Chapter 302: This Is a Human Life

Because of the public surgical operation, more and more people come to Qiao Mai's stall to have their pulse taken.

Some people without any illness also come just for the spectacle; at high noon, she only nibbled a baked pancake for lunch.

Since the pulse diagnosis is free, the crowd keeps swelling; Qiao Mai makes them queue, and anyone who dares to cut in is refused.

People eat Five Grains, so how could they be free of ailments? They all have a bit of trouble, more or less.

She treats each person with great seriousness, adjusting once and correcting once, which amounts to giving the patient two pulse readings.

To every person whose pulse she takes, she speaks the truth about any ailments, symptoms, usual sleep, diet, and so on, explaining everything clearly.

Those who were skeptical are now completely convinced; hey folks, someone even left the medical hall just to line up for her to diagnose him again.

They discovered her diagnosis is more detailed and spot‑on than the medical hall's.

Within a day, Qiao Mai's free pulse stall became famous; as night fell, she dismissed everyone, closed up, and disappeared into the darkness.

A few people who followed her got lost in the narrow alley.

She quickly pressed the man's major acupoints, and he collapsed onto the ground; the first suspicion was the heart, but his heart was still beating fine, the second was a blocked vessel, i. e., a brain hemorrhage.

Then a bout of chaos erupted, the man was carried into the medical hall, and Qiao Mai gave him a glance and ignored him.

She doesn't allow it; if she sees it, she must punish it thoroughly.

Clean and swift, without spilling any brain matter.

"His liver is in terrible shape; it's already an alcoholic liver."

Qiao Mai raised her hands toward the townsfolk, "Everyone, bear witness: this man was sentenced to death even by Mingren Medical Hall; they couldn't cure him, and now I'm treating him as a dead horse—if he lives, it's his good fortune; if he doesn't, you can't accuse me of recklessly taking lives."

Moreover, Qiao Mai's stall pays taxes; a free pulse service by a Wandering Physician who also pays taxes—who would dare to turn people away?

If it spreads among the townsfolk, the centuries‑old medical family Wei Hu's reputation will be ruined.

She used her divine perception to pierce his skull, saw the bleeding spot, and, avoiding the vessels, thrust a needle through.

"Right, does your son usually like to drink?"

"You wouldn't know; he not only loves alcohol, can't go a meal without it, also loves fatty meat; his blood is far thicker than that of ordinary people."

"What is alcoholic liver?"

For several consecutive days it's been like this, driving the proprietors of the street's medical halls crazy.

At that moment she takes the man's pulse again; the pulse is steady, his pupils begin to constrict, and everything is turning for the better.

"Nurture him slowly; from now on, eat light, avoid greasy foods, have three regular meals a day. Also, if he awakens he may be paralyzed, but if you follow my instructions—less oil and salt, keep him active—he might recover within two or three years."

One by one, the self‑righteous claim you opened a medical hall just to make money, telling you not to pretend to be so noble, waving the banner of saving lives while doing the same as bandits.

She used spiritual power to force the last bit of pooled blood out of his skull, then swiftly wrapped the bone needle with spiritual energy and extracted it in one motion.

Qiao Mai smiled, "It's not that I don't write prescriptions; I have written them. When you go to the medical hall, they hear about my formula and will certainly refuse to sell you the medicine."

Qiao Mai smiled without a word, and by mid‑March, a flood of exam‑takers arrived in Jingcheng, making the streets crowded.

Whenever anyone dares to act, she dares to write prescriptions—hee hee—and not only that, she carries medicine on her person, ten times more potent than theirs, enough to bring down these unscrupulous medical halls.

"Your son also likes to stay up late and lives irregularly; these factors led to his present condition."

Qiao Mai took his pulse, lifted the man's eyelids to look, and, my goodness, his pupils were widening.

In cases like his, it most resembles a brain hemorrhage; a large volume of bleeding would cause this.

