Chapter 72: Challenging the King of Needles (2)!

Wang Yangxin stood at the doorway for a while before a man in a black suit hurried over.

“Director Wang, everything is ready,” the man reported in a low voice.

“Excellent. Let’s begin,” Wang Yangxin replied.

With a wave of his hand, the man swiftly departed, as if worried about being discovered doing something clandestine.

Only then did Wang Yangxin push open the door to the VIP diagnosis room, smiling as he said, “Grandfather, everything is prepared. Shall we start?”

“Qin Luo, is everything in order?” Wang Xiushen turned to seek Qin Luo’s opinion.

“No problem,” Qin Luo replied with a smile.

“Then let’s begin,” Wang Xiushen said. “Our first contest will be diagnosis, just as last time. We’ll select a patient at random for treatment. I’m the host, and this clinic belongs to our Wang family. To avoid any suspicion of cheating, all patients will be chosen randomly. What do you think?”

“I’ll follow your arrangements, Elder Wang,” Qin Luo agreed readily.

He knew, given Wang Xiushen’s status, it was unlikely he’d resort to trickery. If word got out, it would be a fatal blow to his reputation.

Besides, even if cheating occurred, what difference did it make? Against superior medical skill, all schemes are nothing but paper tigers.

Wang Yangxin made a phone call, and soon a list of today’s registered patients was brought in.

“You first, please,” Wang Xiushen offered, keen to prove his integrity by letting Qin Luo choose.

“Number sixteen,” Qin Luo said.

Once Qin Luo selected the number, Wang Yangxin promptly pulled out the information for patient sixteen.

“Li Ke. Male. Thirty-six years old,” Wang Yangxin read from the registration slip.

“Bring him in,” Gu Baixian said sternly.

Soon, led by a receptionist, a middle-aged man clutching his stomach and wearing a bitter expression was brought into the VIP room.

Seeing so many elderly men inside, the man paused, looked back at the receptionist, and asked, “Miss, are we in the right place?”

“Sir, congratulations. Our senior director and several specialists will consult on your case personally,” the receptionist replied with a smile.

“What’s going on? What illness do I have? Is it that serious?” The man’s face stiffened in alarm, nearly on the verge of tears.

He feared he had some untreatable disease and was about to meet his maker.

“Sir, it’s like this. Today is our senior director’s monthly free clinic day. One patient is randomly selected for treatment, with all fees waived.” Whether she had been briefed beforehand or simply possessed exceptional adaptability, the receptionist quickly dispelled the patient’s confusion and fear.

“Oh, is that so?” The man’s face blossomed into a smile. “Well, I must trouble you experts then.”

He observed the elderly men, sensing their authority. If they helped, his recovery would surely be swift.

And it was free. Why not try?

Wang Xiushen nodded and said to Qin Luo, “You take the pulse first.”

Qin Luo approached, grasped the man’s reluctant hand, and began a careful pulse diagnosis.

“You said the senior director would treat me. Why send out an intern?” the man complained angrily, feeling deceived.

“Don’t speak. You might worsen your condition,” Qin Luo glanced at him and replied.

Intimidated, the man fell silent.

This time, Qin Luo’s pulse-taking lasted longer—two or three minutes, during which he also observed the patient’s facial features.

Seeing the red streaks in the patient’s eyes and the cracked corners of his mouth, Qin Luo’s mind was clear. He released the wrist and stood quietly aside.

After Qin Luo finished, Wang Xiushen stepped forward and took the man’s pulse as well.

Once both had finished, Gu Baixian asked, “Do either of you have questions for the patient?”

“No,” Qin Luo shook his head.

“Nor do I,” Wang Xiushen replied with a smile.

It seemed both were confident, having already deduced the man’s illness through observation and pulse diagnosis—the hallmarks of traditional medicine.

“If not, please each write your diagnosis report. To add challenge to this first round, I suggest you also write the prescriptions you have in mind.”

Paper, brush, and ink were already prepared. Qin Luo and Wang Xiushen moved to the table and began writing.

Wang Xiushen’s calligraphy was strong and swift, using the doctors’ customary cursive script—professional, but unremarkable to those in the know.

Yet everyone’s attention was drawn to Qin Luo’s handwriting, including Wang Yangxin.

With each stroke of his brush, elegant characters appeared—slender, graceful, flowing like clouds and water.

All recognized the style as reminiscent of the great calligrapher Su Shi. Though only in form, for someone so young it was remarkable.

“A fine hand! Just for this, he’s a master in his own right,” Gu Baixian, the stern-faced judge, was the first to praise.

