A divine healer, a general, a young marquis! Who can rival them!

The family that came to seek medical help that day was the Wei family, who owned a silk shop in the north of the city.

The visitor was the eldest son of the Wei family. His eyes reddened as soon as he entered, and he knelt down with a thud: "Doctor Yang, please, please see my father. All the doctors in the city have come to see him, and they all shook their heads and sighed, saying my father is suffering from consumptive diseases and is on his last legs, telling us... telling us to prepare for his funeral. But my father is only in his early fifties, and he was perfectly fine just half a year ago. How could he have collapsed like this?"

Yang Hu helped him up, slung his medicine box over his shoulder, and left.

The Wei family owned a grand residence on a wide street in the north of the city. Old Master Wei lay on his bed, emaciated, his face ashen, his mind fluctuating between lucidity and delirium, muttering incoherently. Several doctors, all well-known in the city, surrounded the bed. Seeing Yang Hu's youth, they looked at him with disdain. An elderly doctor with a white beard stroked his beard and said slowly, "This is years of tuberculosis; his internal organs are completely drained. There's no way to save him. No young man can save him by showing off his abilities."

Yang Hu didn't reply. He stepped forward, took the pulse, and then examined it carefully.

He lifted Old Master Wei's eyelids, pried open his mouth to examine his gums, and then picked up his withered hands to examine his fingernails one by one. Seeing the horizontal white lines on his fingernails and the bluish-black line along the edge of his gums, his brows gradually furrowed.

Ordinary consumptive diseases, caused by deficiency of the internal organs and depletion of both qi and blood, would never show such neat horizontal lines on the nails, much less leave such a dark bluish line on the gums. Yang Hu had seen these two things in medical books from his previous life, and also on living people. They were traces that would gradually appear over time as toxins entered the blood and bone marrow.

These thoughts flashed through his mind, but he remained expressionless.

"When did the old master's illness begin?" he asked, turning to the eldest son of the Wei family. "Did he first feel numbness in his hands and feet, as if there was a layer of cloth around them, making it difficult to exert any strength? Later, did he experience abdominal cramps and gradually lose his energy?"

Young Master Wei was taken aback, then nodded repeatedly: "Exactly! That's exactly right! Doctor Yang, how did you know?"

"Furthermore," Yang Hu's voice deepened, "did the old master eat or drink anything in the past six months that aggravated his condition?"

Everyone in the room was stunned.

Yang Hu slowly straightened up and said, word by word, "This isn't tuberculosis. The old master's internal organs weren't dried out. He's been poisoned."

The moment the word "poisoning" was uttered, the room erupted in uproar.

The white-bearded old doctor was the first to jump up, puffing out his beard and glaring: "Nonsense! I've practiced medicine for forty years, and I've seen countless cases of tuberculosis. How could I be wrong? What do you, a mere twenty-something with no beard, know?"

"You've seen many cases of tuberculosis," Yang Hu said calmly, "but have you seen the horizontal lines on the old master's fingernails? Have you seen the black lines on his gums? His hands and feet are numb, like he's wearing gloves and socks, in segments—these aren't signs of tuberculosis, but signs of stagnant, insidious poisoning that has accumulated over time and seeped into his meridians. This poison isn't potent; it won't kill him in a short time, but over time, it will ruin his internal organs."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over everyone in the room, before settling on: "This poison was added to the old master's food day after day by someone."

The room was deathly silent.

The white-bearded old doctor's face turned pale and then red. After decades of practicing medicine, he couldn't maintain his composure and forced a cold laugh: "Nonsense! You say it's poisoning, so it's poisoning? Can you produce any proof?"

"The proof is on the old master's person," Yang Hu said calmly. "If you don't believe me, you can stay here and watch me administer the medicine. If the old master's mental state and appetite don't improve within three to five days, I'll accept whatever you say about the poisoning. If he does recover," he paused, his gaze sweeping lightly over the doctors, "you've practiced medicine for many years, yet you can't even distinguish between poison and disease. It's hard to say whether the patients in this city will dare to entrust their lives to you in the future."

These words, though seemingly gentle, were actually quite sharp, leaving the doctors speechless.

Young Master Wei's face turned deathly pale, his lips trembling: "Poison...poison? Who...who would harm my father?"

"We can't be sure who poisoned him yet," Yang Hu said. "But as long as this poison continues, the old master won't recover. The most urgent thing is to stop and replace all the food and medicine we're giving him; then we should use detoxifying herbs like mung beans and licorice to cleanse and expel the poison. We can still save his life."

Young Master Wei was completely disoriented. In his desperation, he gritted his teeth and made a decision: he would do whatever Yang Hu said.

Yang Hu immediately revised the prescription. To cure this yin poison, one cannot rush into a fierce attack. One must use clearing and detoxifying substances such as mung beans, licorice, and Smilax glabra to gradually guide the poison that has entered the bloodstream out of the body. At the same time, one must take care of the old master's long-depleted body and use some warming and nourishing medicines to support his vital energy, lest he collapse before the poison is cleared.

He then gave detailed instructions on the proper preparation of the medicine and dietary restrictions. The most important rule was that everything the old master ate, from soup to medicine, must henceforth be handled and tasted by the young master himself, and no one else was allowed to touch it. This rule seemed harsh, but Yang Hu spoke of it with great seriousness—since the poison came from food, cutting off this route was more effective than any elixir.

The doctors watched coldly, waiting to see the young man make a fool of himself.

Unexpectedly, over the course of three to five days, Old Master Wei's mind, which had been alternating between lucidity and confusion, became clearer day by day. He, who had previously been unable to swallow a single bite of rice, could now drink half a bowl of porridge. After a few more days, the numbness in his withered hands and feet gradually subsided, and a trace of long-lost color even appeared at the base of his fingernails.

The entire Wei family went from initial skepticism to tears of joy. The eldest son of the Wei family stayed by his father's bedside, watching his father recover day by day, his eyes welling up with tears several times. He truly understood now that if this young, miraculous doctor hadn't seen through his deception at a glance, his father's life would likely have been lost in those seemingly ordinary bowls of food.

The man whom all the city's renowned doctors had pronounced dead was actually pulled back from the brink of death by this young man in his early twenties.

The white-bearded old doctor was too ashamed to visit the Wei family again and left dejectedly.

Young Master Wei, clutching a thick gift of thanks, remained kneeling, refusing to rise. As usual, Yang Hu only accepted his due consultation fee. Before leaving, Young Master Wei, his eyes red, asked softly, "Dr. Yang, whoever poisoned him…?"

Yang Hu glanced at him, not finishing his sentence: "The poison is a slow-acting one, it's been administered for more than a day. In this household, who gets to eat at the old master's house every day, and who hopes he'll pass away soon—you'll gradually figure it out. This matter can't be rushed."

Young Master Wei clenched his fist and nodded emphatically.

On the way back, Qin Ying pretended to carry a medicine bag and followed behind, whispering, "They can even identify poisoning. There are probably many more shady things going on in this city than just this one."

Yang Hu looked at the bustling crowds in the city, his eyes darkening.

Yes. Beneath the glamorous facades of this city, the shady hands lurking in the shadows are far more numerous than just the Wei family's case. If the wealth of a single household can inspire such wicked intentions as to poison someone daily, how ruthless must the hand operating in the western prefectural governor's mansion, a hand that holds sway over the survival of the border?

Yang Hu clenched his fist, suppressing his emotions. He could uncover the Wei family's affair with his own eyes and hands; but to uncover the deeper, darker thread, he would have to wait and endure.

His renowned medical skills were a stepping stone. The doors of the city were opening one by one for him.