As Mirabe reached the doorway, she turned and said, "Nick, you head back to your room. I''ll grab my silver needles."


    Nick nodded, "Alright."


    In just a bit, Mirabe returned with her case and stepped into Nick''s room.


    As she opened the case and took out the needles, she instructed, "Nick, lie down at the foot of the bed. It''ll be easier for me to work that way."


    Nickplied, lying down and staring up at the ceiling. Even though he was dead tired, sleep just wouldn''te whenever he closed his eyes.


    Mirabe took out the silver needles and noticed an incense burner on a nearby coffee table, its ashespletely burnt out. She dismissed the sight and approached the bed, her slender fingers finding their way to Nick''s temples, gently massaging them with a rhythmic touch.


    With his eyes closed, Nick felt the pressure on his temples rxing him considerably, a soothingfort spreading through him.


    His sister, young as she was, had surprisingly adept skills at acupressure.


    Nick was rather astonished.


    After a few minutes, Mirabe picked up the silver needles, precisely targeting the acupoints between his eyebrows and at the crown of his head. Once those were in ce, she took two shorter needles and started to meticulously insert them into the acupoints responsible for alleviating insomnia.


    The process was slow; the needles needed to be eased in gradually to reach the desired effect.


    Nick, who had only been humoring the idea, found himself unwittingly drifting off to sleep, his face rxing into a peaceful expression.


    Mirabe nced at him and continued her precise work. Twenty minutester, she withdrew the needles.


    The sleeping figure had sunk into a deep slumber. Mirabe sterilized the needles and ced them back into the case.


    She paused for a moment, then leaned over the edge of the bed, taking Nick''s hand that rested atop the covers.


    The diagnosis was clear: a deficiency of both heart and spleen energy, fatigue, shortness of breath, a weak pulse, and severe insomnia.


    Aside from anemia and some digestive issues, his physical health seemed fairly resilient.


    Mirabe let go of his hand and her gaze swept the room, eventually settling on a long wooden box on the desk. She walked over, opened it, and saw that it was nearly empty.


    Turning back to Nick, she recalled sending him a three-month supply of the incense, but in just a month''s time, he''d used almost twice the expected amount.


    Evidently, the incense was no longer effective.


    The auxiliary treatment could only offer temporary relief; the real cure would have to address the psychological root of his condition.


    With a contemtive look, Mirabe left the room, carrying the silver needles with her.


    Emmitt''s room was just a short distance from Nick''s. As she gently closed the door behind her, she looked up to see Emmitt massaging his temples as he stepped out of his room.


    Her stride faltered for a moment, but she quickly continued to her own room and closed the door behind her.


    Emmitt stood still, a headache pounding, but it was nothingpared to the overwhelming sense of loss.


    He took a deep breath and returned to his room.


    At breakfast:


    "By the way, I noticed Nick only got to sleep this morning. I think his jetg might mean he''ll wake upter. Let''s not disturb him," Mirabe suggested, addressing her parents and Zach at the dining table.


    Zach, mid-sip of his coffee, paused, his gaze filled with a touch of resentment.


    He''d only had a few interactions with Nick, and already he was being pampered like this!


    This did not sit well with him.