Chapter 4: Zhu You Shu

After eating and drinking their fill, the two stepped into a winding, secluded alley. As they walked deeper in, the bustling sounds of the city gradually faded away, replaced by a heavy, desolate atmosphere. Occasionally, a few hurried passersby appeared—some carrying heavy burdens, others holding tools for labor. Their clothes were tattered, their bodies thin and frail, and their faces were etched with sorrow, as if their expressions had solidified into masks.

This was the Lüli Fang of Changsha, also known as the slums—a forgotten corner of the world.

Wei Lan felt the growing heaviness in the air around her, stirring a sense of unease in her heart. Following Liu Mingyi through the twisting alleys of the slum, they finally stopped in front of a dilapidated thatched hut.

Inside, a woodcutter named Li Sijiu sat with a stiff right face, his eye unable to fully close—a typical symptom of peripheral facial paralysis. Seeing Liu Mingyi and Wei Lan arrive, he anxiously said, “Doctor Liu, you’re finally here!”

The two stepped into the dimly lit room, sparsely furnished with nothing but a broken wooden bed.

Wei Lan pondered to herself—this kind of condition, in modern Western medicine, could only be treated symptomatically, with slow recovery and varying effects depending on the person. She couldn’t help but feel a mix of curiosity and skepticism toward traditional Chinese medicine. Could acupuncture really work?

Liu Mingyi opened his needle pouch, taking out nine silver needles and piercing them directly into the skin.

Seeing this, Wei Lan frowned. “Mingyi-ge, you didn’t sterilize the needles before using them?” In modern Chinese medicine, needles were disinfected and sealed for single use, but Liu Mingyi used them directly, which was completely at odds with her understanding of aseptic techniques.

Liu Mingyi looked up, a trace of confusion in his eyes. “What do you mean?”

Realizing her slip of the tongue, Wei Lan quickly explained, “Boiling the needles first makes them cleaner.”

Without pausing his hands, Liu Mingyi responded calmly, “Silver needles are passed through fire—there’s no harm.”

Wei Lan changed the subject. “By the way, what’s the principle behind your acupuncture?”

“Fengchi Point—helps dispel wind and unblock the meridians.” As he spoke, a silver needle was inserted between the trapezius and sternocleidomastoid muscles at the back of the neck. “Yifeng Point—removes wind and relieves pain.” Another needle landed behind the earlobe, between the parotid gland and masseter muscle.

Wei Lan observed closely. While she didn’t understand acupoints, she was well-versed in anatomy. These points corresponded closely with the branches of the facial nerve in modern medicine. She picked up a charcoal pen and marked them on paper, aligning acupoints with anatomical nerve pathways.

Liu Mingyi withdrew his hand, the needle quivering slightly. “According to Zhen Jiu Da Cheng (The Great Compendium of Acupuncture and Moxibustion), this acupoint can be deeply inserted up to 1.2 cun.” As he spoke, the silver needle sank into the skin. Li Sijiu’s twisted facial muscles twitched suddenly, and saliva dribbled from his slanted mouth.

Wei Lan couldn’t help but warn, “Won’t inserting it 1.2 cun deep damage the nerve?”

Liu Mingyi frowned slightly. “Nerve? What is that?”

Wei Lan realized she had spoken out of turn again and quickly covered, “Uh… something like the meridians.”

Liu Mingyi seemed thoughtful but didn’t press further, focusing on his treatment.

Moments later, Li Sijiu’s facial spasms eased, and the drooling stopped. He looked at Liu Mingyi gratefully. “Doctor Liu, you truly are a miracle worker!”

Wei Lan sighed inwardly—so acupuncture really worked. It seemed ancient medicine had its unique merits.

Liu Mingyi remained composed. “Medication is still needed for a full recovery.” He listed three herbs: “Write a prescription—Bai Fu Zi, Bai Jiang Can, Quan Xie.”

Wei Lan hesitated, blinking. “I… I don’t know how to write it.”

Liu Mingyi took the paper and pen, frowning at her awkward scribbles that looked like a child’s doodles. “Why did you only write half the character? Are these radicals?”

Wei Lan felt embarrassed. By today’s literacy standards, was she practically illiterate? She decided she must work harder to learn traditional Chinese characters to blend in better.

“I’m not good at writing, and I don’t recognize the herb names. You’d better write it yourself.”

Liu Mingyi swiftly wrote out the prescription and handed it to Li Sijiu.

But Li Sijiu’s expression darkened. He had no money for medicine. He pleaded, “Doctor Liu, could you give me a bowl of Fu Water instead?”

Liu Mingyi took out a piece of yellow talisman paper from his medicine box. With focused energy, he dipped his brush in ink and began drawing symbols while chanting in a low, rhythmic voice—half prayer, half incantation.

Wei Lan stood to the side, dumbfounded. She prided herself on science and logic, and she couldn’t accept such a superstitious practice. She couldn’t help but question, “Can this really cure illness?”

Li Sijiu explained, “Miss, this is Zhu You Shu. It can heal ailments.”

“Zhu You Shu?” Wei Lan was even more puzzled.

“You’ve never heard of it? The corpse-driving ritual of Xiangxi, the art of escape, and the soaring technique all come from Zhu You Shu.”

Wei Lan broke into a silent sweat. Wasn’t this just feudal superstition? Then again, ancient people had never been exposed to Marxist materialism, so believing in such things was understandable.

Liu Mingyi burned the talisman, letting the ashes dissolve in water before handing it to Li Sijiu.

Li Sijiu drank it all in one gulp. Then, he fumbled under his bed, pulling out a roll of coarse linen. His calloused fingers rubbed the fabric hesitantly. “Doctor Liu, the consultation fee…”

“Save it to make winter clothes for your child.” Liu Mingyi pushed the cloth back. Li Sijiu wanted to insist, but Liu Mingyi had already shouldered his medicine box and stepped outside.

Wei Lan watched everything clearly, feeling a mix of emotions. She quickly caught up with Liu Mingyi, whispering, “Mingyi-ge, how do you make a living like this?”

Liu Mingyi smiled. “Practicing medicine isn’t about fame or fortune. Helping one person is one saved life.”

Wei Lan frowned. “But your time is valuable. You can’t just work for free all the time. Why not treat more patients who can afford to pay?”

Liu Mingyi stopped, his gaze firm. “The wealthy don’t lack doctors. Even if I don’t go, others will. But for the poor, if I don’t go, they have no one.” His words carried both frustration at the world’s injustice and a deep commitment to the medical profession.

Wei Lan remained silent, her feelings conflicted. She admired Liu Mingyi’s dedication, but Zhu You Shu, a seemingly mystical practice, felt contradictory to his ideals as a healer. Could these two truly coexist?

As they walked home under the dusk sky, Wei Lan kicked a loose stone and hesitated before finally asking, “But that talisman water has no medicinal properties. Does it actually work?”

Liu Mingyi replied, “Wei-guniang, many things in this world cannot be explained by medicine alone. If a patient believes in Zhu You Shu, if they trust the talisman’s power, drinking it will help them.”

Wei Lan nodded slowly. “So, even you wouldn’t guarantee its effectiveness?”

“That’s right.” Liu Mingyi admitted. “Zhu You Shu has no pharmacological basis, but it can calm a patient’s mind. Many illnesses—three parts in the body, seven parts in the mind.”

“That’s just a placebo effect,” Wei Lan pointed out.

Liu Mingyi laughed. “A good analogy. But when I can, I still prefer real medicine over spells.”