Chapter 39

Wang Yuhai was stunned. Earlier, he had been half-skeptical when Qian Jianing spoke gravely about a problem in Teacher Sun’s liver. After all, traditional Chinese medicine draws heavily on accumulated experience—the more patients a doctor sees, the deeper their expertise. That’s why people prefer older practitioners. Given Qian Jianing’s age and relatively short time studying medicine, she was a far cry from seasoned experts. Yet, she had correctly diagnosed Teacher Sun’s illness. Could true prodigies really exist?

But then he recalled those two thick books and densely packed notes she carried, and that idea lost traction. He wasn’t sure if Qian Jianing was a genius, but her diligence was clear to see. Perhaps during her advanced studies, she had come across a similar case—it might’ve just been a fortunate coincidence.

But recognizing the illness was one thing; judging by the doctor’s expression, all hope seemed lost. As expected, the doctor sighed as he looked at the scan. “The patient has two tumors. One of them is inside a blood vessel, where nutrients in the blood encourage rapid growth. When the tumor becomes too large for the vessel, the vessel will rupture…”

A look of dismay spread across Wang Yuhai’s face. “Will she die once the vessel ruptures?”

“Not immediately,” the doctor replied. “But it will cause major internal bleeding and vomiting of blood.” He flipped through the medical report again. “There’s already ascites and visible signs of jaundice. The tumor’s location makes surgery impossible, and chemotherapy isn’t an option either. The only thing we can do is administer pain relief injections to lessen her suffering in the final days.” With another sigh, the doctor concluded, “Because of the tumor’s position, the disease will progress extremely fast. She has, at most, six months to live.”

Wang Yuhai had initially come to evaluate Qian Jianing’s medical abilities but was instead confronted with such devastating news. Since he was already involved, he decided to see things through and went out to buy fruit for the hospital room.

At that moment, Teacher Sun was sitting on her bed in confusion and helplessness. Though the doctor hadn’t explicitly explained things, the diagnosis results and her placement in the oncology ward made everything clear.

“Jianing, am I going to die?” Teacher Sun stared blankly. “But my class is only in the second year of middle school. Switching homeroom teachers in the middle isn’t ideal. Can I at least hold on until they graduate?”

Qian Jianing’s eyes were red as she forced a smile. “Don’t worry, Teacher Sun. Not only will you see them graduate, you’ll see many of your students graduate in the years to come.”

Teacher Sun’s frail body curled under the blanket as she gazed vacantly at the ceiling. “I’m not asking for much anymore… if only I just had another year and a half.”

The room fell silent. The family member at the next bed looked at their unconscious loved one and then at Teacher Sun, sighing deeply. A year and a half? That was far from easy. This disease rarely had a cure—most people could do nothing but count the days.

“Yingzi!” Teacher Sun’s husband burst into the room. He had rushed out so quickly he hadn’t even put on a coat. His hair was wind-whipped and disheveled, and his black-rimmed glasses hung crookedly on his nose.

“Yingzi!” he ran over in a panic, arriving at her bedside and staring in confusion. She had seemed perfectly fine when she left that morning—how had she ended up in the hospital so quickly?

“What exactly is the illness?” his voice quivered. Suddenly, he came to his senses. “Where’s the doctor? I need to find them!”

Sun Yingzi abruptly sat up in bed. “I’m going with you!”

Qian Jianing and Wang Yuhai instinctively tried to stop her, but Sun Yingzi gently placed a hand on Qian Jianing’s and said firmly, “I have the right to know my condition. I don’t want to die without understanding why.”

Qian Jianing froze for a moment, then, seeing the determined look in her eyes, could only support her by linking her arm. “I’ll hold you up.”

The group accompanied Sun Yingzi to the doctor’s office. The doctor, who was in the middle of writing a medical report, paused upon seeing them enter and stood up. “The patient should return to her room to rest. I can speak with your family.”

“I want to hear it too,” Sun Yingzi responded calmly but firmly. “I’m already in that kind of ward—what’s the use of sugarcoating it? I’m not confused!”

The doctor exchanged a look with Sun Yingzi’s husband, who nodded with a heavy expression. The doctor then began explaining the situation in detail.

