Courtyard House: My Time Travel is a Bit Too Strong

"It takes three months for bones and muscles to heal, and for someone in his condition, he'll need at least 30 days in the hospital," Lin Quan said.

"Leg...you really won't amputate it?" she asked again, her nails digging into her palms.

"It can be saved." Lin Quan nodded.

The woman suddenly covered her mouth, tears streaming down her face through her fingers.

"The medicines are all Chinese herbal medicines prepared in-house, and they're not expensive," Lin Quan added.

"Thank you, Dr. Lin! Thank you so much..." she said repeatedly, her voice choked with emotion.

An hour later, in the small conference room of the emergency department.

He Jianyi hadn't come out of the emergency room, and Liu Huimin claimed she was absent during rounds. Lin Quan, having nothing else to do, went in and sat down near the door.

After Jiang Xiaoqi finished explaining the department's fund preparation plan, she immediately took out her mobile phone and transferred 50,000 yuan, with the note "temporary loan, to be returned from the fund's income later".

People responded one after another: some scanned the code for 200, some for 300, and Wang Ziqiao entered 500.

"Dr. Lin, would you mind doing this?" Jiang Xiaoqi asked him.

"What does that mean?" Lin Quan asked.

"Whatever you want," she said.

"One million, is that okay?" he asked in a flat tone, as if asking how many ounces of rice to put in a lunchbox.

The room fell silent for two seconds.

"You really have that many?" Jiang Xiaoqi was stunned.

"I've cut out some good pieces of jade from rough stones, and later I also did well in the stock market," Lin Quan said, as if he were talking about the weather.

Money is just a number to him; whether he donates or borrows it makes little difference. But when he borrows, he has to have a written agreement.

"Then thank you very much for your strong support, Dr. Lin." Jiang Xiaoqi smiled.

"Is this money a donation or a loan?" Lin Quan asked.

"Borrow," she answered readily.

"Then please write up a receipt." He handed over a pen.

She quickly wrote three IOUs, specifying the purpose, term, and repayment method. Lin Quan simultaneously transferred one million yuan to the department's public account and then left.

Yanda International Hospital sees over 10,000 patients daily, and the waiting area is always bustling with activity.

"Dr. Lin, this man has been having abdominal pain for half a day and has vomited twice." Nurse Wu Liang led a middle-aged man in.

"Are there any beds available in the emergency room?" Lin Quan asked.

"Are you going to admit him to the hospital?" Wu Liang asked back.

"Late-stage pancreatic cancer, jaundice + ascites + CA19-9 exceeding 1000... Why not hospitalize him? When will he go into shock and be brought in?" Lin Quan said while flipping through the medical records.

"Dr. Lin, you noticed it at a glance?" Wu Liang stood there, stunned, her lips slightly parted.

"Doctor, does my dad have pancreatic cancer? And it's in the late stage?" The patient's son's voice was strained, and his fingers unconsciously gripped the corner of the medical record book.

"The person is still alive, there's no rush," Lin Quan said.

"What do you mean by that?" The other person's brow twitched, and their tone suddenly rose.

"Should we investigate or not?" Lin Quan looked up.

"Check," he answered crisply.

Lin Quan casually filled out the hospital admission slip and examination slip. The earlier the patient is admitted and the earlier the examination is done, the more the cost can be reimbursed by medical insurance; the sooner the bed is freed up, the easier the night shift scheduling will be.

Other doctors frown upon seeing cancer; he treats it as a common chronic condition... He administers Chinese medicine on time, acupuncture on time, and doesn't need to monitor the patient repeatedly.

"If only I had listened to you, I would have wasted my time going to three hospitals and had to do two CT scans." The patient's son rubbed the back of his neck and smiled bitterly.

"After you're admitted to the hospital, the check-ups will be covered by the unified medical insurance, so you'll pay half as much." Lin Quan handed the form to the nurse. "Go to the Traditional Chinese Medicine department to pick up your medication and get it according to the prescription."

"Dad's illness...can it really be cured?" He paused, then added, "I mean, completely cured."

"There is no disease name 'pancreatic cancer' in traditional Chinese medicine. When I say it can be treated, I mean there is a way to treat it. But not everyone with the same disease can follow the same prescription... The constitution, the course of the disease, and the response to the medication are all slightly different, and the results will be different." Lin Quan spoke slowly and deliberately, and his words were clear and resonant.

