Chapter Thirty-Six: The Physician's Astonishment

Zhou Linqing sat directly in front of the medical scholar and extended his arm, laying it on the cushion.

The medical scholar opposite him looked displeased, his gaze filled with disdain as he regarded Zhou Linqing who had taken a seat.

Zhou Linqing, thick-skinned as ever, paid no mind to the scholar’s attitude. He boldly stared at the middle-aged man before him, feigning an innocent, harmless demeanor.

“Doctor, what do you think of me? I haven’t been feeling well lately—please take a look,” Zhou Linqing asked, this time speaking sincerely. After Li Zisheng’s words and diagnosis, Zhou Linqing, though skeptical, thought it better to be safe than sorry—after all, it was his own body at stake.

Hearing Zhou Linqing address him as “doctor,” the man’s expression softened slightly.

Earlier, those who had come for consultations all called him “healer,” which had soured the scholar’s mood. “Doctor” was the official title, denoting a state-appointed position, whereas “healer” was a term used in rural areas for those with some medical skill, regarded as practitioners of lesser arts.

Without formal training, such “healers” were wandering quacks, unfit for respectable company.

Zhou Linqing had at least some sense, knowing how to speak properly.

“Your pulse is weak and floating—this is a sign of external heat. I’ll prescribe some tonics to replenish your energy.”

Although the scholar’s expression eased, he was still displeased that Zhou Linqing had driven away the previous patient. So he only casually felt for Zhou Linqing’s pulse, glanced at the rhythm, and then left it at that—his attitude was thoroughly perfunctory.

Of course, Zhou Linqing noticed this indifference, fully aware of the scholar’s poor opinion of him.

But Zhou Linqing knew nothing of medicine and couldn’t judge whether the scholar’s words were right or wrong. Comparing this pulse check to what Li Zisheng had said, they seemed nearly identical—though Li Zisheng’s diagnosis was more detailed, while the doctor’s words were somewhat general.

Impatience stirred within Zhou Linqing.

A sudden idea came to him, and he hurried to recount Li Zisheng’s diagnosis.

“Doctor, I have other symptoms: lately I’ve felt fatigued, my heart palpitates, breathing is short, my throat is dry, my mouth parched, my lower back and knees are sore, my limbs slightly swollen, I drink and urinate frequently, I feel heat in the palms and soles, and I’m constipated.”

Zhou Linqing rattled off all the symptoms Li Zisheng had mentioned, then quickly added the diagnosis as well.

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“Just as you said earlier, my pulse is weak and floating, showing signs of rapid floating—floating indicates external, rapid indicates heat, so it’s an external heat syndrome. It’s early spring now, so my pulse should be taut, but it’s thin and weak, perhaps indicating evil entering the nutritive level. My tongue is dark red, with teeth marks along the edge, a thin white coating, and little saliva.”

He finished, took a breath, and stared intently at the doctor.

“Doctor, do I have any illness?”

He did not ask directly about treatment, but instead wanted to know what disease he actually had.

To Zhou Linqing’s mind, his condition wasn’t serious—maybe just some imbalance—so he wanted to confirm whether Li Zisheng had spoken the truth or not.

If false, it was a curse on his life, and he would not let Li Zisheng off so easily. If true, he would have no reason to offend Li Zisheng for Yan Ziqing’s sake.

Yet Zhou Linqing spoke without intent, while the listeners took it to heart.

This sudden revelation changed the scholar’s expression.

“Show me your tongue.”

Zhou Linqing complied, and placed his arm back on the cushion.

Seeing Zhou Linqing so cooperative, the scholar dropped any pretense, carefully examined his tongue, and listened intently to his pulse.

After a short while, the scholar’s expression changed drastically.

Indeed, everything Zhou Linqing had described matched perfectly, both symptoms and diagnosis.

“Do you know medicine?”

“Uh, doctor, I don’t.”

Zhou Linqing looked oddly at the middle-aged doctor, wondering why he would ask such a question—it seemed absurd.

“How did you know all this?” The doctor was curious about how Zhou Linqing seemed so aware of his own condition.

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“It was an eight-year-old child who told me. I thought he was lying, so I came to verify. He said I was sick—seriously sick—and if left untreated, it could kill me. So I came to you for confirmation, to see if it was true. If it isn’t, I’ll ruin him.”

Zhou Linqing spoke with no intent to hide anything, since he saw no need. His words were fierce, without concealing his desire to trouble Li Zisheng.

This demeanor was witnessed by the three in the clinic.

The clinic’s master’s eyes revealed a trace of helplessness. He knew Zhou Linqing well—overbearing, bullying the villagers, a scourge among the people, a true local tyrant.

Now, some child was about to be unfortunate—eight years old, and already embroiled with this troublemaker.

The well-dressed man waiting nearby flashed a hint of anger in his eyes, but said nothing, remaining calm.

But the greatest change was in the doctor facing Zhou Linqing.

Upon hearing that Zhou Linqing’s diagnosis had come from an eight-year-old, the doctor’s first reaction was disbelief.

He had just checked Zhou Linqing’s pulse himself, but hadn’t detected such detailed symptoms.

Yet what Zhou Linqing described matched exactly what he had found upon thorough examination, confirming every detail.

Thus, the middle-aged doctor was deeply shocked—after decades of medical practice, to be surpassed by an eight-year-old was too absurd to believe. Yet Zhou Linqing spoke with conviction, suggesting it was true.

“Master Zheng, I’ll go with this gentleman to see the so-called eight-year-old miracle doctor and find out who he is. If his skill is truly so high, he deserves to be called a peerless talent.”

Unable to contain his curiosity, the doctor wanted to see whether this child truly existed.

He had come here to improve his medical skills, and perhaps this was an opportunity.

Ultimately, he refused to believe that a mere eight-year-old could possess such ability. In his mind, there must be a highly skilled master behind the child, and perhaps that master could help him improve as well.