Chapter Thirty-Eight: The Petty Man Is Like a Ghost

“You mean to say that this young master is only the second patient you have ever examined?” At this moment, Physician Yang truly lost his composure.

The second patient—his previous medical experience was so meager it was almost negligible, so there could hardly be any experience to speak of; everything relied entirely on intuition and personal cultivation.

“A genius, a genius! Truly a marvel of our times, a blessing to the medical arts, a blessing indeed!” The fire in Physician Yang’s heart burned ever brighter.

“Li Zisheng, would you be willing to become my disciple? I could teach you more of the healing arts.” Physician Yang fixed Li Zisheng with an intense gaze.

Yet upon hearing this, Li Zisheng felt a strange unease.

“Physician Yang, to speak frankly, I am already apprenticed to another.”

In the Tang Dynasty, scholars could indeed learn from multiple teachers—‘among three people, there is always something to learn’—and different scenarios warranted different instruction.

But in the realm of medicine, if one already had a master, he must remain loyal to that lineage. This meant that even if one later encountered a better physician, he could not switch allegiances; to do so would be to betray tradition, earning the scorn of the entire medical community.

Hearing this, Physician Yang understood.

“That’s right. With your talent, Li Zisheng, to possess such insight on only your second attempt, your master must surely be a great figure in medicine—beyond compare with the likes of us.”

Though his expression dimmed, the passion in Physician Yang’s heart remained undiminished. For if Li Zisheng was already so exceptional, the master behind him must be an even greater luminary. ‘Only a renowned teacher produces outstanding disciples’—this was the principle Physician Yang had always upheld. Lineage was of utmost importance in medicine.

“May I ask what illness your first patient suffered from?” By now, Physician Yang had completely forgotten about Zhou Linqing at his side.

It was not that Zhou Linqing’s condition was unimportant; Physician Yang simply no longer remembered his presence.

“My first patient was two children from my village, suffering from convulsions,” Li Zisheng replied with a bow.

“What? What did you say? Your first patient was afflicted with convulsions?”

Physician Yang recalled that, upon arriving at the Hui Le Apricot Grove, he had circulated a prescription specifically for acute convulsions in children—a perplexing and difficult malady, long considered almost impossible to cure. The prescription followed the path of gentle cooling and, though risky, yielded remarkable results. With subsequent tonics to replenish vital energy and blood, it was considered the optimal treatment.

His main purpose in coming here was to discover who had formulated such an extraordinary prescription, hoping to make their acquaintance.

He never imagined that the very person before him was the object of his quest. Already unsettled, Physician Yang’s heart now surged with wild emotion.

“Yes, it was me,” Li Zisheng replied.

“Did you compose the prescription for treating acute convulsions in children?” Physician Yang’s voice trembled, fervently hoping it was Li Zisheng’s master, not Li Zisheng himself—otherwise, his earlier attempt to take him as a disciple would become a laughingstock.

“I did. The prescription was designed to balance internal and external factors. Though it was my first attempt, its efficacy was undeniable. While the main formula included two rather cold ingredients, the subsequent tonics fully compensated.” Li Zisheng felt the need to explain, for this prescription was indeed unprecedented in the Tang Dynasty.

Physician Yang was struck dumb with awe, unable to move.

To distill complexity to simplicity, to treat grave illness with simple medicines—this was true mastery. More astounding was Li Zisheng’s willingness to share his prescription freely throughout the Hui Le Apricot Grove, an act requiring tremendous resolve.

Yet Physician Yang overestimated Li Zisheng; his mind contained thousands, if not tens of thousands, of such prescriptions. Sharing one or two meant little to him.

“May I ask, Physician Yang, what brings you here?” Li Zisheng asked again.

Li Zisheng knew well that Zhou Linqing’s purpose was merely to verify the truth of his words—if false, he would suffer; if true, Zhou Linqing would have to worry for his own life.

And Physician Yang was nothing more than an examiner brought by Zhou Linqing, tasked with confirming the accuracy of his diagnosis.

“Oh, nothing, nothing. This young master merely said that someone had already diagnosed him, so I came to inquire. He said you concluded his illness was life-threatening?” Physician Yang, not wishing to worsen relations with Li Zisheng due to Zhou Linqing’s animosity, spoke carefully.

“Physician Yang, may I have a word with you in private?” Li Zisheng ignored Zhou Linqing and invited Physician Yang to his quarters.

“No! Why can’t you speak openly? Why must you talk behind my back?” Zhou Linqing’s expression changed, unwilling to let the two converse alone. He saw that Physician Yang held Li Zisheng in high regard; if they conspired privately, he would be left in the dark.

“Insolent! Do you think I would deceive a child like you?” Physician Yang’s face grew stern and contemptuous.

“If you want to live, wait here quietly. Otherwise, bear the consequences yourself. Physician Yang and I are discussing your treatment. If you cause trouble, your fate is not my concern,” Li Zisheng declared with utmost certainty, leaving even cunning Zhou Linqing momentarily bewildered.

Zhou Linqing clenched his teeth, reluctantly nodding in silence.

Watching the two enter the quarters, Zhou Linqing was filled with gnawing resentment towards Li Zisheng, yet powerless; his life, to be blunt, was now entirely in Li Zisheng’s hands.

Judging by what had just transpired, even Physician Yang seemed inferior to Li Zisheng. Could Li Zisheng truly be a prodigy of medicine?

“You, Yan Ziqing, who have caused me so much trouble—I will find a way to deal with you,” Zhou Linqing’s eyes flashed with a murderous glint.

In the Tang Dynasty, the status of great physicians was extremely high. If one did not enter officialdom, the only path was medicine—a trend so mainstream that the medical arts nearly rivaled statecraft. If one did not become an official, one studied medicine; this was nearly universally accepted.

Thus, Physician Yang’s contemptuous attitude was something Zhou Linqing dared not protest. Medicine valued reputation; to offend a physician would create difficulties even his father could not resolve.

For this reason, Zhou Linqing’s hatred for Yan Ziqing suddenly surpassed that for Li Zisheng. It is said that the petty-minded are fickle as ghosts; even if Yan Ziqing was a close friend, when personal interests were at stake, such people would be the first to betray.

Unable to know what the two discussed, Zhou Linqing summoned an attendant, instructing him on ways to deal with Yan Ziqing, and waited quietly outside Li Zisheng’s quarters.