“Beautiful, truly beautiful. No wonder he comes from a family of traditional medicine. Such deep heritage!” Old Zhuo applauded.

“Few young people today can write such splendid brush characters,” said Guo Xusheng, the king of fire cupping, smiling in approval.

Receiving praise from these elders, Qin Luo felt a quiet joy.

He couldn’t use computers, sing, drink, or drive—but what he could do wasn’t something just anyone could learn.

Especially in modern cities, handwriting had been replaced by keyboards. Those who could write this beautifully were rare indeed.

Wang Xiushen finished his prescription and turned to examine Qin Luo’s writing. He sighed, “Calligraphy is a mark of character. Just for this fine hand, I concede a tenth already.”

Qin Luo set down the brush and smiled, “I hope I haven’t made the elders laugh.”

“With writing like this, no one will laugh at you,” Gu Baixian said, his tone still stiff, but everyone heard his genuine appreciation and support.

“Now, let’s look at the prescriptions,” Old Zhuo chuckled.

The three compared Wang Xiushen’s and Qin Luo’s prescriptions, and after some study, Gu Baixian said, “Diagnosis is similar: liver fire stirred by anger, coupled with external affliction. Abdominal distention, constipation.”

“But the prescriptions differ greatly,” Old Zhuo remarked. “Wang’s is based on Wei Lingxian, focusing on circulation. Once unblocked, the body is light, the fire subdued—a fine remedy.”

“Qin Luo’s is based on Da Cheng Qi Tang, but he’s added several Wei Lingxian herbs,” Guo Xusheng observed, turning to Qin Luo. “Isn’t this formula a bit too strong? Da Cheng Qi Tang already regulates circulation, and you’ve added cathartics. Isn’t that too much?”

Qin Luo glanced at the bewildered patient and smiled, “Wei Lingxian unblocks the meridians and regulates qi. Used here, it activates the potency of Da Cheng Qi Tang. Once the medicine takes effect, the constipation resolves. Wei Lingxian’s role is like a match for lighting a cigarette—without fire, how can you smoke?”

The four, all giants of traditional medicine, fell into deep thought at Qin Luo’s words.

Wang Xiushen was the first to understand; he slapped his thigh and laughed, “Indeed! This combination is brilliant. I concede this round.”

“Though the effect is swift, it does achieve remarkable results,” Old Zhuo agreed with a smile.

Gu Baixian said, “Compared to Wei Lingxian, Da Cheng Qi Tang resolves the root cause faster, but is harsher on the patient’s body. I believe this round is best declared a tie.”

Qin Luo nodded, “My prescription is innovative but too aggressive. A tie, then.”

“Fine. Since you say so, I won’t insist. Let’s call this round a draw,” Wang Xiushen agreed.

“The previous challenge was effectively two in one: diagnosis and prescription. Both were ties, but diagnosis was the main focus, prescription secondary. For the second challenge, let prescription take the lead, diagnosis be secondary,” Gu Baixian announced the rules.

Wang Yangxin again brought in the registration list.

This time, Wang Xiushen offered Qin Luo the choice, but Qin Luo declined; Wang Xiushen selected number nine.

“Zhang Beibei. Male. Two years old,” Wang Yangxin read the patient’s details.

A child? No one expected such a young patient.

“Should we choose another?” Wang Yangxin asked.

Wang Xiushen waved his hand, “Bring him in.”

After a moment, a young woman carrying a child entered. The baby was plump and pink, like a little rabbit clinging to his mother’s chest, crying incessantly.

“What’s the matter?” Qin Luo asked.

“Bronchopneumonia caused by a cold,” the young mother replied anxiously, struggling to keep the child still.

With the patient present, it was time for prescriptions.

Wang Xiushen sat and quickly wrote a formula.

Qin Luo took the child gently from his mother, softly massaging his back, and said, “Keep him warm. Give him plenty of boiled water. Regularly massage his back, earlobes, arms, palms, soles, thighs, and calves. Use gentle pressure, fifteen minutes each time, three to five times daily. Don’t do this before or right after meals. Once his immunity improves, these issues will disappear.”

Miraculously, the child stopped crying under Qin Luo’s massage, snuggling quietly in his arms, lazy and sleepy, utterly adorable.

“Thank you, thank you,” the young mother said gratefully.

Hearing Qin Luo’s advice, Wang Xiushen’s hand paused abruptly as he wrote his prescription.

He sat stunned for a moment, then crumpled his freshly written formula and tossed it into the waste basket, smiling bitterly, “I lost this round, and I admit it wholeheartedly.”