Although Sun Yingzi had already suspected her condition, hearing it confirmed verbally still brought a deep sense of despair. Professional terminology filled her ears, words she tried hard to grasp, but they just wouldn’t register—her mind was blank.

“The patient no longer has any viable treatment options. All we can do is ease her pain in her final days.”

“She has, at most, six months left.”

The previous panic and disorientation vanished from Sun Yingzi’s expression after those two lines. Instead, she seemed oddly composed. Watching her husband break down in sobs, she felt her eyes sting with tears. She comforted him instead: “It’s okay. We still have half a year, don’t we? I’ll stay with you through it.” She then turned to the doctor politely. “Please help me with the discharge paperwork.”

“No!” the doctor said instinctively. “Your tumor could rupture any moment. Going home is far too dangerous.”

Sun Yingzi chuckled softly. “As if it wouldn’t rupture in the hospital?”

The doctor fell silent and shook his head. A hint of bitterness crept onto Sun Yingzi’s face. “Then I’d rather go home. At least it’ll spare my family the suffering. Doctor, this is my personal choice—I want to go home.”

Reluctantly, the doctor processed the discharge and repeatedly instructed Sun Yingzi and her husband, Chang Yunian. “If the pain becomes too much, come back for pain relief. This illness is torturous.”

Sun Yingzi gave a bitter laugh, her eyes filled with hopelessness. “If I’m going to die anyway, why waste the money?”

“Teacher Sun, I won’t let you die.” Qian Jianing’s face had gone pale. She held Sun Yingzi’s hand tightly. “I’ve only been studying Chinese medicine for a short time, but I’ve seen a case like yours at my master’s clinic. We should try—maybe it’ll work.”

Sun Yingzi smiled and shook her head, reaching out to brush her hair. “It’s useless, Jianing. Don’t trouble yourself anymore.”

“How would you know if we don’t try?” a friend who had come with Teacher Sun couldn’t help but speak up for Qian Jianing. “Just look—Boss Qian diagnosed your condition with one glance, and her pulse reading matched the other test results. That proves she really has the skill. Teacher Sun, you have to believe in your student. What if she really can cure you?”

Though Wang Yuhai didn’t believe the illness could be cured with Chinese medicine, in such a situation, he decided to go along and comfort the patient. At the very least, she shouldn’t lose the will to live. “Since the hospital has no better options, we might as well try traditional medicine.”

The doctor shook his head incredulously but said nothing. He shared Wang Yuhai’s thoughts—it was important to give the patient some hope.

With discharge complete, Wang Yuhai drove them back to Teacher Sun’s home. At that time, Wang Qiang’s parents, who were going through a divorce, rushed over upon hearing the news. They brought large bags of fruit and nutritional supplements to visit Teacher Sun and quietly took their son back home.

Qian Jianing checked Sun Yingzi’s pulse again, this time taking twice as long as the previous check. After all, the first time was just to identify the condition—this time, she needed to examine every organ closely to tailor the right treatment.

After finishing the pulse reading, Qian Jianing carefully considered before writing the prescription. “This is a ten-day dose. Take it three times a day, one bowl each time.” Though Chang Yunian didn’t place much hope in it, he was willing to treat a dead horse like a living one. He took the prescription and said, “I’ll go get the medicine.”

“I’ll go with you,” Qian Jianing offered as she stood up. “If the quality of any herb is poor, it will reduce the effect. And the pot used to brew the medicine is also important.”

Chang Yunian nodded, and the two left together. Wang Yuhai and Li Min took the opportunity to say their goodbyes. Chang Yunian finally realized he’d been neglecting these two kind-hearted people and expressed his gratitude repeatedly. Qian Jianing, more straightforward, promised to send them a batch of specially made medicinal soup.

Zibo City wasn’t large, and there was only one wholesale market for Chinese herbs. Qian Jianing and Wang Yuhai biked straight there. It was just after noon, and the place wasn’t crowded. At the counter, Qian Jianing placed the prescription down. “Ten doses, please.”

Her handwriting was neat and clear. The clerk quickly prepared the herbs. Qian Jianing carefully inspected each item. Though the herbs were usable, the quality was clearly inferior to those from the Daoist Master of Medicine. One herb, angelica sinensis, barely reached 60% of its medicinal potency. She adjusted the prescription ratios on the spot based on the herbs’ quality.

