Chapter 2: Embracing Life Through Death

Zhang Shen hesitated for about three seconds before climbing up, dampening his hair with the half-finished bottle of mineral water by his pillow, and heading to open the door.

The young woman from earlier stood at the threshold, her cheeks puffed with indignation. “What’s wrong with you? I just helped you out, and you don’t even say thank you!”

“Mm, thank you,” Zhang Shen replied with a nod.

She rolled her eyes in exasperation. “You really are hopelessly blunt. At the very least, you could invite me in to sit for a while.”

“Alright, come in and have a seat,” Zhang Shen considered, stepping aside.

Peeking in, she found the tiny attic, less than ten square meters, lacked even a single chair. Besides the bed, the only other item was an old-fashioned medicine chest, the kind wandering physicians carried in TV dramas.

She certainly couldn’t sit atop the medicine chest. After a few awkward moments, she took a breath. “Let me buy you a cup of tea… You’re not allowed to refuse. Just take it as thanks for me helping you out!”

Heaven’s gifts, if refused, bring disaster. Besides, Zhang Shen didn’t feel the offer of tea was something he couldn’t accept. After a brief moment’s thought, he nodded. “Alright, but I have to be back before seven. I have work.”

“What work? The clinic? Or are you a private doctor?”

“Night shift at an internet café.”

She nearly tumbled down the stairs in shock. When she bounced back up, her expression was as if Zhang Shen had tossed a mountain of gold into the sea, full of anguish. “My friend, with medical skills like yours, you’re working as an internet café attendant?”

Zhang Shen glanced at her calmly, unperturbed. “How do you know my skills are that good?”

“That’s easy,” she replied proudly, tilting her chin. “I could tell just by watching how you handled the needles. Medicine isn’t something you can fake. To manipulate needles with such dexterity, you’d need at least a decade of practice. And you’re so young—it means you must have grown up in a medical family, learning since childhood. Plus, you have to be naturally gifted. Am I wrong?”

Zhang Shen only smiled, saying nothing. It was true he’d studied medicine from a young age, but as for coming from a medical family—his master, that wily old man, hardly counted. He possessed skills, but in today’s world, what mattered were medical licenses, credentials, reputation. In a hospital, someone like him—an unknown villager with no connections—his abilities would only serve as a stepping stone for others.

“How about you come help me out instead? I guarantee the pay’s better than working at an internet café.”

“You’re a doctor?”

“No,” the young woman quickly clarified, seeing Zhang Shen’s expression shift, “but I have a lot of patients!”

“Please, help me. My patients have it tough. The doctors with their noses in the air won’t come to places like this. Just consider it a side job, alright?”

After a brief consideration, Zhang Shen agreed, and so the promised cup of tea went unconsumed. Leaving the noodle shop downstairs, they turned straight into the nursing home at the far end of Shunyi Lane.

The young woman deftly opened the iron gate and entered the dormitory building. She pushed open several rooms, finding no one. Puzzled, she tilted her head. “Where did everyone go?”

Just then, a young nurse came rushing down the corridor. Spotting the two, she paused, then flew into the young woman’s arms, sobbing uncontrollably. “Ah Yun, Director Shen… Director Shen is dying…”

The young woman’s face changed. “What happened?”

“I don’t know… We called an ambulance, but it hasn’t arrived yet…”

“Take me to her!” Grabbing the nurse’s hand, she dashed upstairs. Zhang Shen frowned slightly but followed.

A crowd of elderly men and women were clustered at the director’s office door. The three squeezed their way through, inside finding a middle-aged woman, perhaps fifty, sprawled on the floor, face ashen, her chest barely moving—almost imperceptibly so.

Zhang Shen immediately recognized the telltale signs of a cerebral infarction. Given Shunyi Lane’s traffic conditions, she likely couldn’t be saved. At best, she had three minutes left. If he didn’t want trouble, he shouldn’t intervene.

But a healer’s heart cannot ignore the dying.

“Turn her over, lay her flat!” Zhang Shen barked, wasting no time. He whipped out his silver needles, hurried to her side, and with a flick of his fingers, drove two needles into the nape of her neck.

The young woman helping to turn Director Shen nearly cried out, but Zhang Shen’s expression was so grave she swallowed the sound.

Among the bystanders, an elderly man with snow-white hair leapt up in fury. “You brat, are you saving her or killing her? How dare you pierce the carotid sinus? Yun, he’s going to get your Aunt Shen killed!”

As he spoke, Zhang Shen had already inserted two more needles. “Massage Yifeng and Ermen points. Don’t stop,” he commanded, his hands never pausing as he worked steadily down from head to ankle, his fingers like flying silk, nearly a hundred needles set in less than a minute.

The old man who had intended to strike was now frozen, gripping his cane in indecision, staring in shock.

When Zhang Shen finished needling, he performed a quick meridian massage. After two or three minutes, he produced half a pellet of medicine and handed it to the old man. “Half a cup of warm water, dissolve and mix well.”

The old man’s face twitched several times as he stared at the pill, but finally snatched it up and hurried off.

Once the warm liquid had been coaxed down the woman’s throat, Zhang Shen finally stood. “She should survive. Move her to the bed.”

The two young women immediately complied, lifting Director Shen. But as they did, a bead of blood welled from her nose, then blood bubbles frothed at her lips, droplets falling in a steady stream.

The elders’ faces changed dramatically. “Yun, where did you find this charlatan?” The old man raged, joined by a chorus of angry voices. “If anything happens to Xiao Shen, don’t think we’ll let this go!”

The young woman was clearly shaken; bleeding from the seven orifices was a death omen. She regretted her rashness—she didn’t even know the man’s name, and had let him do as he pleased. Yet deep down, she sensed Zhang Shen was not reckless. Torn, she could only stand stiffly by the bedside, mute with anxiety.

Zhang Shen, though raised in the countryside, was not ignorant of social convention. Noticing the young woman’s predicament, he stepped forward and cupped his hands in respect. “My name is Zhang Shen. I am a doctor. Please rest assured, if anything happens to this lady, I alone am responsible. It has nothing to do with… What is your name?”

“Ah, Jiang… Jiang Muyun.”

“Yes, Jiang Muyun has no part in this.”

“Of course it’s nothing to do with Yun! You—have you ever studied medicine? Daring to stick needles in someone? If she dies, you’ll pay with your life!” the old man thundered.

Zhang Shen glanced calmly at the angry elders, nodding lightly. “Very well, I’ll pay with my life.”