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

Chen Ping walked to the film viewing lamp on the wall, where an MRI film was hanging.

He picked up the marker on the table and drew a simple diagram next to the film, a cross-section of the blood vessel, with individual threads wrapped around the vessel wall. He drew it quickly, but very clearly.

"You see, normal blood vessel walls are smooth, but this child's blood vessel walls have deposits on them."

You can't see them on an MRI because these things are too small, with a resolution lower than that of imaging.

But they do exist, and they keep moving, drilling deeper and deeper.

A middle-aged doctor wearing glasses raised his hand, his tone polite but his question blunt: "Dr. Chen, regarding this 'immune complex' you mentioned, we performed immunological tests and found no abnormalities. How can you be certain of its presence?"

Chen Ping glanced at him and smiled. "Pull up the child's temperature curve since he fell ill and take a look."

The middle-aged doctor paused for a moment, then turned and went to the nurses' station to retrieve the records.

Take it back and spread it out on the table.

Chen Ping pointed to several peaks on the curve and traced his finger across them.

"Before each high fever, have you noticed a pattern? The body temperature doesn't suddenly rise. It drops a little first, then rises again. The drop is small, around 0.3 to 0.5 degrees Celsius, lasting for one to two hours, before it starts to spike," Chen Ping said.

The middle-aged doctor stared at the curve for a few seconds, then his expression changed.

He looked up at Chen Ping, opened his mouth slightly, then closed it again.

Several doctors nearby also came over to look. Some exclaimed "Huh?", some pushed up their glasses, and no one said anything, but their expressions changed.

Chen Ping didn't explain further. He walked to the bedside, lifted a corner of the boy's blanket, and exposed his calves.

He pointed to an inconspicuous spot below the boy's knee, where there was a light red rash on the skin, barely noticeable unless you looked closely, no bigger than a pinhead.

"This rash appears before each high fever and disappears once the fever subsides. You can ask the night shift nurses if this area was red before the child's seizure last night."

Chen Ping straightened up and looked at the doctors. "This is not an ordinary viral rash. It is caused by immune complexes deposited on the capillary walls. It can be found all over the body, but it is most noticeable in the extremities because circulation is slower there, so more of it is deposited there."

The ward was completely quiet.

Several doctors crowded around to look at the red dot; some took out their phones to take pictures, while others quickly jotted down notes in the patient's medical record.

The middle-aged doctor with glasses took off his glasses, wiped them, put them back on, and looked at Chen Ping. The look in his eyes changed from doubt to thoughtfulness.

Standing at the very back was a young doctor, around twenty-seven or twenty-eight years old, with his hair neatly combed, his white coat buttoned up to the top, and a name tag pinned to his collar that read "Resident Physician".

He leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets, a slight smile playing on his lips—not a smile, but a look of contempt.

He glanced at Chen Ping, then turned his head and whispered something to his colleague next to him.

The sound wasn't loud, but the ward was quiet, and everyone heard it.

"It's just good luck, you guessed right." The young doctor's tone was disdainful.

The air in the ward felt frozen solid.

Dean Ma's face suddenly darkened, turning from white to red, and then from red to green.

He turned around, staring at the young doctor, his eyes blazing with anger.

"What did you just say?" Dean Ma's voice wasn't loud, but every word was like ice.

The young doctor's expression changed. He straightened up, took his hand out of his pocket, and his lips moved as if he wanted to explain, but then he swallowed his words back.

"Get out." Dean Ma's voice was louder, his tone leaving no room for argument. "From today onwards, you don't need to come in. The personnel department will process your resignation."

The young doctor's face turned pale, as white as a wall.

He opened his mouth, his voice trembling slightly: "Dean Ma, that's not what I meant..."

I don't care what you mean.

Dean Ma interrupted him, raising his voice several octaves, "Our county hospital doesn't want people who are all talk and no action. Dr. Chen came from Siping Township Health Center, arrived at the hospital at two in the morning, didn't sleep all night, and pulled the child back from the brink of death."

"What have you done? You've been standing here all morning, doing nothing but talking. With that kind of attitude, you can't stay in our hospital. Get out."

The young doctor stood there, his legs trembling.

He glanced at Dean Ma, then at Chen Ping, his lips trembling several times.

The doctors next to him kept their heads down, none of them daring to look at him.

The middle-aged doctor with glasses shifted his gaze to the medical record book, pretending to look at something.

Chen Ping looked at the young doctor, at the "Resident Physician" badge on his white coat, and at his legs that were shaking more and more violently.

He walked over, stood in front of the young doctor, and reached out to place his hand on the doctor's wrist.

The young doctor froze, instinctively trying to pull his hand away, but couldn't.

Chen Ping pressed his fingers on his pulse for three seconds, then released them.

He looked into the young doctor's eyes, his voice low but clear.

"Have you ever injured your left anterior cruciate ligament?" Chen Ping asked.

The young doctor's eyes widened, and his mouth gaped open, unable to utter a word.

He couldn't believe that taking a pulse could reveal a ligament injury.

That's unlikely, isn't it?

The other doctors also looked at Chen Ping with curiosity.

"It wasn't recently, it was four or five years ago. At that time, I didn't have surgery, I opted for conservative treatment."

Now, my knees ache and feel sore on cloudy days or after walking a lot, especially when going up and down stairs. My knees also crack when I squat down.

Chen Ping's tone was very calm, as if he were reading a medical record.

The young doctor's face turned from white to gray.

He took a step back, leaned against the wall, and looked at Chen Ping as if he were a monster.

"How...how did you know?" The young doctor was utterly shocked!

Upon hearing this, everyone else also looked surprised, after all, the young doctor's words proved that Chen Ping was right.

Can you tell if a ligament is injured just by taking a pulse?

This is too amazing, too outrageous!

However, traditional Chinese medicine has always been profound and complex, and indeed, all sorts of situations are possible.

Chen Ping didn't answer. He turned around, walked back to the bedside, and tucked the boy's blanket in.

The ward was so quiet that you could hear the beeping of the cardiac monitor, one beep after another, slowly and steadily.

The young doctor stood by the wall, his hand on it, his fingernails digging into the plaster.

His lips were trembling, and his eyes were red, but he didn't cry.

He watched Chen Ping's retreating figure, and then watched the man in the dark blue shirt with a bandage wrapped around his head. His Adam's apple bobbed.

"Dr. Chen... I'm sorry..." His voice was barely audible, like a mosquito's buzz. "I... I give up."

Chen Ping didn't turn around or say anything.

Dean Ma stood to the side, his expression complex.

He looked at the young doctor, sighed, turned his head, and waved to a nurse at the door.

The nurse came over, and Dean Ma whispered a few words to her. The nurse nodded, walked up to the young doctor, and gestured for him to enter.

The young doctor lowered his head and followed the nurse.

He stopped at the door, turned around, and glanced at Chen Ping.

His eyes held regret, resignation, and something else that was hard to describe.

The door closed.

The ward remained quiet.

No one spoke, no one moved.

The beeping from the ECG monitor was still going off, one beep after another.

Chen Ping turned around, looked at Dean Ma, and smiled. "Dean Ma, the prescription doesn't need to be changed. Continue drinking it. I'll come back for acupuncture at noon."

Dean Ma nodded. "Alright, Dr. Chen, please feel free to ask if you need anything..."