Chapter 87: Practicing Medicine and Healing the Sick

The next day, contrary to her words, An Yi did not leave immediately. She stayed to observe how matters would unfold, curious to see if Old Xing would keep his promise.

After breakfast, An Yi sat in her room, leafing through miscellaneous books brought by the proprietress.

A knock sounded at her door. “Miss Luo,” called the proprietress.

An Yi walked over and opened the door, discovering the proprietress was not alone; she was accompanied by Physician Zhou from Jihuai Hall.

“Miss Luo, Physician Zhou has something to discuss with you,” the proprietress said apologetically.

An Yi frowned slightly. “What is it?”

“Miss Luo, I have come today to seek medical attention for my mother,” Physician Zhou said bluntly.

“I am not a physician and do not treat people,” An Yi replied calmly.

“Miss Luo, my mother is past sixty, frail and weak. Every summer and autumn, she suffers from splitting headaches—sometimes lasting days, sometimes over a month. The pain is unbearable; she repeatedly bangs her head against the wall, weeps day and night, refuses food, and has been treated many times without cure,” Physician Zhou’s face was clouded with worry. As a physician unable to cure his own mother’s ailment, he felt deeply ashamed.

“The medical skills of your shop’s owner are renowned. Why not ask him to treat your mother?” An Yi inquired.

Physician Zhou was taken aback. “You know my employer?”

An Yi smiled lightly. “The Han family of Jihuai Hall is known far and wide.”

“To be honest, I once considered asking my employer to treat my mother, but—” Physician Zhou sighed. “There are matters I cannot discuss openly; every family has its own troubles.”

“You have practiced medicine for years yet could not cure your mother. I am young and have limited knowledge—there is nothing I can do for her. You should seek someone more skilled, lest her condition worsens,” An Yi said earnestly.

“Miss Luo,” Physician Zhou dropped to his knees, “Yesterday Liniang was clearly lifeless, yet you brought her back from the brink. Your medical skills are extraordinary. I beg you to relieve my mother’s suffering—I will be eternally grateful. If you cure her, I am willing to give you all my possessions.”

“Miss Luo, forgive my interruption,” said the proprietress. “People say filial children are rare beside a sickbed, but Physician Zhou has cared for his mother for years and never complained. Miss Luo, you have a kind heart—please help him!”

Seeing the light in Physician Zhou’s eyes, An Yi thought of her own mother’s death and felt a pang. “I do not want your possessions. Out of respect for your filial devotion, I will go see your mother.”

Physician Zhou, overjoyed at her assent, thanked her repeatedly.

“I’ll go with you,” the proprietress volunteered, eager for gossip and excitement.

As soon as An Yi stepped through the Zhou family’s gate, she heard a piercing cry from within the house, “Let me die! I don’t want to live anymore!”

Inside, she saw two women clutching an old lady who was repeatedly banging her head against the wall.

“Mother, mother!” Physician Zhou rushed to help, holding his mother tightly. “Mother, I’ve brought a miracle doctor for you—soon your headache will be gone! Please hold on, please hold on!”

“Son, it’s useless. My headache cannot be cured. Please let me die, so I won’t burden you any longer. Give me medicine so I can leave this world,” Madam Zhou pleaded, tormented by pain and wishing for an end.

“Mother, Miss Luo brought Liniang back from death; she can surely cure you. Trust me this once,” Physician Zhou said tearfully.

He had begged many physicians to treat his mother’s stubborn illness, but none had succeeded.

An Yi stepped forward and took Madam Zhou’s wrist. “Physician Zhou, hold her steady—I must use needles.”

Physician Zhou, the two women, and the proprietress all helped restrain Madam Zhou.

An Yi examined Madam Zhou’s pulse, then took out silver needles and swiftly inserted them into seven points: Shenting, Touwei, Zan Zhu, Lieque, Hegu, Quchi, and Yintang.

Physician Zhou stared in astonishment. He too practiced acupuncture, but the Shenting point, connecting to the vital center, was too risky for him to attempt.

An Yi paid no heed to his expression, gently twisting the needles to stimulate the points. Soon, Madam Zhou’s pain eased, her contorted face relaxed, and she ceased struggling.

“You may release her now,” An Yi said.

The four let go and stood aside.

Physician Zhou watched his mother’s face anxiously, heart suspended.

Every three minutes, An Yi twisted the needles in sequence. After a quarter of an hour, she withdrew them. “Physician Zhou, turn your mother over.”

He obeyed.

An Yi inserted needles again at Xinhui, Baihui, Houding, Qiangjian, Yamen, Quchai, and Yuzhen.

She continued to stimulate the points; after another quarter hour, she removed the needles.

Exhausted from days of pain and sleeplessness, Madam Zhou now slumbered peacefully.

“Miss Luo is truly a miracle healer. Since my mother’s illness began, she has not slept so soundly,” Physician Zhou proclaimed, kneeling and bowing to An Yi.

The two women followed suit, kneeling and bowing.

An Yi wrote a prescription and handed it to Physician Zhou. “I will return over the next two days to treat her again.”

