Chapter Nine: A Physician’s Compassion

Doctor Zhang glanced at the village chief and Jiang Heng, shaking his head once more.
“Prepare for the worst. The pulse is chaotic, the liver and spleen are injured, but most importantly, the heart meridian has suffered damage. This is a case of convulsive fever—unless a celestial being descends to aid us, there is no hope. I am powerless to help.”
He looked at the two children, sighing inwardly. Such a complex and difficult illness—what could have caused it?
“Alas.”
“Doctor, please, I beg you to save our little Yan. I will kowtow to you.”
Jiang Heng and Jiang Ling hurriedly knelt down, preparing to bow to Doctor Zhang, while the village chief looked on with pleading eyes. Doctor Zhang quickly stopped them, but still shook his head.
“Uncle Jiang, Sister Jiang, Village Chief, you need not despair. I can cure this illness.”
Suddenly, Li Zisheng drew all eyes to himself.
Seeing Li Zisheng, a six or seven-year-old child, Doctor Zhang recalled treating him before. How could such a child speak nonsense at such a serious moment? Others might not understand, but Doctor Zhang knew well that convulsive fever was a fatal disease.
“Young child, do not cause trouble. This convulsive fever is a rare and difficult illness, impossible to treat even for the legendary physicians of old. Even if Hua Tuo himself were alive, he would struggle to work miracles.” Doctor Zhang explained patiently, knowing this was not the time for anger.
Li Zisheng looked at Doctor Zhang, fully aware his words were true. This convulsive fever was considered a challenging disease even in later dynasties, let alone now in the Tang era, when treatment for children’s convulsions was virtually nonexistent. Thus, Li Zisheng’s tone showed no disrespect for Doctor Zhang. Had Li Zisheng been born here, he would have understood Doctor Zhang’s hardships—but he was not.
“Doctor Zhang, perhaps you could allow me to try, with your supervision. If I overstep, you may stop me at once.”

Doctor Zhang now regarded Li Zisheng seriously. A seven-year-old who spoke and acted with such maturity—could he truly have a solution?
“Very well. We shall try to save a doomed horse as if it were a living one. But let me be clear: though convulsive fever is hard to cure, it does not always threaten life. If your treatment leads to death, do not blame me for sending you to the authorities.”
Doctor Zhang, both intimidating and warning, was reluctant to let a child treat such a dangerous illness. If the child succeeded, he might earn a bad reputation, but if not, he would have harmed someone’s life.
Li Zisheng listened carefully. If convulsive fever was not treated promptly, lack of oxygen could cause irreversible damage to the brain—though he would not say this directly, as Doctor Zhang would not understand. So Li Zisheng bowed politely to Doctor Zhang.
Doctor Zhang’s permission was tantamount to accepting responsibility for the outcome. If outsiders learned of this, and the child succeeded, his reputation would soar—but if he failed, blame would fall on Doctor Zhang, since Li Zisheng was only a seven-year-old.
A healer’s heart is compassionate, their skill guided by kindness, whether ancient or modern. Li Zisheng bowed again.
“I have felt their pulses. Little Jiang and the Zhang family’s grandson both have chaotic pulses, their eyelids rolled upwards. Combined with what their elders described—their panic and cries before fainting—it is acute convulsive fever. I asked the village chief and Uncle Jiang to act as they did to ease the illness’s harm.”
“Yes, quite right,” Doctor Zhang said, stroking his beard.
“So I plan to prescribe amber, cinnabar, and gold leaf to treat the children.”
“Amber, cinnabar, gold leaf; amber, cinnabar, gold leaf—how marvelous!”
“The Medical Compendium records that amber is sweet and cool, soothing the mind; cinnabar is heavy, sweet, and cold, entering the heart, cooling heat and calming fear; but what is the purpose of gold leaf?” Doctor Zhang inquired.
Li Zisheng instructed the village chief and Uncle Jiang to continue their actions.

“Gold is inherently strong; taken directly, it harms muscles and bones. But as a leaf used in medicine, it can calm the mind and spirit.” Li Zisheng spoke confidently; these remedies would only be recorded in later generations, but had already been attempted before. He did not mind Doctor Zhang’s lack of understanding.
“Indeed, amber and cinnabar are both sweet and cold, and convulsive fever already cools the liver. Would adding gold leaf not further harm the children’s bodies?” Doctor Zhang, no ordinary physician, quickly weighed the pros and cons.
“Doctor Zhang is correct. If the illness stems from an insufficiency of heart energy, causing restlessness of spirit and no external evil, then nourishing the heart and calming the spirit is urgent, not gold leaf. But I see these two children suffered great fright, allowing external evil to enter. If only the three potent medicines were used, it would not suffice. So I will also add prepared bile, bamboo yellow, ginseng, poria, yam, licorice, sweet flag, uncaria, and abalone shell for nourishment and healing.”
“Marvelous! This prescription can directly cure convulsive fever caused by fright and external evil. Truly ingenious.”
A professional recognizes quality at a glance; Doctor Zhang immediately realized the value of this prescription. It treated convulsive fever both internally and externally, without harming the organs, nourishing the blood—a most exquisite formula.
Doctor Zhang now looked at Li Zisheng, his admiration not just for the prescription, but for Li Zisheng himself—a seven-year-old child who could know such a complex formula, and most impressively, understood the properties and effects of each medicine deeply.
Impossible, impossible! Even a trained apprentice would struggle to achieve this, and after decades of practice, Doctor Zhang himself found it hard to devise such a thorough remedy. Even if Li Zisheng had started learning in the womb, it had only been six or seven years—how could he have mastered this?
Doctor Zhang’s puzzled gaze did not escape Li Zisheng, but Li Zisheng could only keep his origins forever secret. Fortunately, thanks to the earlier scene, he could find an opportunity and make up a plausible explanation.
“However, amber and gold leaf are both precious. Ordinary families cannot afford such rare ingredients, whether it be the Jiang or Zhang households—their means are modest. How could they pay?”
Doctor Zhang no longer questioned how Li Zisheng knew such a clever prescription; instead, he worried about the children’s continued treatment.
If only one dose were needed, the families might manage, but repeated use would make the cost unbearable, no matter how they scraped together their resources.