain and fury.
Edwin, his face now a mask of thunderous anger, could restrain himself no longer. He lunged forward, his hand raised high.
"You ungrateful wretch! I'll teach you some respect!"
James, his heart pounding in his chest, cried out, "Dr. Wheeler, no!"
But it was too late. Edwin's hand connected with Derrick's face with a sickening thud, the sound echoing through the stunned silence that followed. Derrick, his glasses flying off his face, stumbled backward, a thin trickle of blood escaping from the corner of his mouth.
Despite his age, Edwin possessed a surprising strength, honed by years of disciplined practice. The blow, delivered with the full force of his anger, was enough to send Derrick crashing to the ground.
"I took you in, gave you an education, shared everything I knew, and this is how you repay me?" Edwin raged, his voice trembling with a lifetime of suppressed emotions.
James, along with the other practitioners, watched in stunned silence. They had never witnessed Edwin in such a state, his usual composure shattered, replaced by a raw, unbridled fury.
Derrick, however, seemed unfazed by the blow. He sat on the ground, his hand covering his smarting cheek, his eyes burning with a venomous mix of hatred and resentment. It was a look that chilled James to the bone.
"I always knew you looked down on me," Derrick spat, his voice thick with bitterness. "I was never good enough, was I? Never the grandson you wanted."
He glared at James, his eyes blazing with a cold fire. "And you," he hissed, "you opportunistic charlatan! You waltz in here, with your fancy needles and your smooth words, and suddenly you're the golden child."
He rose to his feet, his body trembling with barely contained rage. "Mark my words, James, I am the future of traditional medicine. You are nothing but a footnote, a passing fad. One day, I will surpass you, and you will be forced to grovel at my feet."
With that, he turned and stormed out of the room, leaving a stunned silence in his wake.
Edwin, his chest heaving, seemed to deflate before their eyes. The anger drained from his face, replaced by a deep, bone-weary sadness. He swayed on his feet, his face ashen.
"Dr. Wheeler!" James exclaimed, rushing to his side. He gently guided the older man to a chair, his concern mounting as he felt Edwin's erratic pulse. The outburst, fueled by years of pent-up emotions, had taken its toll.
"You, disobedient… ungrateful…" Edwin muttered, his voice choked with emotion.
James, though still reeling from the confrontation, felt a pang of sympathy for the old doctor. Edwin, beneath his stern exterior, was a man who had poured his heart and soul into raising his grandson, only to be met with defiance and resentment. It was a cruel twist of fate.
"Dr. Wheeler," James said softly, placing a reassuring hand on the older man's arm, "you did your best. Sometimes, despite our best efforts, people choose a different path."
Edwin, his eyes welling up, reached out and grasped James's hand. "Mr. Smith," he said, his voice thick with emotion, "I apologize for my grandson's behavior. Please, do not let his disrespect deter you."
James, touched by the older man's humility, shook his head. "It's alright, Dr. Wheeler. I understand."
He understood more than Edwin realized. He had encountered his fair share of envy and resentment throughout his life, and he knew that Derrick's outburst stemmed from a deep-seated insecurity, a need to prove himself worthy.
"Dr. Wheeler," James said gently. "You are needed at the exchange. Your presence, your experience, is invaluable. Let me take care of Derrick."
Edwin, his shoulders slumping with defeat, shook his head. "I'm afraid I'm not up to it, Mr. Smith. My heart… it can't take much more."
James, his brow furrowing with concern, quickly employed his acupuncture skills, gently stimulating specific points on Edwin's body to calm his heart and restore his energy.
As Edwin's breathing gradually steadied, James said, "Dr. Wheeler, you've dedicated your life to traditional medicine. You cannot give up now, not when our art needs you the most."
Edwin, his eyes flickering open, looked at James, a glimmer of his old fire returning. He nodded slowly. "You're right, Mr. Smith. I won't let a foolish old man's pride stand in the way of what's important."
With James's help, Edwin slowly rose to his feet, his gaze regaining its usual clarity. The outburst, though emotionally draining, seemed to have cleared a blockage within him, leaving him feeling strangely lighter.
"Come," Edwin said, his voice regaining its usual strength, "we have a lot to prepare for."
The journey to the exchange venue was a somber affair. The weight of Derrick's betrayal hung heavy in the air, casting a pall over the group. Edwin, though outwardly composed, was lost in thought, his brow furrowed with worry.
James, sensing the older man's turmoil, did his best to engage him in conversation, discussing the upcoming exchange and the challenges that lay ahead. He knew that keeping Edwin's mind occupied was crucial to preventing him from dwelling on his grandson's betrayal.
As they arrived at the venue, a sprawling convention center buzzing with activity, they were greeted by a sea of faces. The modern medicine contingent, their numbers dwarfing the small group of traditional practitioners, exuded an air of confidence, their laughter and chatter echoing through the vast hall.
The stage was set, the battle lines drawn. The future of traditional medicine, it seemed, hung precariously in the balance.
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