Chapter Seventy-Three: A Man Kneels Only for His Teacher's Grace!

“Grandfather, Qin Luo hasn’t prescribed a remedy yet,” Wang Yangxin said. Although he now greatly admired Qin Luo’s medical skills, that didn’t mean he wished for his grandfather to lose.

The Needle King, Wang Xiushen, was the pride of the Wang family. If Wang Xiushen were defeated as well, it would mean that the entire Wang family, renowned for their acupuncture, had been bested by Qin Luo.

“He has already given his prescription,” Wang Xiushen shook his head and sighed. “Yangxin, you ought to learn more from Qin Luo. When it comes to adaptability in traditional Chinese medicine, he far surpasses me.”

“Adaptability in traditional Chinese medicine?”

“Yes. We can’t always bury ourselves in old prescriptions and refuse to move forward. Chinese medicine must also evolve and adapt. Otherwise, we’ll fall behind and be eliminated by society,” Wang Xiushen said heavily.

“What is it about Qin Luo’s adaptability?” Wang Yangxin asked. He was still somewhat unclear about his grandfather’s meaning.

“Think about it. Why did he prescribe such strong medicine for the first patient?” Wang Xiushen countered.

Wang Yangxin pondered for a moment and replied, “Perhaps he wanted to stabilize the patient’s condition quickly. Strong medicine can shorten the treatment process.”

“Exactly. Illness strikes like a mountain, but departs like a thread. The first patient is in his prime, bearing the responsibilities of society and supporting his family. With so many tasks each day, how could he be willing to wait patiently for the slow effects of traditional medicine?”

“If it isn’t cured in three days, the patient will probably lose faith in Chinese medicine and turn to the faster, more convenient Western medicine. Yet by the time the herbs truly take effect, the patient has already abandoned Chinese medicine. Whose fault is it? Can we say it’s the patient’s fault?”

The realization dawned on Wang Yangxin. “So when he prescribed, he took into account the patient’s age and profession. With his prescription, the patient’s condition will be cured in three doses.”

“Indeed,” Wang Xiushen nodded. “And for children? As parents, what worries them most?”

“Falling ill. They fear even more that medicine will affect their child’s health and intelligence,” Wang Yangxin was quick to grasp the implication.

“Correct. Children’s bodies are fragile, and parents are anxious. All medicine has some toxicity; any medicine will affect their bodies. But Qin Luo doesn’t prescribe at all—instead, he teaches methods of health maintenance. Naturally, the parents are very satisfied and trust him.”

“We speak of light, heavy, slow, urgent. Yet in the new era, few truly understand how to apply these principles.”

Wang Xiushen glanced at Qin Luo, who was still quietly conversing with the child’s parents, and said, “Qin Luo’s medical skills are exceptional, but even more importantly, he constantly thinks about how to connect traditional medicine closely with modern society. He doesn’t want high technology to leave ancient medicine behind.”

Then, Wang Xiushen said earnestly, “From now on, the future of Chinese medicine rests on his shoulders.”

“Grandfather—” Wang Yangxin was stunned. His grandfather had never praised anyone so highly.

He knew that in years past, his grandfather had sought to unite the famous traditional practitioners of Beijing to advance Chinese medicine together.

But it failed—not for lack of effort, but because Chinese medicine was seriously disconnected from modern society.

Take decocting herbs as an example: how many people today are willing to spend half an hour or an hour boiling a prescription? They’d rather take Western medicine—just swallow a pill with water and feel better, because it’s simple and convenient.

Yet now, his grandfather solemnly told him: the future of Chinese medicine rests on Qin Luo.

What immense praise! At that moment, Wang Yangxin felt a sourness in his heart—the words he’d waited years to hear from his grandfather had been spoken, but they were meant for someone else.

“Yangxin. If needed, you must help him,” Wang Xiushen waved his hand, repeating his advice.

“Yes, Grandfather. I understand. For the progress of Chinese medicine, every beneficiary must do their part,” Wang Yangxin replied.

“Excellent.” Wang Xiushen stood, giving his grandson’s shoulder two heavy pats.

Wang Yangxin felt a surge of spirit. Never before had his grandfather praised him so. Such forceful pats, as if he wished to pass his strength into him.

“Old Wang, are you really going to admit defeat?” Old Zhuo stared at Wang Xiushen in surprise.

“Old Zhuo, it’s not that I want to concede. I truly lost this time, and I accept it wholeheartedly,” Wang Xiushen replied with a cheerful smile, not at all upset—rather, he seemed relieved.

“Yes, this round was deserved. You lost, but now our traditional medicine has hope,” Guo Xusheng said, looking at Qin Luo with a smile.

“One draw, one loss. Will you continue with the next round?” Gu Baixian asked.

“Old Gu, you’re mistaken. Before the second round, I too thought the first should be a draw—Qin Luo’s prescription seemed overly aggressive, somewhat rash. But after two rounds, I realized our thinking was flawed. His urgency was well placed. What’s it called? Right, tailored treatment. Not only must we address the patient’s internal condition, but also their external circumstances.”