Physician Zhou politely saw her and the proprietress out.

On the way back to the inn, the proprietress sighed, “With such superb skills, Miss Luo, if only you were a man.”

“A woman can treat people as well,” An Yi replied, indifferent to the pursuit of medicine.

“If you were a man, you could be like Han family’s ancestor,” the proprietress launched into her tale.

The Han family’s ancestor had been a physician, who accidentally saved the founding emperor. He abandoned his wealth to follow the emperor through war. When peace was restored, he declined high office, returning to civilian life and devoting himself to medicine. The emperor, delighted, allowed him to open pharmacies nationwide and made him a court physician. Every generation, the Han family’s eldest son inherited this privilege and served in the government.

“How do you know so much about the Han family?” An Yi asked.

“The old manager at Jihuai Hall loved to recount it—I’ve heard it countless times and remember it all,” the proprietress said, laughing.

An Yi remarked, “Even if I were a man, there’s no founding emperor in these peaceful times.”

The proprietress glanced around and whispered, “Miss Luo, be careful with your words.”

An Yi smiled.

“If you were a man, with your skills, you could enter the Imperial Medical Institute, treat the emperor and empresses, and rise to great heights—have anything you want,” the proprietress sighed, “But you’re not.”

An Yi’s gaze shifted thoughtfully.

In the afternoon, after a nap, An Yi decided to take a stroll. As she reached the shop floor, she saw the proprietress return cheerfully and say to the manager, “It’s settled—Liniang won’t have to become a concubine.”

“Didn’t Old Xing threaten to send her corpse if she died? How come he’s softened?” the clerk laughed.

“He’s not softened—would he really drive his daughter to death? Liniang already tried once; if Miss Luo hadn’t revived her, the Xing family would be in mourning now,” said the proprietress, accepting a cup from the manager and taking a big drink.

“Even a tiger doesn’t eat its cubs. In the end, she’s his flesh and blood—Old Xing’s bark is worse than his bite,” the manager chuckled.

An Yi overheard their conversation and felt a turmoil within. Even beasts pity their young, yet An Qinghe could hire assassins to chase his wife and child—he was less than a beast.

At dinner, Sister Xing brought dishes: dry pot tea mushrooms, steamed pork with rice flour, spicy wine-cooked sea snails, and clear soup fish maw. Sister Xing had learned An Yi was from Hunan and thoughtfully prepared several Hunan dishes to express her gratitude.

After two days, Madam Zhou’s headaches did not recur. Physician Zhou presented a hundred taels of silver in thanks, but An Yi refused.

Despite his repeated entreaties, she would not accept.

Word quickly spread—An Yi had revived Liniang and cured Madam Zhou’s headaches. Many women and girls flocked to the inn seeking treatment.

They avoided consulting male physicians not out of shame, but because there were no female physicians in town; some matters could not be spoken in front of men. An Yi, being a woman and highly skilled, drew them in droves.

Seeing the influx, An Yi’s eyes lit up—she need not disguise herself as a man anymore.

Physicians often said it was easier to treat ten men than one woman. Female patients spoke obliquely about issues—irregular cycles, childbirth, or gynecological ailments—difficult to explain, making diagnosis hard for male physicians but giving female physicians a unique advantage.

A cold smile flickered on An Yi’s lips. Good generals are rare, but good doctors rarer still. When weapons are stored and horses retired, what use is a fine general? Everyone suffers illness—no one dares offend a skilled physician.

To treat the women, An Yi remained in Shen Prefecture for now. Each day she examined pulses, applied acupuncture, wrote prescriptions, and was kept busy without respite. By the fourth day, only a few patients came, and by afternoon, just two remained.

One suffered from dark purple menstrual flow, the other from pain.

An Yi treated them, wrote prescriptions, and after they left, began packing her belongings—ready to settle the bill and depart the next day.

The proprietress insisted on waiving her fee and sent her off with two packets of pastries for the journey.

An Yi thanked her and rode away.

Leaving Hengshan City, the journey was peaceful, and An Yi grew less vigilant—so she left the main road and took a side path. She encountered a shady inn and realized travel still held dangers. She was lucky this time, facing four petty thieves and handling them easily, but next time luck might not be on her side.

Thus, after leaving Shen Prefecture, she no longer took back roads, but dutifully followed the main highway north.

June brought heavier heat. At noon, the sun scorched the earth; her horse, exhausted from hours of travel, breathed heavily. An Yi feared that pressing on would risk heatstroke for both herself and the animal, so she stopped at a roadside tea stall for rest.

The weather was oppressive; every table in the stall was occupied, and many sat under the trees, drinking tea and eating.

The proprietress noticed An Yi was a woman and made space for her.

“Thank you. Please bring me a pot of tea,” An Yi said, not wishing to draw attention, keeping her veil on.

“Please wait, miss,” the proprietress replied, turning to prepare the tea.

Before the tea arrived, two men on horseback stopped at the stall, jumped off, and tossed the owner a silver ingot. “Drive everyone out.”