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

On the day of the competition, the largest medical clinic in the city was packed inside and out.

A clearing was made in the center of the clinic, where two medical records were laid out. Seated on armchairs on either side were several respected old doctors and prominent gentry, witnessing the competition. All around, a dense crowd of onlookers had gathered, stretching as far as the eye could see, even extending to the long street outside the clinic, where people craned their necks in disbelief. Such a spectacle was unseen in the city for many years. On one side was a highly respected old doctor with fifty years of experience, on the other a young doctor who had risen to fame in just six months, bringing the dead back to life. Who was superior? Today, they would find out.

Song Yitie arrived early, dressed in a long blue robe, sitting upright behind his consultation table, his hair and beard graying, exuding a calm and composed demeanor. When Yang Hu arrived, all eyes immediately fell on this young doctor in his early twenties. Some whispers inevitably arose among the crowd.

"This greenhorn, with no experience in his life, dares to compare himself to the renowned physician, Dr. Song, in the art of medicine?"

"He looks quite young, but how much real skill does he possess?"

Such whispers rose and fell among the crowd. Although this young doctor had some reputation, many people were worried for him as he faced Song Yitie, who had been practicing medicine for fifty years.

Yang Hu pretended not to hear, bowed to Song Yitie with the respect due to a junior, then cupped his hands to the elderly witnesses, and sat down behind another medical table. Qin Ying and Liu Ye stood guard on his left and right.

The competition was hosted by the oldest doctor in town. He cleared his throat and said, "In the path of medicine, observation, auscultation, inquiry, and palpation are essential, with diagnosis being the first step. This first round will test our knowledge of 'diagnosis.' Bring the patient in."

Two strong men carried a stretcher and carried a patient to the center of an open space.

The patient was a man in his thirties, but at that moment his face was flushed, his body was burning hot, and he kept complaining about feeling hot and wanting to drink cold water, looking extremely feverish.

"Please take my pulse first," the old doctor said.

Song Yitie stood up first, stepped forward to take the man's pulse, and then examined his complexion and tongue. After stroking his beard and pondering for a moment, he made a judgment: "This man is flushed, hot, restless, and thirsty, clearly suffering from a fire rising upwards. He should be given bitter and cold medicine to clear his internal heat and purge the fire."

As soon as he said this, people around nodded in agreement. The patient's feverish condition was obvious, making the diagnosis of "excessive internal heat" a logical conclusion. Even among the few old doctors who witnessed the incident, most nodded slightly, clearly agreeing with the diagnosis.

It was Yang Hu's turn.

He stepped forward and first took the man's pulse, his brow twitching almost imperceptibly. The pulse, when pressed on the surface, was rapid and forceful, but as his fingers sank deeper, the pulse felt hollow and weak at its core. He then examined the man's tongue, pressed his chest and abdomen, and felt his hands and feet. The man complained of feeling hot, yet his hands and feet were icy cold; he asked for cold water, and when a bowl of cold water was brought to his lips, he didn't actually drink it. Individually, these signs were unremarkable; but together, they revealed the truth.

Yang Hu had already made up his mind.

He straightened up and said, word by word, "This junior believes that Mr. Song has made a mistake."

These words caused an uproar in the room.

Song Yitie's face darkened. A murmur of disbelief rippled through the crowd. This young man had actually dared to refute the old physician Song's pronouncement in public.

"This patient appears to be a ball of real fire," Yang Hu said calmly and loudly, "but this fire is fake. This is called true cold with false heat. The true yang in his body has declined to the extreme, and the deficient yang in his body has been forced to rise to the surface, which is why he is putting on this false appearance of a flushed face and a hot body. Look, everyone—although his body is hot, his hands and feet are cold; he keeps saying he wants to drink cold water, but when the cold water is at his lips, he doesn't actually drink it. This sign of true cold inside and false heat outside can fool the eyes, but it can't fool the pulse under the hand."

He paused, his gaze sweeping over the elderly witnesses: "If this condition were treated as a case of 'excessive heat,' using a bitter and cold medicine to purge the fire would be like adding insult to injury, completely extinguishing the last vestiges of his true yang. He would be gone in less than three days. This fire should not be purged; instead, we should use very hot medicine to restore his extinguished true yang—this is called 'guiding the fire back to its source.'"

The buzzing throughout the venue gradually subsided.

Among the elderly doctors who witnessed the incident, one with many years of medical experience suddenly brightened up upon hearing this. He abruptly stood up, stepped forward, pressed the man's hands and feet, and carefully examined his pulse. After a long while, he sighed deeply: "Cold hands and feet... a floating and large pulse that feels hollow upon palpation... This young man is right. This is a case of true cold with false heat, a symptom of 'wearing yang' (a traditional Chinese medicine term for a condition where heat is present but the body is actually cold). I, an old man, almost misdiagnosed it."

As soon as he spoke, the elderly witnesses gathered around, some taking his pulse, others examining his tongue, all showing expressions of surprise and admiration.

This sentence was like a final, decisive statement.

A moment of deathly silence fell over the entire arena, followed by an uproar of astonishment. Those who had previously scoffed at Yang Hu's youth were now gaping in disbelief.

Song Yitie sat upright behind his medical desk, his old face turning red and then white, then red again. He had practiced medicine for fifty years and was confident that his diagnostic skills were unparalleled in the world, but he never expected that he would lose to a young man in his early twenties in this very first round.

But this old doctor was a man of principle. He stood up slowly after a long pause, cupped his hands in a respectful gesture towards Yang Hu, and said, "I have lost this round. True cold and false heat are the easiest to deceive people. I only looked at the surface and did not delve into the true nature of the pulse. Doctor Yang has excellent eyesight."

Yang Hu quickly stood up and returned the greeting: "Mr. Song, you flatter me. This evidence was extremely dangerous. If it were anyone else, nine times out of ten they would have been fooled by this fake heat. It was just my good fortune."

His humble words elicited another murmur of admiration from the audience. To be able to so openly admit defeat after losing in front of everyone—this composure only increased their respect for the old doctor. The elderly witnesses stroked their beards and nodded, praising the upright character of the old man and the young man.

Song Yitie waved his hand, and the unconvinced spirit in his old eyes faded a bit, replaced by genuine seriousness: "The outcome is decided, and I accept it. But this is only the first round, a contest of eyesight. In the second round, I want to compete with you in treating truly difficult and serious illnesses, to see whose prescription is more likely to save a life."

These words caused another stir in the arena. The contest between the old and the young was becoming increasingly exciting. The spectators below the stage were completely captivated. Those who had previously scoffed at Yang Hu's youth were now his supporters, cheering him on at the top of their lungs.

Yang Hu, however, did not relax in the slightest because of this small victory. His eyes swept silently across the cheering crowd—beneath the clamor that had captured the attention of the entire city, where were those eyes that had followed them all the way hiding now?

He slowly cupped his hands and replied in a deep voice, "Since you have such intentions, sir, I will accompany you to the end."

The second patient was already on their way. Amidst the lively atmosphere, a pair of watchful eyes were quietly closing in.