Supreme Divine Physician in the City

The elevator doors slide open and the smell of disinfectant hits him first. Too bright. Too clean. After the blood‑fogged corridors of Hell Tower, the city hospital feels like a lie.

Ye Xuan walks through it anyway.

Once, in the depths of one of Earth’s forbidden zones, he was the Infernal Black Emperor, a name whispered by mercenaries who never slept with their backs to a door. There, his Yin Yang Divine Needles stitched shattered bodies back together—or stopped hearts mid‑beat with a single, precise touch. To Western generals he was a ghost story called the Eastern Divine Physician, the man you begged for when death was already counting down… or the last face you saw when your begging failed.

Now he has come home.

On paper, it’s simple: marry Su Qingyan, the icy, brilliant CEO of Eastern Group; trade killing fields for boardrooms and VIP wards. But the ink on the marriage certificate is barely dry before her father is already regretting the son‑in‑law who tracks danger into his marble foyer like mud.

In this city of neon lights and back‑alley vendettas, Ye Xuan’s two talents refuse to stay buried. Gangsters send their wounded in black sedans. Power brokers slide him sealed envelopes and murmur about “problems” that need a permanent cure. A single silver needle between his fingers can mean a heartbeat steadied or a life quietly erased.

He has a simple rule, spoken without arrogance, just cold certainty: the lives he chooses to pull back from the brink, even Hell itself will not reclaim—and the lives he marks for death, not even Heaven dares to protect.

Every step he takes through this glittering city weighs that promise in blood and breath.