Chapter 90:

“Old Wei, look at the time. Do you think that student might not show up after all?”

The man being questioned didn’t seem the least bit flustered. He sat calmly in his chair, leisurely picked up the teacup in front of him, took a sip, and only then replied, “What’s the rush? It’s only 1:45—still fifteen minutes before our agreed time!”

The questioner choked on his words. That might be true, but any junior invited by a group of esteemed professors like them would be nervous enough to arrive an hour early, let alone right on time. Yet here they were, nearly two o’clock, and still no sign of the student. Maybe, at the last moment, she realized her deception would be exposed and simply chickened out.

The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became. He glanced at Wei Bolan’s confident expression and inwardly sneered. Fine, he’d wait those last fifteen minutes. But if she didn’t show, he wouldn’t hold back his mockery.

Others in the conference room exchanged glances, many sharing similar thoughts.

Meanwhile, Wei Bolan, outwardly composed, was actually uneasy. Based on his understanding of Qin Chaoyu, she was someone who kept her word. But with the clock ticking toward two and still no sign of her, he couldn’t help but feel unsettled.

Just then, the conference room door swung open, and in walked Qin Chaoyu.

The moment Wei Bolan saw her, his heart settled. Relaxing with a smile, he quickly stood to greet her. “Chaoyu, you’re here! Take a seat over there.”

His standing prompted the others to rise as well—after all, his status was the highest among them. Though some wore less-than-pleased expressions.

Qin Chaoyu wouldn’t dare let Wei Bolan come to her. She hurried forward, supporting him with an apologetic tone. “I’m sorry, Professor Wei. Something came up last minute, so I’m late. I kept you waiting.”

“Nonsense! We agreed on two o’clock, and it’s not even that yet. You’re not late at all.”

Wei Bolan guided her to the seat reserved for her and announced, “Now that everyone’s here, let’s keep this casual. Speak freely, whatever’s on your mind.”

Qin Chaoyu remained standing at her seat, first offering another apology. “I sincerely apologize for making all of you wait so long. That was my mistake.” Her apology wasn’t out of obligation—she genuinely felt guilty for keeping these elders, who could easily be her grandparents, waiting.

Then, with a solemn expression, she continued, “I know many of you doubt me. How much could a sophomore possibly know about traditional Chinese medicine? But I want to say this: though I’m only a second-year student, I’ve been studying under my master since I was one year old. That’s eighteen years of experience. I believe my accumulated knowledge is no less than that of doctoral or graduate students. The only thing I lack is formal academic recognition.”

Hearing that she had eighteen years of study under her belt, most of the professors visibly softened. They weren’t inherently unwilling to believe a sophomore could possess advanced medical skills—it was just that, naturally, they trusted those with longer experience more. Now that they knew Qin Chaoyu had such a foundation, they could at least accept that she wasn’t some random recommendation meant to deceive them.

Once she finished, she sat down. Wei Bolan wasted no time. “Ask whatever questions you have.”

The professors exchanged glances, none speaking up immediately. Finally, a kind-faced, portly man patted his round belly and chuckled. “Let me start with something simple. Night sweats—perspiration during sleep that stops upon waking. What are the underlying conditions, and how would you treat them?”

Without hesitation, Qin Chaoyu answered, “Night sweats primarily stem from two pathologies. First, yin deficiency with internal heat—manifesting as night sweats or spontaneous sweating, feverish sensations in the palms and soles, possible afternoon tidal fever, flushed cheeks, thirst, a red tongue with scant coating, and a thready, rapid pulse. Second, stagnant heat—profuse sweating that stains clothes yellow, flushed face, irritability, bitter taste in the mouth, dark urine, a thin yellow tongue coating, and a wiry, rapid pulse.”

“Treatment differs based on the pathology. For yin deficiency with heat, nourish yin and reduce fire—prescription: Danggui Liuhuang Tang. For stagnant heat, clear liver heat and resolve dampness—prescription: Longdan Xiegan Tang.”

The old man nodded subtly. Answering so swiftly demonstrated at least a solid grasp of TCM. Still, some remained unimpressed—night sweats were a basic condition, after all.

But now, the professors set aside their pride and began firing questions.

“*Su Wen Xuan Ji Yuan Bing Shi* states: ‘Nasal obstruction is blockage of the nose.’ So, what’s the best treatment for nasal obstruction?”