Qiao Mai produced pliers, cracked his tooth, shoved a pill into his mouth, then retrieved a set of hollow bone needles she had commissioned on the platform.

"One day? Two? A month?"

If Qiao Mai continues to set up long‑term, those medical halls will be left to starve.

"Bleeding inside the head?"

"Treat it quickly; this is a life at stake, and he looks like a scholar hurrying for exams."

Because a brain hemorrhage raises intracranial pressure, no special measures are needed; the blood simply drips onto the bone needle below.

She hadn't expected that, having just purchased it a short while ago, she would encounter it.

It's all competitive; no one wants to act first, and everyone wants to watch the other's misfortune.

Qiao Mai looked up and glared at Mingren Medical Hall, where several doctors stood at its entrance, eager to see her embarrassed.

"Divine Physician, you are truly formidable."

"Then can my son recover?"

The townsfolk watched the man injured that day, who had come to her several times for medicine; he truly was saved, and his spirit kept improving.

"But my free pulse diagnosis has cut off one of their sources of income."

They wanted to deal with Qiao Mai, yet felt embarrassed; a Wandering Physician setting up a stall on the street, and several renowned medical halls serving the nation, could not tolerate a Wandering Physician.

"Saving his life isn't worth ten Taels of Silver?"

Even as she grew more famous, the major medical halls retained their regular clientele, while those who visited Qiao Mai's stall were ordinary townspeople.

They couldn't help but admire Qiao Mai's medical skill even more, all pleading with her for prescriptions.

They were overthinking; Qiao Mai only offers free pulse diagnosis and hasn't written any prescriptions yet—just honing her skills while waiting for those medical halls to make a move.

The wealthy go to the stall for bargains, but although the townsfolk are poor, they are numerous; a single pulse costs twenty Wen—ten of them? a hundred? a thousand?

"Huh?"

Qiao Mai's divine perception stared intently at the patient's brain interior; when she was nearly finished, her hand rested on the man's forehead.

The man standing behind the patient was stunned, at a loss; if he intervened, the young master's life would be lost; if he didn't, perhaps a life might be saved.

Just as she was taking a pulse, someone on the street collapsed.

"Ten Taels of Silver, please settle the bill."

These bone needles are exceptionally sharp, a set of low‑grade Spirit Artifacts she specifically uses for patients with brain hemorrhage and organ fluid accumulation.

"Place him on the table, everyone; apologies, the illness varies in urgency, I'll attend to him first."

She remains a free‑pulse Wandering Physician for the townsfolk; isn't that a joke to the world?

It should be, it should be.

The onlooking townsfolk immediately shouted in surprise; Qiao Mai used six Bone Needles, stabbing from different directions, to let the blood inside flow out quickly.

These people were all Yiguan assistants; Qiao Mai stole their business, so they were naturally displeased and sent someone to follow her.

The man swallowed, about to say thank you, when he heard Qiao Mai speak.

Thus, Qiao Mai's stall became increasingly famous.

At this moment, the person carrying the man stammered, "Divine Physician, what illness has my young master contracted?"

She focused on taking the patient's pulse; shortly after, someone carried a man to Qiao Mai's table, and the carrier immediately knelt before Qiao Mai.

"That's too petty, even though she's hanging the pot to save lives; she's just a merchant after profit."

"It shouldn't be, they also make money selling medicine."

"Divine Physician, please save my young master. The Yiguan says they can't; my young master is failing. You are the Divine Physician, please save him, save him."

Cerebral hemorrhage.

How do you know?

But my young master hasn't awakened yet.

He is already beyond the worry of life; you can carry him to the inn to rest, or hire a carriage to take him home directly. This year the imperial examination cannot be taken.

The man saw Master breathing steadily, so he took out Ten Taels of Silver from his pouch and handed it to Qiao Mai, then carried the person away.

The townsfolk witnessed another miracle: even those the Yiguan had given up on were saved by this Divine Physician. They instantly felt that getting a pulse taken by the Divine Physician was the honor of their lifetime.

(End of Chapter)