After purchasing the herbs and selecting a medicine pot, Qian Jianing returned to Teacher Sun’s home to teach Chang Yunian how to brew the medicine. He took out a notebook and meticulously wrote down each step and all of Qian Jianing’s instructions, scared that any misstep might spoil the effect. In his heart, he quietly hoped—maybe this time, the medicine would work.

The decoction needed some time. Qian Jianing asked Chang Yunian to watch the pot before washing her hands and going through the pantry. With both their salaries modest and having to support elderly parents on each side, the couple lived frugally. The kitchen was mostly stocked with cabbage, potatoes, and radishes—cheap staples. Thinking they wouldn’t have much appetite for elaborate meals, Qian Jianing decided to make noodle soup with cabbage hearts.

Since there were no noodles at home, she rolled up her sleeves and made hand-pulled noodles herself. She measured the water and flour, kneaded the dough with strong arms until it was smooth and firm, let it rest briefly, then rolled it out and cut a whole board’s worth of noodles.

Hot oil sizzled as chopped scallions were added. Slivers of pork were stir-fried until fragrant, then freshly sliced cabbage and soybean sprouts were tossed into the wok. Qian Jianing held the wok with her left hand, quickly flipping the contents with her right. The hot oil wrapped around the pork and cabbage, turning them crispy and golden brown. As a ladle of cold water was poured in, a rich aroma filled the kitchen, accompanied by spirals of white steam.

It was the first time Teacher Sun had spent the day lying in bed. Staring at the ceiling, her mind raced through thoughts of her family’s future. Since there was no hope for her, she figured they shouldn’t waste money—better to spare her husband and son devastation and poverty. Their son Changqing was staying at his grandmother’s, and he would be brought home tomorrow. Her time with him was limited now, and she wanted to see him as much as possible. She had always been so focused on her students, worrying over their grades and whether they’d make it into high school, that she’d neglected spending time with her own son. Teacher Sun felt a pang of guilt. She never imagined that the days she’d get to spend with her child would turn out to be so short, so very short.

“Teacher Sun, time to eat.” Qian Jianing brought over a steaming bowl of instant stir-fry noodles. “Have something to eat, and then take your medicine.”

Sun Yingzi had no appetite. After all, with her life slipping away, what was the point of eating?

But looking at Qian Jianing’s sincere expression, she couldn’t bring herself to say those words. Her student had rushed to her house straight from the train, bustling around tirelessly without even a sip of water. Even if she had no appetite, she at least had to eat a few bites—to not disappoint Jianing’s thoughtful effort.

Sun Yingzi sat up, brushed back her hair, and said, “Let’s eat at the table. I’m not so ill that I can’t get out of bed yet.”

Three bowls of noodles were set on the dining table. After washing her hands, Sun Yingzi sat down and picked up a bite of noodles. They were handmade by Qian Jianing, chewy and rich in the aroma of fresh flour. Though the broth was made with plain water, it was seasoned with dried shrimp and shredded pork, giving it a refreshing flavor far from bland.

Sun Yingzi had only meant to take a few bites to be polite, but after the first taste, her appetite returned. Alternating between bites of noodles and sips of broth, she finished the large bowl clean. Putting down her bowl, she wiped her lips in a daze—she hadn’t expected to eat so much.

Chang Yunian was visibly encouraged. Eating well suggested her body wasn’t as far gone as feared; maybe things weren’t as hopeless as the doctors had said. After finishing the meal, Qian Jianing cleaned up the kitchen. It had been half an hour by the time she came out with a bowl of medicine and handed it to Sun Yingzi. “Teacher Sun, your medicine is ready.”

Sun Yingzi took the bowl with a bitter smile. “Jianing, don’t trouble yourself—it’s useless.”

Qian Jianing knew that a direct argument wouldn’t work. Instead, she looked at her teacher with a pleading expression. “Please, just give me a chance—to see if my prescription works at all. This medicine’s already boiled, and it’d be a waste to throw it out. Just think of it as drinking water.”

