Chapter Twenty-Six: The Quack's Deadly Hand

If Qin Luo hadn’t seen Wang Jiujiu’s strikingly beautiful face in the front row, he would have doubted whether he’d entered the wrong classroom. He distinctly remembered that the class he was assigned to had only fifty students, yet today, the number had almost doubled. The spacious classroom was packed to the brim; even the front rows, usually sparsely occupied, were now filled.

“I’m wondering whether I’ve walked into the wrong classroom, or maybe some of you have found yourselves the wrong teacher,” Qin Luo tossed his textbook onto the lectern and addressed the students below.

A ripple of laughter swept through the room at his witty remark.

“Mr. Qin, I told my roommates that our new teacher can spot everyone’s health issues at a glance and even suggest solutions. My roommates didn’t believe me—could you check them out? See if any of them have problems like kidney deficiency...”

“Mr. Qin, we don’t believe it either. Could you check us too?”

“Hehe, I didn’t want them to come, but they insisted—said they wanted to see the handsome guy in the robe—”

—

Because they were all close in age, the students spoke without reservation. Their reasons for being here were varied, but their purpose was clear: they all came for Qin Luo.

The student body was as large as it was small; one interesting event could quickly become the talk of the entire school. Qin Luo’s debut class had made a splash, leaving the students exhilarated and amazed. His extraordinary medical skills had astonished them, and naturally, they boasted about it to their roommates and friends afterward. Some students came out of skepticism, eager to witness it themselves; some girls were drawn by their hearts, hoping to get closer. Thus, the current situation was created.

Qin Luo tapped the table with his finger to signal silence, smiling as he said, “I understand your intentions, and I am honored.”

“But I believe studying should be a rigorous endeavor. If you truly love Chinese medicine, I welcome you. I’m also willing to impart everything I know. If you’re just here for the excitement, then I reserve my opinion on your approach.”

“Mr. Qin, we really do love Chinese medicine!” someone shouted, sending another wave of laughter through the classroom.

“Mr. Qin, I didn’t like Chinese medicine before, but now I do.”

“That’s right. Our slogan is: Love Mr. Qin, love Chinese medicine!”

Qin Luo gave a wry smile and gestured for quiet again. “Let’s start the class now. I hope you’ll learn something useful, rather than waste your time here.”

Qin Luo was a teacher who had entered the profession halfway through his career; he hadn’t prepared lesson plans, and he had only skimmed through the textbook the school provided, glancing at the chapter titles. His current state was like that of a master with his internal channels fully opened; as for the basic knowledge ahead, he saw it as rudimentary techniques—he was thoroughly familiar with them. He even felt he could explain them more effectively than the book.

“I’ll start by asking a few basic questions—a review of last class,” Qin Luo said. “In my classroom, there’s no need to raise your hand. Whoever I call on, just answer. You don’t have to stand; it’s a waste of time.”

“What are the manifestations of internal excess heat syndrome?” Qin Luo scanned the classroom, then pointed to a boy in the third row. “You answer.”

“High fever, thirst for cold drinks, profuse sweating, and a rapid, forceful pulse. Teacher, I wrote it all down in my notes.”

Qin Luo nodded. “Very good. Although I don’t encourage note-taking as a learning method, if you haven’t digested the material yet, jotting down key points can be a good way to review.”

“A critical patient suddenly breaks out in cold sweat on the forehead and has cold limbs. What is this symptom?” Qin Luo asked, pointing to a girl in the front row. “You answer.”

“Yang collapse,” she replied confidently.

“Correct. Yang collapse. Now, I’ll ask you a more challenging question,” Qin Luo said with a smile. “When a patient has wind-stroke in the yang brightness stage—yang is floating and yin is weak—how do you use decoction therapy to resolve it? Wang Jiujiu, you answer.”

This time, Wang Jiujiu took longer to respond. The previous questions were theoretical, but this was a real test of “practical skills.” She hesitated, uncertain. “Three liang of cinnamon twig with skin removed, eighteen zhu of ephedra with nodes removed, twenty-four zhu of gypsum, three liang of fresh ginger, twelve dates.”

“Are you sure?” Qin Luo’s gaze fixed on her delicate, smooth face, expressionless.

Wang Jiujiu pondered, then changed her answer. “I think it’s three liang of cinnamon twig with skin removed, three liang of peony root, two liang of licorice, three liang of fresh ginger, twelve dates.”

Qin Luo stepped down from the podium, glanced at a male student’s watch, and said, “Too late. The patient who drank your decoction has already been dead for thirty-five seconds.”