He practices medicine not for fame, but simply to treat the illness. As long as a person is still alive and has a pulse, he can bring them back to life. But some people whose lives are not meant to be extended are forcibly brought back, which only disrupts the natural order of things... He never acts on behalf of Heaven, nor does he forcibly change people's fates.

He wiped the silver needles with an alcohol swab, supported his wrist with his left hand, and steadily inserted three needles with his right. He opened the medicine packet that Wu Liang handed him, smelled it, nodded, and then instructed the patient's son: "After the water boils, simmer it over low heat for forty minutes, filter out the residue, and drink the liquid in two warm doses."

During lunch break, He Jianyi sat down with his lunchbox and asked, "Ah Quan, you're really sure about late-stage pancreatic cancer?"

"Western medicine calls it by its name, but traditional Chinese medicine recognizes it by its symptoms. I'm familiar with that patient's symptoms." Lin Quan picked up a piece of green vegetable with his chopsticks.

He Jianyi didn't reply. This man had only been in the emergency department for half a month, but he had already encountered three cases of liver cancer that had been diagnosed as "not suitable for surgery" by other hospitals, two cases of advanced gastric cancer that had been stopped for six months, and a case of lymphoma that had been abandoned before the pathology report was even available... Every time I asked, he would say, "I just happened to encounter a similar situation."

"Old He, from now on you can call me Xiao Lin, and I'll call you Old He, so it won't feel awkward," Lin Quan said.

"It's easier to call me Ah Quan. If you call me Lao He, I'll feel more at ease too," He Jianyi smiled.

"OK."

Zhang Leng interjected, "Dr. Lin, is there any disease that you would also shake your head at?"

"for example?"

"I don't treat patients who are broke, bedridden, or believe in folk remedies rather than medicine."

Jiang Xiaoqi paused with her chopsticks: "So, according to you, as long as you cooperate and have money for treatment, you can get better?"

"I never said everything would be alright. I just don't lie." Lin Quan lowered his head and ate his rice.

Back in his office after lunch, he opened his tablet and continued organizing acupuncture charts. Medical record entry, follow-up reminders, and medication records were all synchronized by the smartwatch on his wrist... There was a program called "Xiaobai" on that device, which he wrote himself.

Jiang Xiaoqi leaned against the window, making a phone call, her voice very low:

"Junior, have you set a date for your return to China?"

"Two more months."

"Have you decided where to go?"

"Kiriyama Hospital."

Come to our place.

"Your hospital?"

"A new guy joined the emergency department, and now even the head of the department avoids him."

"Who is this expert? How many SCI papers have you published?"

"He didn't publish a single prescription. But he could write down prescriptions that Western pharmacies couldn't dispense and then get them; when there wasn't enough time for intubation in the emergency room, he could insert three needles and the blood oxygen level would rise."

"...You didn't try to comfort me?"

"The last time I lied to you was back in college when I helped you hide your skipping class attendance sheet."

"Hmm... I'll think about it for two days."

"Okay. I'll wait for your reply the day after tomorrow."

Shortly after hanging up the phone, Lin Quan entered the dean's office.

"Dean, you wanted to see me?"

"I heard you just admitted a pancreatic cancer patient, and you even said you could cure him?"

"I just met one, and the ID type matches."

"I have an old friend here..."

"Where is he? Let me check first."

Half an hour later, an elderly man in his early seventies was helped in. He was unsteady on his feet and spoke with shortness of breath.

Lin Quan glanced at the tongue coating, took the pulse for a while, and then rolled his eyes: "The pancreatic problem is still in the middle stage, but there is a hemangioma in the brain. We need to find out its location and blood supply first."

The middle-aged man, supporting the elderly woman, looked hesitant: "Dr. Lin, are you really sure?"

The hospital director also asked, "How did you know about Mr. Zhang's cerebral aneurysm?"

"That's what Western medicine calls it, but in Traditional Chinese Medicine it falls under the categories of 'stroke precursors' and 'obstruction of the orifices.' Without checking, who would dare to speak up?" Lin Quan looked at the middle-aged man. "Arrange for imaging."

The other party nodded.