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

Chen Ping turned his attention away from the voice and walked over to the woman.

He didn't rush to speak. Standing next to Director Qian, he first glanced at the woman kneeling on the ground. The floor tiles beneath her knees were already wet, whether from tears or something else, he couldn't tell.

The boy had stopped crying, probably because he was tired of crying. He leaned on the woman's shoulder, his eyes red and swollen, staring blankly at the crowd of people coming and going.

Chen Ping squatted down and said to the woman, "Sister-in-law, please get up. The ground is cold. Let me go check on your husband, okay?"

The woman looked up, her eyes slits from crying. She recognized Chen Ping's face, paused for a moment, then turned to look at Director Qian, her lips trembling, and asked, "Who...who is he?"

Director Qian introduced, "He's also a doctor. Get up first and let him take a look."

The woman then let go, got up from the ground, her legs were numb from kneeling, and she couldn't stand steadily. She had to hold onto the wall to keep from falling.

The boy supported her, his little face tense.

Chen Ping stood up, not rushing into the ward, but turning to look at Director Qian first.

"Director Qian, what's the patient's condition?"

Director Qian pulled Chen Ping aside and whispered a few words to him.

The patient, surnamed Wu, is 43 years old and has late-stage liver cancer. By the time it was discovered, the opportunity for surgery had already passed. Several interventional procedures were performed, but the results were poor, and the cancer cells had spread.

In the past month, he has developed ascites, jaundice, and gastrointestinal bleeding. All his liver function indicators are declining, and he is basically in the end stage.

"We've tried everything, but it's just stalling for time."

Director Qian sighed, lowering his voice even further, "If we could go to the provincial capital and use those new drugs, we might be able to hold on for a few more months."

But as you can see, this family is almost unable to afford the hospital fees. I've told her this several times, but she won't listen and cries in the hallway every day.

After listening, Chen Ping remained silent for a few seconds.

He looked at the door of the ward and listened to the intermittent voice inside, and he already made a judgment in his mind.

He turned around and walked up to the woman.

"Sister-in-law, I can cure it."

The woman froze, tears still streaming down her face, her mouth agape, unable to speak.

The people in the corridor fell silent, and all eyes were on Chen Ping.

Director Qian frowned, walked over, and whispered, "Chen Ping, are you sure? This is late-stage liver cancer, not a cold or fever."

Chen Ping looked at him and nodded. "I'm sure."

Director Qian looked at him for a few seconds and then said nothing more.

He turned to look at the woman, his tone becoming more serious: "Sister-in-law, Dr. Chen is also a doctor, and his medical skills are excellent. He says he can cure it, so you can trust him."

Director Qian's words did not imply that Chen Ping was truly a skilled doctor capable of treating liver cancer; he simply wanted to push the woman onto Chen Ping and prevent her from bothering him.

The woman's tears welled up again, but this time it wasn't a cry of despair, but a cry of grasping at a straw, her whole body trembling as she cried.

She held the child's hand, her knees bent again, and she wanted to kneel down once more.

Chen Ping grabbed her arm to prevent her from kneeling down. He had a strong grip, and the woman struggled twice but couldn't break free.

"Stop kneeling, go inside and see your loved one."

The woman nodded, wiped her face with the back of her hand, and followed Chen Ping into the ward with her child in tow.

Director Qian followed them inside. The people in the corridor hadn't dispersed and were crowding at the doorway, peering inside. The nurses came over twice to shoo them away, but to no avail, so they gave up.

The ward was filled with an unpleasant odor, a mixture of disinfectant and an indescribable sour smell.

Lying on the bed was a man who was so thin he looked unrecognizable. His cheekbones were high and prominent, his eyes were sunken, his skin was sallow, and his ascites made his belly look like an overturned pot.

He closed his eyes, and made those sounds from his throat, each sound as if he was using all his strength, which was heartbreaking to hear.

The cardiac monitor beeped by the bedside, and the numbers on the screen jumped at a steady pace, each number steadily declining, as if it already knew where it was going.

Chen Ping walked over, sat down on the edge of the bed, pulled the man's wrist, and placed his fingers on his pulse.

The pulse is as thin as a hair, sometimes there and sometimes not, it skips a few beats and then leaks out. Professionally speaking, this is called "sparrow pecking pulse", like a bird pecking at food, the speed is uneven and irregular.

