Before an epileptic seizure, the patient will cry out, their body stiffens, consciousness fades, eyes roll upward, foam comes from the mouth, and limbs shake. Knowing someone has the condition is one thing; witnessing a seizure firsthand is terrifying.
Although the parents left briskly, glimpsing their son’s drooping head—rarely unrebuking—amplified their unease. But trapped in the situation, they couldn’t simply turn back in fear; that would be like presenting themselves to be struck. They reassured themselves that the young woman must be exaggerating, creating drama.
Fate, however, had other plans. Just as that thought flashed, the boy—who had been fine moments ago—suddenly seized again without warning. Huang Guilian had been watching her son closely. Seeing him convulse, her heart churned, and she instructed Ali to set the boy down and urgently intervene, as countless times before.
A parent’s love is universal, but paternal love grows through daily care, nurturing affection over time. Maternal love, experienced from pregnancy, shares heartbeat and body warmth, making it more delicate and intense, and pushing a mother to go to great lengths for her child.
The usual interventions failed. In despair, the image of Sang Zhi’s confident, unwavering assertion flooded her mind. She had said the boy would seize again in ten minutes and that only she could save him.
“Get out!” The woman, like an enraged lion, pushed aside the assisting doctors, her frail frame bursting with immense strength. She clutched her son tightly and murmured, “I have to find her. I have to find her!”
Even the leaders from the municipal office, still speaking with colleagues, heard the commotion. After inquiring, they realized the child really was seizing.
“Could it be that the young lady’s prediction was correct?” One of them muttered in awe, glancing at his watch—sure enough, it was ten minutes.
Having just replenished her energy with candy, Sang Zhi saw several shadowy figures running toward them. Wu Guan, recognizing the approaching people, couldn’t help but admire her.
“She really predicted the seizure!” he exclaimed, asking Sang Zhi how she knew so precisely.
“Just a guess, do you believe me?” she replied. Starting the acupuncture in advance prevents the boy’s weakened body from suppressing the seizure; otherwise, it would have erupted regardless. She had left a contingency, unsure if it would work—yet it did.
Huang Guilian knew asking for help again would be humiliating, but as a mother, she had no choice.
“Comrade Sang, earlier I was disrespectful. I beg you to save him again. I can pay whatever you want—even invest if needed.”
Some things, unseen firsthand, leave people unaware of the danger and difficulty of saving a life. Experiencing it once more breeds gratitude.
Seeing Sang Zhi remain silent, she thought Sang Zhi was still angry and even tried to kneel. Sang Zhi stopped her in time.
“You don’t need to do that. I barely pulled him back from the brink of death; I cannot stand by and let him suffer again. You are an honored guest—your kneeling means nothing. I’m not here to make myself feel superior.”
She was lying. If she truly wanted to save him, she would have done so immediately without waiting for a kneel or lowered attitude. Fortunately, even if some disapproved of her actions, no one dared question her now.
She removed Jiang Yan’s jacket and disinfected the needles as usual. Despite the deep night, the flashlight illuminated clearly to aid her. She held the still-convulsing boy and rapidly inserted fine needles into his body. Wu Guan had seen this before and remained calm, but the sheer precision and speed of her movements were shocking. Each thin needle pierced the skin directly—terrifyingly professional.
Sang Zhi was meticulous and skilled in medicine, though sometimes ruthless personally. Amid curious and skeptical gazes, she drew needles from her space and traced the Du Meridian along the spine, performing acupuncture at precise points: Shendao to Yangguan, Shendao to Dazhui, Yaoyi to Yingu. She rotated each needle for a minute at medium frequency.
Ali, the bodyguard, watched tensely, astonished—the boy’s body was no longer shaking as before. Such rapid improvement would have been impossible before.
Though her delicate features normally drew attention—bright, piercing eyes and full cherry-red lips—now all eyes were fixated on her expert hands. Each time she removed and reinserted a needle along the meridians, observers gasped.
Once the boy’s body calmed further, Sang Zhi inserted two needles along the Bladder Meridian near the eyebrows and finally one at the apex along the Du Meridian. Unlike the earlier vigorous, rapid stimulation, this time her movements were slower, leaving needles in place. For treatment purposes, acupuncture techniques differentiate between “tonifying” and “reducing” methods; now, the boy required tonification. His body settled, his expression free from pain.
Wei Jingrui, unfamiliar with traditional Chinese medicine, asked in a low voice why prior treatments had no effect while Sang Zhi’s method worked so well. He wouldn’t have misunderstood her otherwise.
“This condition is often caused by phlegm obstructing the heart or a deficiency of mind and spirit,” she explained. “For excess syndromes, regulate qi, disperse knots, clear phlegm and heat; for deficiency, nourish the heart and calm the mind.”
Even after the explanation, he still seemed puzzled. Sang Zhi, recognizing him as a major client, exercised patience beyond what she afforded other family members.
“Simply put, it’s the phlegm-heat affecting the heart, liver, or stomach differently. You treat each with methods to purge heart, liver, or stomach fire, assisted by medicines that clear phlegm and remove stasis. For example, if your son has liver qi stagnation and you don’t regulate the liver and smooth the qi, but instead give medicines that calm the mind and dispel wind, the treatment won’t match the condition—no wonder his health would worsen.”
Fifteen minutes passed. She removed the needles one by one, and the little boy returned to normal. Still dazed, he saw a delicate face close to his. Sang Zhi, deliberately leaning in, teasingly said as his face flushed, “I’ve saved you again.” You didn’t want to acknowledge me? I just won’t let you have your way.
The parents, not understanding the playful exchange, bundled their son in thick clothes and showed genuine gratitude when looking at her.
Sang Zhi packed up her things but didn’t put on the jacket Jiang Yan had given her.
“This acupuncture only addresses the symptoms, not the root cause. For a thorough cure, it needs to be combined with Chinese medicine.”
Saving the boy was already a huge surprise. Now she was saying that without surgery, using only acupuncture and Chinese medicine, the child had a chance to recover? Even with highly skilled international medical teams, any operation carries risks. And she could do this.
“This… this…” The parents were overwhelmed by joy and couldn’t react quickly. Sang Zhi remained unshaken.
“If you don’t believe me, that’s fine.”
“No, we believe! We believe!” They blushed, nearly shouting in excitement. Finally, this was the proper way to treat someone who saved your child—not like some others.
After keeping her head bowed for too long, Sang Zhi staggered as she stood. Someone quickly steadied her, and seeing who it was, she pushed them away.
The city officials, unaware of the young couple’s minor squabble, immediately swarmed around, asking all sorts of questions: her age, name, where she lived, her training background, and countless compliments.
Her superb medical skills not only saved the little boy, comforted the overseas Chinese, and honored ancestral knowledge, but also inspired confidence in investment prospects. How could this not be a triple blessing? Sang Zhi accepted the praise with ease.
But just as the joyful moment unfolded, an abrupt female voice rang out:
“You little brat! So you’re here—I’ve been looking for you!”