Chapter 106: Not Qualified!

Spring blossoms burst forth, painting the world in vibrant hues, full of life and vitality. Yet, hidden within this beautiful springtime is a silent assassin—a cruel affliction known as pollen allergy.

As pollen drifts through the air, it is easily inhaled into the respiratory tract. For those allergic, this inhalation triggers a series of allergic reactions—this is pollen allergy.

Typically, pollen allergy manifests in several ways: an unbearably itchy nose, sudden bouts of continuous sneezing, copious nasal discharge, and nasal congestion—this is “pollen-induced rhinitis.” Sudden, paroxysmal coughing, difficulty breathing, white frothy sputum, and wheezing in the throat characterize “pollen-induced asthma.” Itchy eyes, swollen eyelids, and watery or mucopurulent discharge point to “pollen-induced conjunctivitis.”

But it was currently winter in Yanjing; how could such an illness arise now?

The truth was that Han Mo had a childhood history of pollen allergy, though it had long remained a secret. Being a doctor himself, he usually took great care to avoid exposure to pollen, sparing him from frequent attacks.

Yet today, he found himself unusually drawn to a pastry made from peach blossom pollen at the dining table. Without any warning, he devoured several pieces in one sitting. The excessive pollen content finally triggered a relapse.

Since Qin Luo had already diagnosed the condition through Han Mo’s asthma symptoms and the sputum in his mouth, the remaining question was how to treat it.

The private room lacked anti-allergy medication, and Han Mo’s condition was suddenly severe and rapid. Sending him to the hospital would surely waste precious time. To make matters worse, Qin Luo had not even brought his silver needles.

There was only one option left: acupressure.

Acupressure is a therapeutic technique using fingers to press acupuncture points along the meridians—a form of traditional Chinese medicine. When skillfully applied, its effects are remarkable.

It is especially distinctive in prevention and health maintenance.

Under the watchful eyes of the assembled crowd, Qin Luo approached Han Mo from behind. Rubbing his hands together vigorously until they grew warm, he began gently massaging points on Han Mo’s forehead—the Yintang, Shenting, Zanzhu, Yuyao, Sizhukong, Taiyang, and Yangbai.

Having memorized the human meridian system since childhood, Qin Luo’s skill in locating acupoints was extraordinary. Coupled with the family’s heirloom “One-Character Acupressure Method,” the effect was profound.

After the first five minutes, Han Mo, who had been wheezing like a beast moments before, found his symptoms dissipating.

The onlookers marveled, calling it miraculous.

Qin Luo smiled and continued the massage for another five minutes. The anguish etched on Han Mo’s face vanished entirely, the flushed color fading until he looked like any ordinary man.

This time, the American delegation’s members looked upon Qin Luo with even greater astonishment. They had expected injections or medication, yet two fingers’ gentle massage had resolved a sudden, acute crisis—truly a divine marvel.

“God. Oh God. Amazing Qin, you’ve amazed me once again—” Jack exclaimed in disbelief. Foreigners often struggled with elegant Chinese expressions, here turning “greatly astonished” into “greatly feasted.”

Qin Luo chuckled, releasing his hands from the massage, then turning to face Han Mo. “How do you feel now?”

Han Mo’s face betrayed some embarrassment as he replied in English, though Qin Luo could not understand.

“Remarkable Qin, he says he feels excellent now and regrets making that bet with you,” Dr. Jack said, clapping Qin Luo on the shoulder with a broad smile.

“No one wants to make such a bet. But I cannot stand idly by when something I cherish is insulted,” Qin Luo replied, gazing at Han Mo.

Jack translated Qin Luo’s words back to Han Mo, who then rose from his chair and bowed deeply before Qin Luo in front of everyone.

“He says he was too arrogant and ignorant of the wonders of traditional Chinese medicine. From now on, he promises to be its most loyal follower. He begs for your forgiveness and pleads that you withdraw your bet,” Jack said, smiling at Qin Luo.

“I won’t withdraw the bet,” Qin Luo stated firmly.

Jack’s face fell in surprise. According to convention, this was when one would say, “No problem.”

Is this guy not truly Chinese? His very nature seemed unlike that of the typical Chinese.

For Chinese are known for their tact and subtlety, slippery as an eel. But Qin Luo was sharp-edged and fiercely aggressive, like a domineering crab.

“Qin Luo—” Although Li Yonggang had no knowledge of the midday wager between Qin Luo and Han Mo, he still wanted to remind Qin Luo to consider the guest’s dignity.

By his side, Guo Renhuai sneered coldly. Youngsters truly lacked restraint, exposing their sharpness heedlessly.

They would suffer for it later.

“I don’t have a habit of withdrawing bets,” Qin Luo said.

Han Mo jabbered on in English again after Jack’s translation.

