Chapter 26 Ji Ren Tang

Xie Yan clearly heard the tremble in Xue Qingdai’s soft voice. His slender hand froze on the door.

“It’s me,” he quickly replied.

Xie Yan’s voice was distinct—like a mountain spring, deep and soothing—it always gave people a sense of calm.

Xue Qingdai, forgetting her image, rushed to open the door. Xie Yan had been waiting outside all morning in the cold without even knocking.

The early morning wind was like fine blades, stinging the skin. He must have been freezing.

“Xie Yan, come in quickly! How long have you been waiting?”

Xie Yan didn’t answer directly. He glanced down at her bare feet on the floor, lips pressed into a tight line.

He took off his coat, letting the chill dissipate, then bent down and scooped her up with one arm.

“Why are you walking around barefoot without socks?”

Having been scolded by her once before, Xie Yan softened his tone this time.

Caught in his strong arms, Xue Qingdai clung to his neck out of fear—he was too tall and she was afraid of heights.

Even though his voice was gentle, she still felt like she’d been reprimanded. She lowered her head and didn’t want to talk to him—wasn’t it all for his sake anyway…

Xie Yan placed her on the bed, rubbing her socks warm with his hands, then gently wiped her feet with pink tissue paper before slowly putting her socks on.

“Daidai…”

She lightly kicked his leg. “Go wash your hands—and bring me my washbasin too.”

Considering how sincere Xie Yan was being, she reluctantly forgave him.

Most washbasins sold at the supply cooperative were bright red enamel ones with the word double happiness printed on them.

Xie Yan had already filled hers with warm water.

While Xue Qingdai washed her face and brushed her teeth, he stacked the coal briquettes he brought in a dry corner.

Her third brother, Xue Yongkang, had only boiled two eggs. Since she couldn’t finish both, she stuffed one into Xie Yan’s mouth.

Xie Yan kept staring at her while she ate—she wasn’t doing a food broadcast! Clearly, he was just eyeing her egg.

He finished off her leftover fermented mung bean juice (douzhi), and the two of them finally headed out, walking slowly over the icy ground.

“Did Third Brother send you?” Xue Qingdai asked, wearing thick cotton shoes lined with handmade cotton soles.

Xie Yan replied, “Mm…”

She was bundled up in a cotton-padded jacket and pants her mother, Yang Xiaomin, had just mailed—stuffed with this year’s fresh cotton, soft and puffy. She was already sweating underneath.

She felt like a giant snowman, so thickly dressed she could barely bend her knees. She walked slower and slower.

Xie Yan trailed behind her, carefully stepping in each of her footprints to cover them up.

Looking back, the white snow behind them now showed only one set of large footprints.

The journey started to feel unusually long. Out of boredom, Xue Qingdai stared at the snow on the ground.

“Catch this, Xie Yan~” she called out playfully, grabbing a handful of snow and throwing it at him.

He had been trailing her cautiously, worried she might slip—and now she was goofing off.

He remained expressionless but glanced at the watch on his right wrist—time was running short.

When she tried to throw snow at him again, Xie Yan grabbed her wrists and held them in place.

“I was wrong…”

Before she could react, he had lifted her off the ground.

So embarrassing! He was totally bullying someone smaller than him.

Thankfully, the road was empty.

By the time they reached Jiren Hall, Xue Qingdai had practically been half-carried there by Xie Yan.

“Stay here and be good. I’ll come pick you up tonight.”

Xie Yan gently pinched her pale cheek before striding off with steady steps.

Xue Qingdai stood dazed, as if his warm fingertips still lingered on her face.

“Snap out of it, little apprentice,” came a voice.

Shen Shichun was sitting nearby, grinding medicinal roots.

Though almost sixty, she had a rosy complexion and smooth, fair hands. Her aura was serene, and when she saw her little disciple looking all dreamy, a soft smile tugged at her lips.

“Master~”

Xue Qingdai sat opposite her and opened The A-B Classic of Acupuncture and Moxibustion, though she was more interested in slacking off.

Shen Shichun gently patted her head before going off to check the pulse of a new patient.

Xue Qingdai read through her favorite acupuncture text once more, experiencing it in a whole new way.

The book’s cover was tattered from use, but it had clearly been well cared for—her master truly loved medicine and cherished knowledge.

Xue Qingdai hadn’t chosen to formally become a disciple lightly—it had taken her a long time to prepare mentally.

She never thought of herself as invincible. She was always striving to perfect her medical skills.

But the world of traditional Chinese medicine had internal barriers. Dialectical treatment was its core, and there were often differing schools of thought.

She didn’t claim to be always right, but she had deep respect for those better than her.

She carried the inherited knowledge of the Xue family—passed down through generations—but because her family was so conservative, it had only ever been handed down to blood relatives. In her generation, that legacy had nearly died out.

The Xue family had developed acupuncture techniques that could snatch life from the jaws of death, but in other aspects, they lagged behind other TCM families with broader exposure.

Her master, Shen Shichun, specialized in gynecology, which happened to align perfectly with the field Qingdai wanted to deepen her skills in.

When she successfully became Shen Shichun’s disciple, she had a moment of realization: she loved Chinese medicine because of its intrinsic charm—not because of any family legacy.

She could absorb the strengths of various schools and create her own medical system. It had nothing to do with lineage—only her personal achievements.

That meant letting go of old habits and stepping down from a respected position as a sitting physician to start fresh as an obscure apprentice.

If the peak couldn’t hold her, she would simply walk the road again from the beginning.

Xue Qingdai adapted quickly, thanks to her master and senior siblings, who were all kind and protective of her—afraid she might run away.

Because studying Chinese medicine was grueling.

In her past life, she found joy in hardship—early to rise, early to bed, accumulating experience day by day, which forged her extraordinary acupuncture skills.

Even now, she had to keep learning.

Resting her wrist under her chin, Xue Qingdai quickly scanned the recent case records written by Shen Shichun, comparing each one to her own habitual treatment plans, analyzing the differences line by line.

Shen Shichun had just finished prescribing medicine to a mother and daughter pair and was about to settle the bill.

The older woman, hunched with uneven shoulders, kept nodding in gratitude, lovingly grasping her hand.

“Dr. Shen, we didn’t bring enough money with us today. We’ll pay you next time.”
“You’re such a kind person—you know our family’s situation.”

Xue Qingdai’s hand, holding the case file, tightened. This excuse sounded all too familiar. She had dealt with patients like this before. In her clinic, she gave them three chances—if they still didn’t pay after three, she kicked them out. She wasn’t running a charity.

Xue Qingdai slowly walked over to Shen Shichun. Her master’s expression remained calm and composed.

Shen Shichun said evenly, “This is already the third time this year. I just went through the books yesterday—you’ve owed us over twenty times.”

“This pharmacy wasn’t opened to give away free medicine.”
“I know life is hard for you, but I’m not living in comfort either.”
“If you don’t pay up, I won’t treat you again.”

The mother and daughter exchanged a glance, then collapsed to the ground, holding each other and sobbing loudly.

“Oh, how tragic our lives are—we can’t even afford meat, and now we can’t get medical treatment either!”
“You’re no true Bodhisattva. You used to let us owe money—why not now?”
“So many people come to Jiren Hall every day. Who knows how much you’re earning—what’s the harm in treating us for free?”

Xue Qingdai calmly closed the door of Jiren Hall and hung the “Closed” sign.

She leaned in and whispered to Shen Shichun, making sure the two women couldn’t hear,
“Master, since when did thieves become this bold?”
“Better count and see how much they’ve stolen already?”