Sent to the countryside, I turned the health center into a top-tier hospital.

He walked out, and Cui Ying followed behind him, seeing him all the way to the entrance of the residential area.

The streetlights were on, illuminating the empty road. Occasionally, a car would drive by, its headlights leaving a long trail of light on the road.

Cui Ying stood at the entrance of the residential compound, her hands in her pockets, her hair blowing in the wind.

"Give me a call when you get there," she said.

"Um."

No matter how late.

"Um."

"Your head injury hasn't healed yet, so don't stay up late."

Chen Ping glanced at her and smiled, "Okay, go back now, it's cold outside."

Cui Ying didn't move; she just stood there watching him.

Chen Ping hailed a taxi, opened the door, got in, rolled down the window, and waved to her.

As the taxi drove away, she saw Cui Ying still standing under the streetlight in the rearview mirror. Her shadow was stretched long and smaller and smaller until it turned a corner and disappeared from sight.

The taxi traveled on the highway for more than forty minutes before exiting and turning onto the main road of the county town.

The red cross lights on the roof of the county hospital were particularly conspicuous in the night.

The car stopped at the emergency room entrance, Chen Ping paid the fare, and got out.

The emergency room lobby was brightly lit, but there weren't many people. A young nurse at the nurses' station saw him and asked, "Are you Dr. Chen?"

Chen Ping nodded!

The young girl immediately led Chen Ping upstairs; she must have been waiting for him there.

Upon arriving at the third floor of the inpatient department, the elevator doors opened to reveal several people standing in the corridor.

Chen Ping spotted Zhao Guosheng immediately. He was standing by the window at the end of the corridor, empty-handed, not holding a jar, unsure of where to put his hands.

He saw Chen Ping and rushed over, his face showing both anxiety and panic.

"Dr. Chen, you've finally arrived."

Zhao Guosheng grabbed his arm and said in a low voice, so low that only the two of them could hear, "There's a patient, a teenager, who has had a high fever for several days. The fever goes down and then comes back, and tonight he suddenly had a seizure. The county hospital has tried everything they can, but it's no use."

Chen Ping frowned: "Why not send him to the city hospital? Or to the provincial hospital?"

Zhao Guosheng pulled him aside, lowering his voice even further, as if he were talking about something shameful.

"The child's father is the county magistrate. He has been staying in the county hospital for several days. If he is sent to the city, where will the county hospital put its face? Where will the hospital leaders put their face?"

Dean Ma was almost frantic with worry, which is why he asked me to find you. He knows you're a highly skilled doctor, and he remembers the car accident from last time.

Chen Ping didn't say anything, but glanced inside.

Among the people standing in the corridor were doctors in white coats and officials in suits.

There was also a middle-aged man in a dark jacket, around fifty years old, with gray hair, standing at the door of the ward, silent, his expression heavy and hard, like a block of unmelted ice.

A woman stood next to me, her eyes red-rimmed, clutching a pack of tissues in her hand, the tissues crumpled in her fist.

When Director Ma of the county hospital came out of the ward and saw Chen Ping, he quickly walked over, his face showing the expression of someone who had seen a savior.

He held Chen Ping's hand tightly, his palms sweaty.

"Dr. Chen, I knew you were capable after the car accident. We really don't know what to do with this child, please take a look."

Dean Ma seemed to have seen a savior.

Chen Ping didn't say much and followed Dean Ma into the ward.

The ward is a single room with a sofa, TV and private bathroom, which is much more upscale than a regular ward.

A boy, about thirteen or fourteen years old, was lying on the bed. He was pale, his lips were purple, an ice pack was on his forehead, and an IV was inserted into the back of his hand.

The ECG monitor wires peeked out from under my clothes, and the numbers on the screen were jumping around; my blood oxygen saturation was only a little over 90%.

The child was in a deep sleep, breathing rapidly, his lips moving as if he were saying something, but it was unintelligible.

Chen Ping sat down on the edge of the bed and placed his fingers on the boy's pulse.

I used three fingers to press lightly and heavily, exploring the area several times.

He closed his eyes, and the thoughts in his mind surged forth—not just surged, but surged forth like a tide, unstoppable.

He can "see" now, not with his eyes, but with his hands.

There was something in the boy's blood, not bacteria, not a virus, but something he couldn't describe, like extremely fine threads wrapped around the blood vessel walls, around the nerve endings, and around every joint.

The threads were moving, drilling deeper and deeper.

Chen Ping released his grip, opened his eyes, and remained silent for a while.

Dean Ma stood to the side, not daring to utter a sound.

Zhao Guosheng stood at the door, craning his neck to look inside.

The middle-aged man in the dark jacket also came in and stood next to Dean Ma. He didn't say anything, but his eyes were fixed on Chen Ping.

"Can it be cured?" Dean Ma couldn't help but ask.

Chen Ping glanced at him, then at the boy on the bed.

The boy's finger twitched, as if he was grabbing something, but he grasped at nothing and put it down.

"It can be cured." Chen Ping's voice was not loud, but it was very steady.

Dean Ma let out a long breath, a deep breath, as if he were exhaling all the pent-up air he had been holding in for days and nights.

He turned his head and glanced at the middle-aged man. The middle-aged man's expression didn't change, but his shoulders relaxed for a moment, then quickly tensed up again.

Chen Ping took out a needle case from his canvas bag, unfolded it, and a row of silver needles gleamed under the light.

He lifted a corner of the boy's blanket, revealing his arms and shoulders.

The first needle was inserted into the Quchi acupoint, the second into the Hegu acupoint, and the third into the Dazhui acupoint.

The fingers twist, lift, and pluck, the technique is neither too fast nor too slow, and the force is neither too light nor too heavy.

With each needle insertion, the boy's brow relaxed a little, and his breathing became more even.

By the time the seventh injection was given, the boy's lips had changed from purple to light red, and his blood oxygen saturation had jumped from just over 90 to 95, and was still slowly rising.

Dean Ma stood to the side, staring at the numbers on the electrocardiogram monitor, his mouth agape.

He had been a doctor for half his life and had seen acupuncture, but he had never seen this kind of needling technique.

Zhao Guosheng saw it too, but he wasn't surprised. He had seen Chen Ping use acupuncture to treat snake venom, stop internal bleeding, and perform chest decompression. A high fever and convulsion was nothing to him.

Chen Ping left the needle in, stood up, and looked at Dean Ma.

"This illness won't get better in a day or two. I need a few days. Your hospital has better facilities than the health center, so I'll stay here. I'll give him acupuncture twice a day, along with traditional Chinese medicine. His fever should break in three days, and he should be able to get out of bed in about a week," Chen Ping said.

Dean Ma nodded repeatedly, like a chicken pecking at rice, "Okay, okay, Dr. Chen, whatever you say goes. I'll arrange your accommodation, the best single dormitory in our hospital, complete with a refrigerator, air conditioner, and water heater."

You can freely assign doctors to the hospital, and just tell me what medicine or equipment you need, and I'll sign off.

He paused for a moment, then lowered his voice, "You'll be paid double for helping out here these next few days, and it will come out of our hospital."