“Uh—sorry, teacher.” Wang Jiujiu’s cheeks flushed, her smile awkward. Truthfully, she felt like crying.

Is there anyone more sarcastic than this?

Bang!

Qin Luo slapped the table, glaring at Wang Jiujiu. “You’re still smiling? You’re still smiling? Sorry? Do you think saying sorry is enough?”

“I can forgive you. But can the patient who died because of your negligence forgive you? Can the family of the deceased forgive you?”

“Do you understand the nature of your profession? Do you know what one act of negligence means? It means the end of a life, and possibly the end of your career. What use is ‘sorry’?”

“It won’t happen again.” Wang Jiujiu wasn’t intimidated by Qin Luo’s outburst; instead, she lifted her head bravely, stubbornly meeting his gaze.

He may be strong, but she would counter strength with softness.

As expected, Qin Luo’s expression softened. Perhaps he realized that prolonged eye contact with a beautiful female student was too ambiguous.

Qin Luo sighed lightly. “This mistake isn’t your fault. The decoction question pertains to the fifth volume of ‘Treatise on Cold Damage,’ which you may not have studied yet. But there’s something you must remember.”

Again, his expression became solemn.

“What?” Wang Jiujiu asked.

“A life has already ended under your hands. Remember, you killed someone,” Qin Luo said sharply.

“You—” Wang Jiujiu was sure that if any other teacher had said this, she would have cursed them outright.

Could such a casual exam mistake be considered killing someone?

But seeing Qin Luo’s grave expression, the words stuck in her throat.

What if this wasn’t just a test, but a real prescription for a patient?

At that thought, Wang Jiujiu suddenly understood the painstaking care behind Qin Luo’s words.

“Mr. Qin, I’ll remember. Thank you,” Wang Jiujiu nodded.

Qin Luo was satisfied with her attitude, his expression softening again. “Very good. Remember: a mediocre doctor harms others and himself.”

As he spoke, Qin Luo was momentarily lost in thought.

Looking at Wang Jiujiu now, he recalled himself many years ago.

Back then, when he first prescribed the wrong medicine, his grandfather had rebuked him just as severely. That time, his grandfather had whipped his palm with a bamboo cane, and delivered the same stern words. Qin Luo’s speech just now was an exact copy of his grandfather’s. Clearly, that scene had left an indelible mark on him, one he would never forget.

Now, he used his grandfather’s method to teach his own students, hoping they would truly understand the value of life.

After class, Qin Luo had just stepped out when Wang Jiujiu caught up with him.

“Mr. Qin,” she called from behind. Beautiful and poised, she was a rare beauty.

What Qin Luo didn’t know was that Wang Jiujiu was already considered a campus queen.

“Not satisfied with my attitude? Want to argue with me?” Qin Luo asked with a smile.

“No. I know Mr. Qin is looking out for us,” Wang Jiujiu shook her head, smiling.

“Then are you here—to ask for my phone number?” Qin Luo asked. “Haha, I just got a new phone. I'll give you my number; if your mother has any questions, she can call me anytime.”

“Ah? You just got it? All right then.” A flicker of disappointment passed through Wang Jiujiu’s eyes.

“Hmm. I don’t know my number yet. Give me yours, and I'll call you,” Qin Luo said, a bit clueless.

Wang Jiujiu recited her number, and when a pleasant ringtone sounded from her bag, it meant they had exchanged contact information.

“Call me if you need anything,” Qin Luo said, waving as he headed for the administration building.

Watching Qin Luo’s figure recede, Wang Jiujiu sighed softly.

She took out a beautiful box from her bag, gazing at the silver-gray phone displayed on it, her melancholy spreading like wild vines.

She was still one step behind!

“But it won’t happen again,” Wang Jiujiu said to herself, clenching her fist.

She dialed a number, and when a woman’s delicate “hello” came from the other end, she said into the receiver, “Zhang Yiyi, I killed someone.”

Clatter!

She heard something fall to the floor on the other side, sounding chaotic.

“Are you serious? Is the person dead?” The woman’s tone was trembling, no longer pretending to be youthful.

Wang Jiujiu thought for a moment. “Dead for about forty minutes.”

“You troublesome child, you never give me a moment’s peace. Hurry! Grab a handful of dust and smear it on your face—you’re too pretty, don’t let anyone recognize you. Leave the school, then take a taxi from the gate to the train station. I’ll meet you there, and we’ll hide out at your grandmother’s for a few days—whatever happens, don’t let your dad know. He might turn you in for the sake of justice—”

Wang Jiujiu laughed so hard her stomach hurt, thinking how she’d never noticed her mother’s hidden detective talent before.