Hearing this, Sun Yingzi nodded. She drank the medicine in a few gulps. Qian Jianing handed her a small piece of rock sugar and reminded her to sit for ten minutes before lying down to rest.

****

By the time Qian Jianing got back home from Teacher Sun’s place, it was already 4 p.m. By then, Li Wanzhen had gone out to sell marinated snacks, Qian Guosheng wasn’t off work yet, and even Qian Jiafeng had disappeared somewhere. The house was completely empty.

Qian Jianing dragged her suitcase and backpack back into her room from the store. She hurriedly took off her coat, clutched her medical case, and lay down with her eyes closed.

Hurriedly, she ran into the misty white void. Surprisingly, the Daoist Master of Medicine wasn’t playing mahjong this time, but was calmly seated in a chair, reading a book—so serene that Qian Jianing could hardly believe her eyes.

“You’re here?” the Daoist Master asked casually. “Did you treat someone today?”

“Yes.” Qian Jianing handed him the medical records and prescription, detailing the scans done at the hospital. “It’s primary liver cancer. It hasn’t metastasized yet, but one of the tumors is in a critical position, making it risky to operate. Chemotherapy wouldn’t help much either. There’s basically nothing Western medicine can do.”

Upon hearing that the hospital’s imaging clearly showed the tumor’s location, the Daoist Master of Medicine praised, “The ingenuity of mortals is truly impressive. In under two thousand years, they’ve built machines that can see into the internal organs. Our method of pulse reading can locate the lesion, but estimating the size and precise position is far less accurate than imaging.”

“You wrote a solid prescription,” he continued. “But even with the perfect formula, using earthly herbs will take at least two years to fully heal. And since few people now understand proper herb preparation, much of the medicinal effect is wasted—so in reality, full recovery might take even longer.”

Relieved by his approval, Qian Jianing said, “Two to three years for a cure is already a miracle. Instant results, that would be an elixir. If I cured her with just a few doses, that’d be pure fantasy.”

The Daoist Master nodded. “True enough. By the way, I should tell you—today marks the end of your formal lessons. From now on, it’s up to you to learn through experience. I’ve already traded all the remaining lessons with the Treasure Bowl for spiritual elixirs—each one can save a life.” He glanced at her meaningfully. “Until you’re strong enough, I’d advise against using them. I fear you won’t be able to protect them—and might even cause yourself trouble.”

Qian Jianing took those words to heart and nodded solemnly.

“The Treasure Bowl told me that one of your prize draws included a medical talent reward,” he said. “I thought about it. A skill that lets you see internal organs through special light—now that’s useful. Why don’t I open your ‘Heavenly Eye’?”

He wiped his hand over her eyes. Qian Jianing saw a flash of gold, and when it faded, she blinked a few times but didn’t notice anything different.

Xingchen smirked at her from the side. “This eye works according to your will. Practice controlling it, and don’t scare yourself with it!”

Qian Jianing looked at him, faintly sensing something was off.

“I heard you used Xiantao.com to buy vegetables through me?” the Daoist Master asked.

Qian Jianing quickly snapped back to reality and nodded. “I burned incense to earn gold coins to buy food.”

“In that case, I’ll unlock the medicinal herb section for you. The ones we grow and prepare ourselves work much better.”

After the lesson, Qian Jianing’s eyes shone with excitement. If she could buy herbs of that quality, Teacher Sun might heal faster—and her medicinal cooking would be more effective too.

She eagerly opened Xiantao.com. Xingchen stepped forward and unlocked the herb-purchasing feature. But Qian Jianing’s excitement instantly dimmed when she saw that even something as basic as astragalus cost a string of zeros. Her knees wobbled and she clung to the table—just how much incense would she have to burn to afford a single ounce of astragalus?

The Daoist Master and Xingchen left the hut. The scholarly Daoist and the Food Elder followed. The room returned to silence.

The Treasure Bowl staggered out, cradling his little belly, his eyes squinting delightedly. “Mahjong and poker are truly divine inventions. Ever since I introduced them, my belly’s been getting fatter by the day.”

Qian Jianing pulled herself up from the table and quietly shed a sympathetic tear for her circle of masters. Of all the things immortals could be doing with their time—why, oh why, did they insist on gambling with the Treasure Bowl?