The Nation’s Master Physician Takes a Disciple: Her Origins Run Deep
The next morning, Su Qing headed for the cattle shed.
“Cattle shed” was a generous description—it was a crumbling adobe hut at the far western edge of the village, pressed right up against a pigsty, the air thick with the lingering stench of livestock.
This was where Shen Henian lived.
Inside, there was nothing but a splintered wooden bed, a threadbare quilt thin enough to see sunlight through, and an enamel mug with a chip missing from its rim.
Nothing more.
Su Qing stood in the doorway for a moment, silent.
The nation’s greatest physician. The man who had once tended to the country’s top leaders. Living next door to a pigsty.
Such were the times.
She drew a steadying breath, fixed a sweet, obedient smile on her face, and rapped gently on the half-closed door.
“Grandpa Shen? I’ve come to see you.”
Shen Henian was sitting cross-legged on his bed, eyes closed in quiet meditation. He opened them at the sound of her voice.
“You’re here.”
“Mhm.” Su Qing set a paper parcel down before him. “Brought you a few things.”
Shen Henian unfolded the paper. Two steamed wheat buns, a small dish of peanuts, and a salted duck egg.
In this village, wheat buns were already a rare luxury. But what really made his eyes light up were the peanuts—fried in fragrant oil, plump and golden, releasing a rich, mouthwatering scent.
“Fine cooking,” he murmured, popping one into his mouth and chewing slowly. “Where did you get peanut oil? This village can barely even keep rapeseed oil in stock.”
“Sent by a relative,” Su Qing said without a flicker of hesitation.
Shen Henian glanced at her. Deep in his clouded old eyes, a flicker of understanding passed. He asked no further questions.
One does not question the hand that feeds. Besides—peanuts were not what truly interested him.
“Girl.”
“Mm?”
“Who taught you your acupuncture techniques?”
Su Qing set down the enamel mug. She had known this question would come sooner or later—and she had her answer ready.
“My grandmother.”
“Your grandmother?”
“Yes. She was a barefoot doctor back home. Taught me to identify herbs and handle silver needles from the time I was small.” Su Qing lowered her gaze, her voice soft. “Before she passed on, she taught me everything she knew.”
“Including Green Turtle Probing the Cave?”
“She said it was passed down through our family, and told me never to teach it to outsiders.”
Shen Henian held her gaze for five long seconds.
“You’re lying,” he said gently.
His tone was light, almost amused—but his certainty was absolute.
Su Qing’s fingers curled slightly.
“Green Turtle Probing the Cave was lost one hundred and twenty years ago,” Shen Henian said, as calmly as if he were commenting on the weather. “The last master of the technique was Meng Baichuan, imperial physician to the Tongzhi Emperor. When he died, the method died with him.”
“No family tradition among folk healers could possibly hold it. Because it never once spread beyond the imperial court.”
Su Qing said nothing.
Shen Henian looked at her, his expression turning earnest.
“Girl, I’m not trying to force you to reveal what you wish to keep hidden. Everyone has secrets. I only want to know one thing.”
He held out his hand, palm up.
“Let me see your wrist.”
Su Qing hesitated for only a heartbeat. Then she placed her wrist in his hand.
Shen Henian’s fingers settled lightly over her pulse.
One second. Two. Three.
His brows drew slowly together. At five seconds, they relaxed—then furrowed again, shifting back and forth between astonishment and quiet certainty.
“Your pulse…” He released her wrist and looked at her closely. “Your qi and blood are abundant, your meridians unobstructed, your dantian warm and steady. There is a faint, constant… energy flowing through you.”
He chose his words carefully.
“Spiritual energy.”
Su Qing’s pupils narrowed—so faintly it was barely perceptible. But Shen Henian’s eye was sharp enough to catch it.
“There’s no need to be nervous,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “I’ve lived seventy-three years—there’s little I haven’t seen.”
“That energy of yours—like those lost techniques you wield—comes from somewhere extraordinary. I will not ask where.”
“I will only ask one thing.” He looked her straight in the eye.
“Will you be my student?”
Su Qing’s heart skipped a beat. Shen Henian wanted to take her as his disciple?
She had the ancient texts in her space, the knowledge of her past life—her skill already outstripped almost every doctor of this era. But books were only theory. Shen Henian was a living, breathing library of fifty years of hands-on practice.
More than that—he was the nation’s master physician, the very peak of the capital’s medical establishment. Even now, living in squalor next to a pigsty, the tides would turn. The political campaigns would end, exiles would be vindicated—and when that day came, being Shen Henian’s disciple would be a golden ticket straight into the highest medical circles in the country.
