Readers searching for Trash Yesterday Queen Today Chapter 62 read online are often looking for an engaging introduction to a story filled with transformation, resilience, and unexpected twists.
Chapter 62
Chapter 62
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Natalie logged out of the Obsidian Net without responding. She grabbed a sheet of stationery and picked up a pen. Her handwriting was crisp and lean, each stroke swift and precise, as she quickly jotted down a list of botanical components.
After a few minutes, the paper was half full.
Natalie took a photo of the list and sent it to a contact named “Larkin.”
Natalie: [Tomorrow morning, bring yourself and the medicine to St. Alden Medical Center.]
Larkin: [Got it.]
Once that was done, Natalie finally started typing up her novel.
With nothing else to do for the rest of the day, she went ahead and uploaded two chapters and then set up a scheduled
release for tomorrow.
When she checked her phone again, it was already past eleven.
Rosie had blown up her phone with messages, basically asking if she wanted to go to the class get–together the day after
tomorrow.
Natalie: [Do you actually want to go?]
Rosie: [Kind of. There are only a few annoying people in our class anyway, and we probably won’t even see each other
after graduation.]
Natalie: [Alright, I’ll go with you.]
Rosie: [Love you, Natalie.]
Rosie sent a cute emoji.
Natalie didn’t reply. She set her phone down and headed for the bathroom.
The next morning, at St. Alden Medical Center, the conference room on the 15th floor was tense.
The long table was packed with hospital execs, respiratory specialists, the head of infectious diseases, the pharmacy director, plus a handful of guest experts who’d flown in overnight from all over.
Everyone had a thick medical file in front of them, with “Eleanor Whitmore” boldly written across the cover.
Victor, the head of a department, stood by the projector, having just wrapped up the last briefing on Eleanor’s case
“After reviewing the case, the panel reached a consensus that conventional treatment is no longer effective,” he said.
“The infection has proven resistant to every antifungal agent currently available, and her pulmonary condition es continuing to deteriorate. If we can’t find an alternative approach within a week, I’m afraid.”
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Chapter 63
He left the sentence hanging, but everyone in the room knew what he was getting at.
The conference room went dead silent.
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Charles Bennett, the hospital director, rubbed his temples, sounding worn out. “Did we ever get through to Evergarden?”
Victor shook his head. “No reply so far, and honestly, we don’t even know if we reached the right person.”
The tension in the conference room thickened even more.
The words “no reply” hung heavy in the air.
Quentin, a professor, frowned, clearly frustrated. “Seriously, what is this Evergarden, and who is The Gardener? We’ve got the best doctors in the country right here, and we’re just supposed to wait for a reply from someone who might not even
be real?”
No one said a word.
After a few seconds of silence, Harold, an elderly expert seated in the corner, finally spoke, “Quentin, it’s only natural to
have doubts if you’ve never dealt with Evergarden before.”
A leading authority in alternative medicine, he was seventy–three, his hair snow–white, his eyes still sharp and clear. He
had been invited as a special consultant and had barely spoken during the journey until now.
Quentin was stunned. “You’ve actually worked with them before?”
Harold nodded, his gaze resting on the medical file in front of him, his voice slow and grave.
“Twenty years ago, a close friend of mine fell seriously ill and needed a biological material that had long since disappeared from circulation. A wild–harvested specimen with properties no longer reproducible under modern
conditions,” he said.
“It was impossible to source through any legitimate channel. At best, a few preserved samples remained locked away in private research collections.”
He paused. “Someone suggested I try contacting Evergarden. To be honest, I wasn’t convinced it even existed, but I had a friend make a few discreet inquiries. Three days later, the material was delivered straight to my door.”
A sharp breath was drawn somewhere in the conference room.
Harold looked at Quentin, his tone calm. “Do you have any idea what something like that would be worth now? Even with
unlimited money, you wouldn’t be able to obtain it. There is no open market for it.”
He said, “And yet Evergarden delivered it, with a clearly stated price. No negotiation, no exceptions. I paid, and they took the money. That was the end of it.”
Quentin opened his mouth, but no words came out..
Victor couldn’t help asking, “Harold, what exactly is Evergarden? How are they able to obtain materials no one else can
Source?
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Harold shook his head. “No one really knows. Some say it’s a secluded estate passed down for generations. Others claim it’s an organization, or perhaps a single family. But one thing is certain-”
He paused, his gaze sweeping across the room, and continued, “If you can reach them, and if they agree to take your request, there is nothing they cannot source.”
“Rare wild–harvested botanicals, century–aged fungal extracts, high–altitude floral compounds, and lost therapeutic formulations. If you can pay, and they accept, it becomes yours,” he said.
“And every leader of Evergarden, known as The Gardener, is a true master of medicine. They never appear in person and never explain their methods, but whenever they take a case, they have never failed.”
The conference room was dead silent.
Quentin’s frustration slowly faded, replaced by shock and a sense of awe.
Charles let out a soft sigh. “So all we can do now is wait?”
Harold nodded. “Wait. If they’re willing to take this request, Eleanor can be saved. If not…”
He didn’t finish, but everyone knew exactly what he meant.
Just then, there was a knock at the conference room door.
A nurse poked her head in. “Mr. Bennett, there’s someone outside who says they’re here to treat a patient.”
Charles frowned. “Are we missing a doctor? Go ahead and let them in.”
The nurse nodded. “Okay.”
About thirty seconds later, the conference room door opened again. Everyone instinctively looked up and was all stunned.
Standing in the doorway was a young woman in her early twenties, dressed in a light green short–sleeved shirt and matching pants. Her long, straight hair was draped casually over her shoulders, her face blank, radiating an aloof vibe.
“Who are you, and what are you here for?” someone said.
Sitting at the center of the table was an elderly woman in her sixties or seventies, with short curly hair. She shot Natalie a frown and pushed up her glasses. That was Avery, Isabelle’s teacher.
“I’m here to treat,” Natalie said, keeping it short.
Charles‘ eyes went wide, “You? Here to treat?”
Avery frowned, pushing up her glasses. “Miss, do you even realize where you are? Do you know who the patient is?”
Natalie nodded calmly. “I know.”
Victor looked her up and down, barely holding hack a laugh. “This is the expert consultation room at St. Alden Medical Center Everyone here is a top specialist in the country,” he said.
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“You’re just a girl in your early twenties, dressed like that, walking in empty–handed, and you say you’re here to treat? Where’s your equipment? What makes you qualified?”
A middle–aged expert chimed in, “Yeah, miss, I think you’ve got the wrong room. This is a critical care consult, not a walk- in clinic. Even med students don’t come in here like this. You’re in over your head. Don’t waste our time.”
Natalie just stood there, not moving an inch. “Didn’t you guys invite me here?”