Chapter Seventy-Three: The Divine Bell Clinic

The Divine Bell Clinic was established right in Zhong Shenxiu’s own yard. In truth, he merely tidied up the small house at the entrance, added a hospital bed, prepared some disinfectants and medical tools, then hung a bold sign outside the door: Divine Bell Clinic.

Ordinarily, such a setup would be considered an illegal clinic—without any business licenses whatsoever. Yet, after Zhong Shenxiu made a phone call to Coulson, documents were no longer an issue. The next day, both the business license and Zhong Shenxiu’s physician’s certificate were delivered. One had to admit, S.H.I.E.L.D.’s efficiency in such matters was astonishing.

There was one thing worth mentioning. When Zhong Shenxiu called Coulson, despite Coulson’s best efforts to control his emotions, Zhong Shenxiu could still detect the urgency in his voice. Even from the background noises over the phone, it was clear Coulson was busy in Chicago—likely frantically searching for the Crimson Baron. Zhong Shenxiu mused to himself. But with S.H.I.E.L.D. so fully armed and prepared, even if he were feeling mischievous, Zhong Shenxiu would never go; after all, he had no desire to court death.

Now that the Divine Bell Clinic was smoothly operating, his little enforcer, “Spider-Man Peter Parker,” had grown ever more capable. The number of gangsters seeking treatment each day had become overwhelming. Zhong Shenxiu had no time left for playing games with S.H.I.E.L.D. in Chicago; his purpose was already achieved. At least, the name of Crimson Baron had been established. When the time came to seize the Space Stone, he would be perfectly positioned.

As the number of gangsters seeking treatment increased, Zhong Shenxiu stopped using his healing spell on every single one. It was a waste of his hard-won mental energy. Even though his mental recovery had significantly improved since obtaining the Chaos Body—a single hour’s sleep now restored two points instead of one—it was still rather meager, albeit much better than before. Nevertheless, he would not squander all his precious mental energy on these gangsters. Of course, if they were willing to pay extra, anything could be negotiated.

Now that Zhong Shenxiu possessed mastery in medicine, even without using his healing spell, his surgical skills were more than enough to rival top physicians, though his equipment could not match that of major hospitals.

Thus, even without easily resorting to healing magic, gangsters continued to flood his clinic daily. The cases he encountered most often at first involved bullet removals. After being wounded in shootouts, these gangsters dared not go to proper hospitals—they could not explain the origin of the guns and bullets. So they came to the Divine Bell Clinic, which, though outwardly respectable, was little different from an illegal operation.

As Peter’s reputation grew, cases of fractures, lacerations, and other injuries became increasingly common. The kid certainly didn’t pull his punches. Zhong Shenxiu even treated a gangster with a double femur spiral fracture and three broken ribs. According to his Italian-accented companion, struggling with awkward English: “It was the… short guy in red. He pushed Demi from the fifth floor. All these injuries… caused by falling from high up.”

The short guy in red, undoubtedly Spider-Man Peter. Initially, Zhong Shenxiu intended to send the patient to a real hospital, since, lacking radiological equipment, he could not accurately assess the fractures or locations. Attempting surgery blindly would have been a gamble. Applying the healing spell would consume too much mental energy, and the medical fee wouldn’t cover it.

But then Zhong Shenxiu devised a clever solution. He channeled chaotic magic through the patient’s bones, maintaining a subtle vibration. By analyzing the feedback from these vibrations, he quickly pinpointed the fracture sites with surprising precision. Even Zhong Shenxiu was impressed by the accuracy.

Thus, the patient was ultimately treated successfully at the Divine Bell Clinic. The Italian gangster, after his companion’s recovery, repeatedly thanked Zhong Shenxiu loudly, exclaiming, “You are a good man, blah blah…” with his fingers pinched together, gesticulating animatedly. Zhong Shenxiu could barely suppress his laughter. If he had told these gangsters that the short guy in red they cursed and hated daily was actually his own agent, their expressions would have been priceless.

But, of course, Zhong Shenxiu would never reveal such a thing—these gangsters were perfect sources for easy money. If they conducted normal business, Peter would leave them alone. But since they arrived at the clinic battered and bruised, it meant they had surely committed some heinous acts. Zhong Shenxiu trusted Peter’s judgment on that.

So, Zhong Shenxiu fleeced them a little, let them taste the pain of their injuries—it was only fair. In nearly a month, Zhong Shenxiu had earned close to five hundred thousand dollars, giving Peter, his greatest contributor, five hundred dollars, which sent the boy home happily for days. Ivan, meanwhile, hadn’t received a cent yet, though buying materials and equipment for him had cost nearly two hundred thousand.

Naturally, the gangsters alone wouldn’t have netted Zhong Shenxiu such profits. The real money began to flow when the Divine Bell Clinic’s reputation spread throughout Queens. Once the district’s wealthy elite, suffering from serious illnesses, began coming to his clinic, the real earnings began.

The money from the rich was the easiest to make. Any routine consultation brought in tens of thousands. Among them, the biggest client was a name Zhong Shenxiu knew well: Norman Osborn.

When Norman Osborn arrived at the Divine Bell Clinic, he looked pale and thin, hardly resembling the airborne Green Goblin. For such a prominent figure, Zhong Shenxiu quoted the same price he’d given Agent May—one hundred thousand dollars. For Osborn and his vast corporation, it was trifling, and he agreed without hesitation.

Naturally, Zhong Shenxiu used his healing spell. Osborn’s condition wasn’t merely a physiological malfunction; it was more like a hereditary disease, as if he’d inherited hair color or eyelid shape from his ancestors. Within his genetic makeup was a unique mutation.

Genes are the most intricate of things; even the slightest change can result in unimaginable consequences. This was likely why the Osborn family, despite decades of searching, had never found a true cure.

But for such a mutation, Zhong Shenxiu found the healing process… surprisingly effortless.