Her mind ran through the pros and cons in half a second.
She stood up, stepped back, and bowed deeply and formally.
“Master. I, Su Qing, ask to be accepted as your disciple.”
Shen Henian threw his head back and laughed. The sound echoed through the drafty hut, sending clouds of dust drifting down from the rafters. He laughed for a long time, wiping tears from his eyes.
“Good. Excellent.”
“The worst stroke of luck in my life was being branded a rightist,” he said at last. “But perhaps the best—was stumbling across you in this godforsaken corner of the world.”
The initiation was simple enough: plain boiled water stood in for ceremonial tea, and Su Qing knelt three times on the packed earth, pressing her forehead firmly to the ground each time. No hesitation, no holding back.
Shen Henian nodded in approval.
“Rise,” he said. “From today onward, I will teach you everything I have learned in my lifetime. On one condition.”
Su Qing stood and brushed the dirt from her knees. “Please say, Master.”
“You must teach me in return.”
“…Pardon?”
“Those techniques of yours—Green Turtle Probing the Cave, Crane Soaring the Nine Heavens, and that variation on Phoenix Ascending, Dragon Soaring you used to withdraw the needles the other day. I’ve only ever read fragments of descriptions in damaged ancient scrolls. Never have I seen them performed.”
His eyes shone bright, like a collector gazing upon a treasure beyond price.
“Teach me those, and I will share every lesson from fifty years of practice. A fair trade.”
Su Qing smiled. “It’s a deal.”
Walking out of the hut, Su Qing felt lighter than she had in days. Light enough to slip a White Rabbit cream candy from her pocket, unwrap it, and pop it into her mouth.
Sweet. Rich with milk. She closed her eyes, savoring it for a moment—then a jeep pulled up right in front of her, kicking up a cloud of dust.
The window rolled down, revealing a sharp, stony face. Lu Zhanye sat in the back seat, uniform crisp, his expression anything but pleasant.
“Get in.”
Su Qing spoke around the candy, her voice muffled: “Commander, is something wrong—”
“Get in,” he repeated.
This time, she noticed something: his gaze wasn’t fixed on her face. It was fixed on her mouth—on the candy she was chewing, on the slight roundness of her cheeks. His Adam’s apple bobbed. Then he snapped his head sharply away.
“Now,” he said, his voice inexplicably rough.
Su Qing climbed in, pulling the door shut behind her.
“What is it?”
Lu Zhanye kept his eyes fixed straight ahead, jaw set tight. He was quiet for five long seconds.
“Why did you go to the cattle shed?”
Su Qing blinked. How did he know? Right—he had people watching her. She’d nearly forgotten.
“To see Grandpa Shen,” she said honestly. “He lives all alone there, and I felt sorry for him. Brought him some food.”
“You brought food for a strange old man.”
“Mhm.”
“What did you bring for me?”
Su Qing stared at him. He still hadn’t turned to look at her—but the tip of his ear was bright red.
She almost laughed out loud. This man was jealous of a seventy-three-year-old hermit.
Hiding her smile, she pulled a second White Rabbit candy from her pocket and held it out.
“For you.”
Lu Zhanye stared at the little candy, its wrapper printed with a bright rabbit. He had served in the army for ten years, fought hand-to-hand on the border, gnawed through frozen hardtack on snowbound peaks. No one had ever given him a cream candy before.
He took it, his movements stiff.
“How do I open it?”
Su Qing bit back a laugh. Leaning forward, she took the candy from his hand, peeled off the wrapper, and held the smooth white piece out to him.
“Open your mouth.”
Lu Zhanye glanced at her. Then he obeyed.
Su Qing popped the candy past his lips. Her fingertips brushed his lower lip.
Both of them froze for a heartbeat.
Su Qing pulled her hand back quickly.
Lu Zhanye settled the candy in his mouth and chewed twice, his face impassive.
Sweet. Very sweet.
He thought to himself: perhaps thirty percent of that sweetness came from the candy itself. The other seventy percent came from the brush of her fingers.
The car fell quiet for a long while.
Up front, Xiao Zhao glanced in the rearview mirror. His commander sat staring straight ahead, chewing a tiny White Rabbit cream candy with deadly seriousness, the tip of his right ear still glowing red.
Xiao Zhao quickly shifted his gaze back to the road. Some things were not meant to be seen. Seeing them would only spell trouble.