sovbooks Chapter 82 The Young Doctor
Chapter 82 The Young Doctor
The boy pursed his lips, said nothing, and lowered his eyes.
After a moment, he reported the pulse in a low voice: "The pulse is deep, thready, and weak, rapid and slightly hesitant, especially weak in the cun position. The tongue coating is thick, yellow, and greasy, and the tongue body is dark red with ecchymosis. The injured person has poor appetite, scanty and dark urine, and constipation."
He paused, then said, "I dare to make the judgment: the body's vital energy has been damaged, the pathogenic toxins have penetrated inward, the heat toxins have blocked the meridians, and the flow of qi and blood is obstructed. If this is delayed any longer, there is a risk that the pathogenic toxins may penetrate the Jueyin meridian."
Cheng Chuliang returned carrying a wine jar and overheard these words.
Although he didn't quite understand, he could tell from Wang Zhihuan's eyes that what the young man was saying was not simple.
Cheng Chumo took out a medicine box from the house, and Yuchi Baolin and his brothers surrounded him, not daring to breathe.
Chang Le stood a little distance away, protecting her younger sister, but her eyes were fixed on Wang Zhihuan. Her fingers unconsciously clenched the handkerchief, the corner of which was already crumpled.
Wang Zhihuan took the wine jar and uncorked it. The intense aroma of the wine instantly filled the air.
The boy's eyes lit up when he smelled the aroma of the wine—it was exactly what he had been searching for all this way.
"Chu Mo, hold his leg down. This method is extremely painful. Press it down and don't let him move." Wang Zhi slowly poured the wine onto the wound.
The clear liquor washed away the rotting flesh and pus, and the injured man convulsed violently in his unconscious state, letting out a low groan.
The boy immediately reached out and pressed down on the injured person's knee, applying just the right amount of pressure.
Wang Zhihuan poured the wine with steady hands, rinsing it little by little until all the rotten flesh around the wound was soaked in the wine.
The murky pus and blood mixed with the wine flowed down, wetting the ground.
"Your judgment is correct."
Wang Zhihuan put down the wine jar, looked at the boy, and said calmly and firmly, "The evil poison has penetrated deep into the meridians, but has not yet entered the internal organs."
First, clean the wound with strong liquor, then use medicated thread to drain the fluid, remove necrotic tissue, apply a detoxifying and tissue-regenerating ointment, and administer oral herbal decoctions to support the body's resistance and expel toxins. This leg doesn't need amputation.
The boy suddenly raised his head, his lips trembling, and his eyes instantly reddened.
He seemed to want to say something, but he swallowed it back, only asking in a hoarse voice, "Master Wang, this...this medicinal thread...how do I get there?"
"Follow the fascia lines, from bottom to top, to allow the pus to drain out."
Wang Zhi opened his medicine box, took out silver needles and medicated thread, and began to clean the wound with clean and efficient movements.
He didn't take the small amount of money or valuables the boy asked for seriously, nor did he respond.
The young man didn't care that Master Wang didn't answer, because there was something more important at hand.
He quickly assisted from the side, handing over needles and medicine, wiping away sweat and blood, and the teamwork was excellent.
Every time Wang Zhihuan gave an instruction, the boy could immediately understand it without needing to explain it a second time.
Cheng Chumo and Cheng Chuliang exchanged a glance, both seeing the same sentiment in each other's eyes—this young man and his brother Wang shared something in common.
Yu Chi Baolin noticed it too, crossed his arms, and looked thoughtful.
After cleaning the wound, apply ointment and re-bandage.
Although the injured person was still unconscious, his brow had relaxed and his breathing was much more stable than before.
The old man knelt down on the ground with a thud, kowtowing repeatedly to Wang Zhihuan, his mouth choked with sobs, unable to utter a coherent sentence.
Wang Zhihuan supported his arm and helped him up, his tone as calm as ever: "There's no need for that. Let's settle him in first. He'll need medication and treatment later, which won't be a matter of just a day or two."
He turned to look at the boy. "What's your name?"
The boy put down the bowl of medicine in his hand and solemnly bowed to Wang Zhihuan: "My surname is Zhou, and my given name is Xia. My master found me by the stream during the summer solstice and used the name of this herb as my name."
Wang Zhihuan raised an eyebrow slightly: "Banxia? Interesting. Your master is a physician? It seems he has high hopes for you."
"Yes. My master practiced medicine in the Taihang Mountains for decades and passed away three years ago. I have been keeping the medical hut he left behind, barely making ends meet."
Zhou Xia lowered her eyes and said in a softer voice, "My master said before he passed away that a doctor should persevere as long as there is a glimmer of hope. So... I made it through."
Wang Zhihuan looked at the young man in front of him.
He spoke the words "came over" in a very light tone, as if he didn't think there was anything worth mentioning about this long journey.
But his faded brown shorts, the worn-out medicine box strap, his chapped lips, and his bloodshot eyes—every detail spoke volumes about the weight of those three words.
"Who is this injured person to you?"
"He is Zhou Bo's son."
Zhou Xia looked at the old man and said, "Uncle Zhou is my master's old neighbor. He has been taking care of me ever since my master passed away."
His son fell and was injured on the mountain. The village doctor couldn't cure him, so I led them westward, asking along the way where there was strong liquor that could be used to wash the wound.
Upon arriving in Lantian, I heard from traveling merchants that there was a farm there where the owner brewed the strongest liquor, so I went to find it.
Upon hearing this, Cheng Chumo couldn't help but ask, "You walked all the way from the Taihang Mountains to Lantian? With just an oxcart?"
"We collect and change herbs along the way, treating patients as we go." Zhou Xia said this very calmly, as if it were simply a doctor's duty.
Yu Chi Baolin glanced at his younger brothers, then at Zhou Xia, and after a long while, whispered to Cheng Chumo, "This kid has guts."
Wang Zhihuan stood up, picked up the pulse pillow from Zhou Xia's medicine box, looked at it, and then flipped through the prescriptions and notes inside.
The prescriptions are neat and rigorous, with clear diagnosis. The notes are filled with records of various cases and medication experiences. The handwriting is not beautiful, but every stroke is upright and powerful.
He put down the prescription, looked at Zhou Xia, and asked a question that surprised everyone: "I want you to stay. Would you like to?"
Zhou Xia was stunned.
Wang Zhi continued, his tone as calm as when he was taking her pulse: "You have a good foundation; your master taught you very thoroughly. But there are some things that cannot be learned solely through notes and self-study."
My farm needs a helper with medical knowledge. If you're willing to stay, the injured person can recuperate here in peace, and subsequent dressing changes and treatments will be convenient. If you're not willing, I won't force you.
Zhou Xia's eyes reddened again. He lowered his head, his shoulders trembling slightly, and remained silent for a long while.
The courtyard quieted down.
Ah Huang walked up to Zhou Xia's feet at some point, tilted his head and looked at him for a moment, then stuck out his warm tongue and gently licked Zhou Xia's fingers hanging by his side.
Zhou Xia raised her head, her eyes glistening with tears, but they didn't fall.
He bowed deeply to Wang Zhihuan, his voice hoarse but firm: "I am deeply grateful for your shelter. My master said before he passed away that a doctor must persevere as long as there is a glimmer of hope."
In this world, besides a dilapidated clinic and this box of prescriptions, I have nothing else. If I could learn some real skills from you, I could save more people—”
He paused, as if summoning all the courage he had ever mustered: "I am willing to stay."
The reason he hesitated so much was that, in ancient times, people generally wouldn't easily leave their hometown unless absolutely necessary.