This is a true visceral pulse, a sign that the stomach qi is about to be exhausted.

But he also sensed something else, not from his pulse, but from the "library" in his mind.

The surging information told him that the root of this person's illness was not in the liver, but in the spleen.

The liver (wood element) controls the spleen (earth element), and spleen deficiency leads to impaired function and internal retention of dampness, which in turn increases the burden on the liver.

If the spleen's function is regulated, allowing the body to absorb nutrients and eliminate toxins, the burden on the liver can be significantly reduced.

It's not a cure, it's a life-saving treatment.

He released his grip, stood up, and looked at Director Qian. "Director Qian, could you lend me a pack of disposable silver needles?"

Director Qian hesitated for a moment, then turned around and asked the nurse to get a packet from the acupuncture department.

The silver needles arrived, the needle case still unopened. Inside the transparent plastic bag was a row of silver needles as thin as hair, gleaming coldly under the fluorescent light.

Director Qian handed over the needle case, but didn't let go. Looking into Chen Ping's eyes, he asked again.

"Chen Ping, are you really sure? This is no joke. If something goes wrong with the patient in this condition, and the family makes a scene, neither of us can afford the consequences."

Chen Ping took the needle case, tore open the plastic seal, and pulled out the thinnest needle.

The silver needle was held between his fingers, and his hand was very steady, just as steady as when he used to hold a scalpel in the operating room.

"If I say I can cure it, then I can cure it," Chen Ping said confidently.

Director Qian looked at him, didn't stop him anymore, but didn't leave either. He stood by the bed, his hands in the pockets of his white coat, his fingers clenched tightly inside.

Chen Ping turned to face the patient, just about to insert the needle, when a voice came from the ward door.

"Stop!"

The voice wasn't loud, but it was deep and carried an undeniable authority.

The people in the corridor automatically made way for them.

Su Wenzong walked in, wearing a white coat and with his hair neatly combed.

Two people followed behind him, the head of the inpatient department and the head nurse, both of them looking nervous.

Chen Ping's fingers stopped, the silver needle hovering in mid-air, less than an inch from the patient's skin.

He didn't look up, but he knew who had come.

He had heard that voice for five years and could recognize it just by the sound of footsteps.

Su Wenzong walked to the bedside, glanced at the patient on the bed, then at the silver needles in Chen Ping's hand, then turned around and stared at Director Qian, his eyes blazing with anger.

"Director Qian, is this your responsibility?" Su Wenzong questioned.

Director Qian's face paled slightly, and he nodded.

"Chen Ping isn't a doctor at our hospital. You're letting him give injections here?"

Su Wenzong's voice was cold, "Who will be responsible if something goes wrong? If the family makes a scene and demands compensation, will the money be deducted from your salary?"

Director Qian opened his mouth, wanting to explain, but Su Wenzong didn't give him the chance.

"And you."

Su Wenzong turned around and looked at Chen Ping.

This was his first "official meeting" with Chen Ping since their falling out at the hospital.

Chen Ping looked up at him. In just over a month, the man he used to call "Dad" had a lot more gray hair.

But his posture remained as straight as ever, and he still spoke in that condescending tone, as if he should have the final say in everything.

"Chen Ping, you are no longer a doctor here. You are not qualified to practice medicine here. Put away your needles and leave immediately."

Chen Ping looked at him but didn't move.

"Can't you understand what I'm saying?" Su Wenzong's voice rose half an octave, and everyone in the corridor heard it.

Chen Ping put the silver needles back into the needle case and stood up.

He stared at Su Wenzong for three seconds without saying a word.

Three seconds later, he placed the needle case on the bedside table, turned around, and walked out of the ward.

The woman panicked, chased after him, grabbed Chen Ping's sleeve, and tears welled up in her eyes again.

"Doctor, you can't leave. You said you could cure him. What will happen to my husband if you leave..."

Chen Ping stopped, looked at the woman, reached out and patted her hand that was gripping his sleeve, gently prying her hand away.

He didn't speak, but he glanced at Director Qian, and that glance conveyed a message that Director Qian understood.

The woman wanted to continue the chase, but the nurse stopped her.