Qin Chaoyu: “*Zhu Bing Yuan Hou Lun* attributes it to lung damage by wind-cold, leading to fluid stagnation—treatment should warm the lungs and resolve dampness. Meanwhile, *Zheng Zhi Zhun Sheng* suggests nourishing the lungs and spleen. Combining both approaches is optimal.”

“Palpitations—rapid, irregular heartbeat due to deficiency of qi, blood, yin, or yang, or obstruction by phlegm or blood stasis. How would you treat it?”

Qin Chaoyu: “Palpitations have multiple pathologies—heart timidity, phlegm-fire harassing the heart, heart blood stasis, water attacking the heart, heart yang deficiency, yin deficiency with fire, heart-spleen deficiency, etc. Each requires different treatments. Listing them all would take too long, so I’ll just summarize prevention: regulate emotions, moderate diet, and strengthen constitution.”

…

Back and forth it went for over an hour. The more they questioned, the more astonished the professors grew.

These were veterans with decades of TCM experience, familiar with hundreds, if not thousands, of conditions. To randomly name a condition and instantly provide an effective treatment required their decades of practice—yet Qin Chaoyu, young as she was, answered flawlessly. Sometimes, her solutions were even more efficient than what they knew.

What kind of foundation was this?

Could her master be some reclusive grandmaster?

Wei Bolan hadn’t spoken since the questioning began. He kept his eyes lowered, seemingly engrossed in the intricate patterns of his teacup or the elegant drift of tea leaves—utterly inconspicuous. Only when the debates quieted did he set his cup down with a *clink*, instantly silencing the room.

“Any further doubts?”

His tone wasn’t so much a question as a declaration. He already knew they were convinced.

The professors exchanged awkward glances. Admitting defeat outright would mean swallowing their earlier sarcasm—how humiliating. But staying silent wouldn’t save face either.

Finally, the portly old man who’d asked the first question spoke up. “Ah, Old Wei, we misjudged you. This Qin student truly has remarkable talent!”

With that opening, the others followed.

“Indeed, nominating her is only right!”

“With Qin here, our TCM delegation might just stun everyone at this year’s conference!”

…

Despite their advanced ages, these professors were no slouches at flattery—quoting classics, heaping praise—until even Qin Chaoyu, who prided herself on thick skin, grew flushed.

Wei Bolan, however, listened with visible delight, nodding along as if they’d spoken his very thoughts.

Qin Chaoyu, torn between amusement and exasperation, discreetly tugged his sleeve, reminding him to focus.

Snapping back to reality, Wei Bolan coughed sternly and scolded, “Enough, enough. Let’s get to the main matter.”

The professors’ lips twitched, but they obediently ceased their awkward praise. Still, they side-eyed Wei Bolan’s sudden seriousness.

*As if we didn’t see you enjoying it just now. Now you play the stern elder?*

Having reined them in, Wei Bolan said nothing more, merely shooting a disdainful glance at the vice-principal, who’d been shrinking into his seat since the debate began. A silent command: *Say something.* Then he leaned back comfortably.

*If you’re here, you might as well be useful. Otherwise, what’s the point?*

The vice-principal, choosing to ignore any implied criticism in Wei Bolan’s look, stood with his round belly and mediated dutifully. “Well, after this discussion, we’ve all seen Qin’s capabilities. Any objections to nominating her?”

Fan Shanxiang glanced around. Predictably, no one responded. Unfazed—perhaps from experience—he plowed on enthusiastically. “Then congratulations, Qin! We hope you’ll strive further, bringing honor to our school and our country!”

He clapped loudly. The silence that followed was deafening. Qin Chaoyu cringed on his behalf.

Realizing the awkwardness, the vice-principal pretended nothing happened and quietly suggested, “Shall we adjourn?”

The moment he finished, Wei Bolan stood to leave. Qin Chaoyu followed. But after a few steps, Wei Bolan turned back abruptly. “Shanxiang, be more straightforward. Cut the empty formalities.”

With that, he strode out, hands behind his back, leaving Fan Shanxiang bewildered. *Was Wei displeased I didn’t praise Qin enough?*

In truth, Wei Bolan simply found him too verbose. The outcome was decided—just announce it and be done. All that pomp was unnecessary.

As for the others, they saw right through Wei Bolan’s stern facade—beneath it, he was practically preening.