“There wasn’t a draw and a loss—I lost both rounds,” Wang Xiushen explained. “But I know why you three old fellows have come. Unless you see the Taiyi Divine Needle, lost for a hundred years, you won’t sleep tonight. Even knowing I may lose the third round, I’ll risk my reputation and show it. Watch carefully.”

“Thank you, Old Wang.”

“It’s worth our friendship.”

“Thank you.”

The three were deeply grateful that Old Wang, knowing he might lose, would still compete with Qin Luo in needle technique. Fame is precious to the accomplished; for Wang Xiushen to risk his reputation for the chance to share his secret skill was rare indeed.

“No need to thank me. I only ask one thing of you,” Wang Xiushen said.

“What is it?” Old Zhuo asked.

“In the future, when Qin Luo needs you, you must stand up and help him.”

“Rest assured. I’m fond of this lad. If he didn’t already have a wife, I’d want him as a son-in-law,” round-faced Old Zhuo declared first.

“Too bad I have no granddaughter,” Guo Xusheng laughed and nodded.

“No problem,” Gu Baixian agreed. “If he wishes to learn, I’ll teach him my bone diagnosis technique.”

“That’s wonderful,” Wang Xiushen said excitedly. “Old friends, I bow to you.”

With that, Wang Xiushen gave his three old friends a ninety-degree bow.

The three did not avoid it, but solemnly bowed back to him.

Qin Luo, who happened to look back just then, saw this scene, and his heart felt as if struck by a heavy blow.

Such pain that it brought tears to his eyes!

Wang Xiushen straightened up and beckoned to Qin Luo, “Qin Luo, come here.”

Qin Luo walked over and greeted him respectfully, “Master Wang.”

Although he hadn’t heard the conversation, he could guess from their actions what had transpired.

“I lost the first two rounds. Let’s begin the third,” Wang Xiushen said.

“Master Wang, today has been exhausting. Let’s postpone the third round,” Qin Luo replied.

He could not, for his own reputation, trample the Needle King so mercilessly.

He wanted to yield; he could not accept so great an honor.

“No matter. Just watch,” Wang Xiushen said.

Not giving Qin Luo a chance to refuse, he turned to Wang Yangxin, “Prepare the silver needles.”

“Grandfather, the silver needles are ready,” Wang Yangxin replied enthusiastically, knowing what his grandfather intended. It was as if his grandfather’s actions ignited a fire in his heart, leaving him restless.

Qin Luo, though unfamiliar with the technique, had heard that the highest level of the Five Dragon Needle method required specially made silver needles, some over a foot long.

Wang Xiushen opened the needle box and took out the longest needle.

The big needle was four inches long, its tip fine, its shaft smooth and rounded, gleaming silver in Wang Xiushen’s palm.

“The Five Dragon Needle method is often used on the chest and waist. Yet, after years of exploration, I discovered another acupuncture point more suited to this technique,” Wang Xiushen said, disinfecting the long needle. “Yangxin, do you dare to try the needle?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Wang Yangxin agreed readily.

“Very well. Remove your shirt,” Wang Xiushen instructed.

Wang Yangxin obeyed, taking off his upper garments and stood bare-chested before Wang Xiushen.

“Watch closely,” Wang Xiushen said to Qin Luo. As he spoke, he thrust the long needle swiftly—aiming at an unknown point above Wang Yangxin’s navel.

“This is a new point. I name it ‘Phoenix Eye.’ And this technique, I call ‘Five Dragons Seeking the Phoenix,’” Wang Xiushen declared. According to international practice, a doctor who discovers a new acupuncture point may name it after himself or choose a fitting name.

Qin Luo stared unblinking at Wang Xiushen’s right hand, watching the aged yet steady fingers manipulate the needle with care. Soon, more than half of the four-inch silver needle was inserted.

“Do you understand?” Wang Xiushen asked, his face flushed from the effort.

“I’ve grasped seventy percent,” Qin Luo replied.

“Once more. Watch carefully,” Wang Xiushen lifted his hand, drawing the needle silently from Wang Yangxin’s body.

Wang Yangxin showed no expression, as if he felt no pain at all.

“Alright,” Qin Luo agreed.

After taking a deep breath, Wang Xiushen performed the technique again, with the same speed, strength, and position.

When the needle was halfway in, Wang Xiushen looked up at Qin Luo, “Do you understand now?”

“I understand,” Qin Luo nodded.

“Excellent, excellent,” Wang Xiushen said, sweat beading on his forehead, his face full of joy.

This time, his hand trembled slightly as he withdrew the needle.

It was not a contest of needle technique at all, but Wang Xiushen passing his prized ‘Five Dragons Seeking the Phoenix’ skill to Qin Luo.

Qin Luo knelt, “Thank you, Master, for imparting your art.”

A man kneels for his teacher’s grace—such is the proper way!