“Yes, hello Grandma.” I recognized her—Cejay’s wife, also an actress, who had retired to teach at a university.

“Cejay told me you’re Hoyle’s apprentice, and your acupuncture is amazing.” The elderly woman trembled as she took my hand and asked earnestly, “You… you can help ease his pain, right? I…”

Her voice cracked, and her eyes reddened.

“I can’t stand seeing him suffer like this anymore.”

Cejay’s illness was terminal. Painkillers no longer worked. Every attack was pure agony; falling unconscious was a mercy, but they feared he might never wake up.

I squeezed her hand gently. “I’ll help him.”

I went to the bed, took out silver needles from...