Chapter 47: A Call from Little Gui

After finishing lunch, the three of them headed straight back to the staff dormitory. There was still nearly an hour before work resumed, enough time for a short nap. Yesterday had been an exception, as Zhang Jing needed to attend to Gui Cui’s consultation; otherwise, he habitually took a half-hour nap at noon almost every day.

Don’t underestimate those mere thirty minutes—they were crucial for maintaining good energy in the afternoon. Especially in the sweltering summer heat, skipping the midday rest could leave one feeling dizzy and sluggish all afternoon.

According to the ancient theory of the Ziwu Liu Zhu meridian flow, the period from 11 a.m. to 1 p.m. was dominated by the Heart Meridian, which promoted blood circulation throughout the body. The Heart Fire nurtured the Stomach Earth, aiding digestion. Zhang Jing had always believed that the purpose of a midday rest was to nourish the heart.

However, after studying under the system-assigned teacher Li Yu, Zhang Jing’s understanding deepened significantly. The importance of the midday rest extended far beyond that.

Based on the theory of the Three Yin and Three Yang, the noon hour belonged to the Yang phase. At this time, Yang Qi surged to its peak and expanded to its fullest, pushing the body’s Qi and blood to the outermost layers. After reaching this zenith, the Yang Qi began to descend.

If one could rest quietly at this moment, allowing the Yang Qi to enter Yin, it would greatly assist the body in completing this vital physiological process. Those without the habit of a midday rest, especially those who continued to work overtime with their minds engaged, found their Qi and blood unable to retract inwardly with the Yang Qi’s descent, due to the body’s instinctual needs.

This resulted in symptoms such as dizziness, brain fog, and an inability to concentrate.

Putting aside these scientific details for now, after their nap, the three of them proceeded together to the Mingde Hall. The veteran Chinese medicine doctor Huang Biao, who had arrived early, could not help but express a mixture of envy and frustration upon seeing them.

In truth, sometimes he longed to get closer to these younger colleagues but could never quite set aside his status as deputy director or lower his pride enough.

Lost in these thoughts, his red millet phone in his pocket suddenly rang. Huang Biao quickly pulled it out and was surprised to see it was from little Gui Zi again.

“What’s up now? Little Gui Zi, shouldn’t you be at the construction site moving bricks at this hour?” he asked.

“Ah, don’t mention it, Third Uncle,” Gui Zi replied. “Since taking your herbal medicine yesterday, I’ve had diarrhea and even felt weak in the legs. I barely lasted a few minutes after returning to the site.”

“Oh, then just rest for a couple of days. Don’t worry about the lost wages; I’ll make it up to you later,” Huang Biao said, assuming Gui Zi was calling to ask for money, his tone noticeably displeased.

But there was nothing he could do but accept his bad luck. Why had he insisted on using Gui Zi as a plant in the first place? Even if he had, why did he stubbornly give him a real prescription and real medicine?

If he had treated him like the other plants and just handed out some mild, non-threatening tonic herbs, there wouldn’t have been any trouble.

Gui Zi, clearly sensing Huang Biao’s misunderstanding, thought for a moment before deciding to be straightforward: “No, Third Uncle, I don’t mean that. You don’t need to pay me.”

Huang Biao’s face suddenly brightened. “Well, at least you have some conscience. Third Uncle only wants the best for you. But your illness is really hard to cure. Even going to the provincial hospital won’t guarantee a cure.”

Then, changing the subject, he asked, “So, why are you calling me now? Is there something you want to ask?”

“Third Uncle, it’s like this: after taking the medicine once, I feel much better. Not only has the diarrhea stopped, but my lower abdomen feels more relaxed, and my urination frequency has returned to normal…”

“What?” Huang Biao interrupted anxiously. “What medicine did you take?”

“Of course, the herbal medicine prescribed by Dr. Zhang you recommended. Since I couldn’t work anyway, I just went home and brewed it. Honestly, the medicine is magical—it took less than half an hour to take effect.”

“Are you… are you telling the truth? You’re not lying to Third Uncle?” Huang Biao’s voice trembled.

This news hit him like a thunderbolt.

“Third Uncle, how could I lie to you! Every word is true. Thank you, Third Uncle, my illness finally has hope. Also, please thank Dr. Zhang for me. Once I finish the medicine, I’ll bring some fruit to thank him in person…”

Huang Biao was completely stunned. After a brief “Hmm,” he made an excuse about having patients to attend to and hurriedly ended the call.

Having watched Gui Zi grow up, Huang Biao knew he wouldn’t dare deceive him.

This meant Zhang Jing had indeed only prescribed medicine once—more precisely, Gui Zi only took the medicine once—and not only did his diarrhea stop, but even his years-long prostatitis symptoms showed remarkable improvement.

This was simply unbelievable!

Huang Biao recalled reading in ancient medical cases that such rapid effects had been recorded before.

“One dose known, two doses clear.”

He had always thought those were just exaggerations from the ancients.

Not only was he himself a slow healer, but so were his mentor and his mentor’s mentor. None of them had ever witnessed such swift cures for chronic diseases.

For the first time in his life, Huang Biao felt a profound reverence for the profession of Chinese medicine.

Yes, reverence!

Though he had practiced medicine for nearly forty years, he never believed traditional Chinese medicine could truly cure acute or serious illnesses; at best, it could only help regulate the body.

If it happened to cure a few chronic ailments, he never dared attribute it confidently to the herbs.

Perhaps it was just the patient’s natural recovery over time.

After much contemplation, about half an hour later, Huang Biao made a decision that even he found hard to believe.

He would go and consult Zhang Jing.

Yes, consult.

He wanted to understand how Zhang Jing had analyzed Gui Zi’s case, and where he himself had gone wrong.

Why did Gui Zi’s symptoms worsen after taking the medicine Huang Biao prescribed, yet improve so dramatically after just one dose of Zhang Jing’s herbs?

Hurrying to Zhang Jing’s newly arranged clinic, Huang Biao found him engrossed in a book.

“Knock, knock, knock…” Though the door was ajar, Huang Biao rapped gently.

Zhang Jing looked up, saw it was Huang Biao, and quickly set down the Treatise on Cold Damage.

“Director Huang, please come in,” he greeted warmly.

“Xiao Zhang, you’ve tidied up your clinic quite neatly,” Huang Biao remarked casually.

“Yes, thanks to Dr. Wang and Xiao Cui’s help. I haven’t really done much myself,” Zhang Jing replied with a faint smile.

“Well…” Huang Biao hesitated, “Xiao Zhang… do you have a moment now?”

“Yes, I don’t have any patients at the moment,” Zhang Jing responded immediately.

He was curious why Huang Biao seemed a bit odd—he never knocked before coming to see him, and now he was speaking hesitantly, which was unlike his usual style.

“I’d like to discuss something with you, if that’s okay,” Huang Biao asked cautiously.

“Of course, Director Huang, please have a seat,” Zhang Jing said.

Huang Biao did not sit down immediately but hesitated for a moment, then suddenly said, “Could you please close the door first?”

“Sure, Director Huang. Whatever you want to say, just speak freely. There’s no need to be so formal with us juniors,” Zhang Jing smiled.

Huang Biao closed and bolted the door, then quickly walked over to sit opposite Zhang Jing.