Qin Luo suddenly missed Wang Jiujiu. If she were here, she could interpret for him on the spot.

“He says he understands your attitude, apologizes again for his rudeness, admits defeat, and will honor the bet,” Lin Wanxi whispered in Qin Luo’s ear.

Qin Luo’s expression brightened. When he looked at Lin Wanxi, her face remained impassive.

Still, her willingness to stand up and translate was a considerable step forward.

Qin Luo thought, her heart was not completely closed. There was still a chance to heal her.

“Tell him this: I’m not refusing to withdraw the bet because I desire the money. A man should always be accountable for his words. I can forgo his wager, and he need not relinquish his status as a distinguished medical researcher. But within three years, I will make traditional Chinese medicine flourish in America and even worldwide. That is my bet. Not just with him—I’m also betting against myself.” Qin Luo looked at Lin Wanxi’s delicate, picturesque face, inhaling her faint fragrance as he smiled.

Han Mo’s expression stirred deeply. He spoke to Qin Luo again.

The onlookers widened their eyes in astonishment at Han Mo’s words.

“What did he say?” Qin Luo asked, for Lin Wanxi had not immediately translated, her own face showing surprise.

“He says he admires only two Chinese people—Premier Zhou and you. Your character has won him over,” Lin Wanxi translated flatly, looking at Qin Luo’s somewhat pale face.

To place an ordinary doctor on par with a nation’s premier showed Han Mo’s complete respect for Qin Luo.

“How do you say ‘thank you’ in English?” Qin Luo asked with a smile. Even as a master of the Taiyi Divine Needle, he couldn’t withstand such high-level flattery.

“THANK YOU!”

“Oh, that’s it! I know that one too.” Qin Luo patted Han Mo on the shoulder and said, “THANK YOU!”

With Han Mo’s crisis averted, everyone’s spirits lifted.

Li Yonggang regarded Qin Luo with new respect and grew more affable.

Since there were no classes that afternoon, after the banquet ended, Qin Luo planned to return directly to the Lin family villa.

“Qin Luo.” Wang Zihao hurried to catch up.

“Something wrong?” Qin Luo turned to face him. Last time, this fellow had challenged him outside Lin Wanxi’s office but was rejected. Now, what was he up to?

“Seems you really are impressive,” Wang Zihao smiled.

“That much I’m well aware of,” Qin Luo replied. While he might lag in English, no one could easily surpass him in Chinese medicine.

“But our competition hasn’t begun yet,” Wang Zihao said, his expression darkening at Qin Luo’s arrogance.

“What competition?” Qin Luo feigned ignorance.

“A showdown between Chinese and Western medicine. I’m confident I’ll beat you,” Wang Zihao declared.

Qin Luo shifted sideways a step, scrutinizing Wang Zihao from head to toe.

After a long moment, he asked suddenly, “Why should I compete with you?”

“Don’t you want to know who’s stronger? The winner will be the top medical master at the university,” Wang Zihao said, uncomfortable under Qin Luo’s piercing gaze.

“I come from a family of Chinese medicine practitioners, am the heir to the Taiyi Divine Needle, and enjoy the favor of medical sages like Wang Xiushen and Gu Baixian. Recently, medical journals have been bombarding the public with reports about me. I’m quite famous, and my reputation grows daily.”

“If I agree to compete and you win, your fame will skyrocket. Even if you lose, you lose nothing. But for me, winning means little; you have no reputation to boost, and if I lose, I’m simply tailoring a wedding dress for you.”

“You—you’re not as despicable as I thought,” Wang Zihao glared, too angry to speak.

Who did he think he was?

“As a public figure, I must always stay vigilant. We have no grudge, and I’ve done you no wrong. Yet you repeatedly challenge me—one can’t help but wonder,” Qin Luo smiled.

“You’re judging me by a petty mind while claiming noble intentions,” Wang Zihao snapped.

Qin Luo narrowed his eyes. “Whether gentleman or scoundrel, I won’t compete with you.”

With that, he turned to leave.

“Afraid?” Wang Zihao sneered behind him.

“Not afraid. But when you stand on equal footing with me, then we’ll compete,” Qin Luo retorted sharply. A true master knows restraint. If everyone wanted to challenge him, when would he find time to eat, sleep, work, surf online, or chat with his sister?

At that moment, Wang Zihao’s blood boiled, nearly provoking a fierce battle of three hundred rounds.

What kind of attitude was this? Saying he wasn’t worthy to compete?

Watching Qin Luo’s retreating figure, Wang Zihao’s eyes gleamed with menace.

Just as Qin Luo stepped through the hotel’s revolving door, he saw Lin Wanxi’s champagne-colored BMW preparing to exit the parking lot.

He quickened his pace, calling out, “Wait for me! Wait!”