Chapter Nine: I Am the Curator, Listen to Me

Xie Qingtang removed the needles one by one. The old lady was overjoyed, her mouth wide open as she laughed heartily, “I’m cured, I’m cured!” The onlookers, who had been dumbstruck, finally awoke from their stupor and broke into spontaneous applause.

“Incredible, absolutely incredible! This young lady may look so young, but her medical skills are extraordinary!”

“Exactly! She said ten minutes to a complete cure, but it took less than five!”

Looking again, the intern doctor had already slipped away unnoticed in the commotion.

The old lady’s son and daughter-in-law were also overjoyed, grasping Xie Qingtang’s hands and showering her with thanks. In the midst of their gratitude, their eyes fell on Zhou Jinfan, who shrank to the side. The middle-aged man’s anger flared up again; he grabbed Zhou Jinfan by the collar and cursed, “Damn it, selling fake medicine to swindle the elderly—do you have any conscience left? Come on, you’re going to the police station with me!”

Zhou Jinfan was terrified—why were they coming after him when the patient was already saved? He hurriedly hid behind Xie Qingtang, shouting in fear, “Beautiful lady, help me! We had an agreement!”

Xie Qingtang was speechless but still intervened, blocking the man’s arm and smiling, “Big brother, there’s been a misunderstanding. This guy may have sold fake medicine, but your mother’s illness truly had nothing to do with it.”

Zhou Jinfan muttered, “That’s right. My pills are mostly flour and honey, with some yam and goji berries mixed in. Even if you ate them as food, nothing would happen. How could they make someone sick?”

“Making fake medicine and you still have something to say?” Li Zhao, who had been standing nearby, kicked him to shut him up, not wanting him to make things worse.

The middle-aged man looked from Xie Qingtang to Zhou Jinfan, half-believing, half-doubting. “Then what happened to my mother? She only got sick after eating those pills!”

Xie Qingtang released her hold, shaking her head helplessly. She asked, “If I’m not mistaken, your mother’s attack happened last night, and before that she had the air conditioning on, didn’t she?”

The man didn’t know and turned to his wife. The woman slapped her thigh and exclaimed, “Oh yes! Last night the weather was hot and stifling. Mom felt uncomfortable, so I turned on the air conditioning for her and gave her a pill. Not long after, she fell ill. Of course I thought it was the pill that caused it!”

Xie Qingtang nodded. “That’s it. The old lady’s ailment is called ‘locked jaw’—it’s caused by internal heat and external wind-evil, with phlegm blocking the channels and blood stasis obstructing the meridians. Simply put, it was phlegm confounding the mind, and had nothing to do with that yam pill. It was merely a coincidence.”

Only then did the crowd understand, and they praised Xie Qingtang’s medical prowess.

The middle-aged man, his wife, and his mother left, satisfied. The crowd, having witnessed a spectacle, dispersed contentedly as well. Zhou Jinfan finally ushered Xie Qingtang, Gu Xiujin, and their companions into the Hall of Benevolence.

Xie Qingtang surveyed the layout of the clinic. There were three wide storefronts facing the street. In the central hall hung a portrait of the Medicine King; to the left was the consultation room and study, and to the right, a wall of medicine cabinets reaching the ceiling. All the furniture was solid wood, old and dignified, clearly heirlooms passed down through generations—a place steeped in history and tradition.

She took her seat behind the pearwood physician’s desk, nodded with satisfaction, and declared with some authority, “From now on, I am the head of this Hall of Benevolence. This place is mine!”

Gu Xiujin, seeing her delight tinged with pride, couldn’t help but smile as well. “Then let me congratulate you, Miss Xie.”

Li Zhao, examining the surroundings, couldn’t help glaring at Zhou Jinfan. “With such a property in your hands, why not do something proper with it? Even renting it out would bring in enough income to live on. Why stoop to selling harmful fake medicine?”

Zhou Jinfan, who had looked dejected and cowardly, suddenly raised his head, eyes wide. “What nonsense! This is my family inheritance—how could I just close it down and do something else?”

He glanced at Xie Qingtang, gritted his teeth, and continued, “To be honest, if this young lady hadn’t claimed to be a traditional physician and said she could revive the Hall of Benevolence, I’d rather go to jail than agree to any of your terms!”

They were all surprised. Xie Qingtang arched an eyebrow and asked, “It sounds like you’re not some greedy, unprincipled scoundrel. You even seem to have some affection for traditional medicine. So why sell fake medicine and harm others?”

Zhou Jinfan’s expression stiffened, and haltingly he replied, “Well… my family has practiced medicine for generations. But my father died young in an accident, and I was born after his death. I loved medicine, but no one could guide me—I had to teach myself from books, and never learned anything solid. To make a living, I could only sell pills…”

At least he hadn’t lost all conscience. Knowing his skills were lacking, he didn’t dare concoct real prescriptions for fear of harming someone, so he played it safe by using only benign ingredients like yam and goji berries. If he was guilty of anything, it was being too cunning—he used a slick tongue to sell yam pills at the price of ginseng elixirs.

The others were left speechless. Xie Qingtang stroked her chin, looking puzzled. “I have another question. If you truly wanted to study medicine, with the educational opportunities now, you could have applied for Traditional Medicine at a medical university. Why didn’t you?”

Zhou Jinfan flushed bright red, as if deeply insulted, and abruptly interrupted her, grief and indignation in his voice. “I tried! But I didn’t get in! If I’d been accepted, would I be reduced to selling fake pills to survive? I retook the exam three years in a row and still failed. What could I do?”

The others fell silent.

To be so confident in his own dullness—perhaps only Zhou Jinfan could manage it.

Even Li Zhao, who disliked him most, couldn’t help but feel a trace of sympathy and patted him on the shoulder. “Brother, in your case, it’s best to give up. Don’t drag traditional medicine’s reputation down with you.”

Zhou Jinfan, usually slippery and evasive, was unexpectedly stubborn when it came to traditional medicine. He flung Li Zhao’s hand away and declared loudly, “No! My mother once had my fortune told when I was little. She said I was destined to make a name for myself in traditional medicine!”

Watching the two bicker, Gu Xiujin quietly asked Xie Qingtang, “Miss Xie, how likely do you think it is that he’ll realize this dream?”