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

After that trip to protect the road, Yang's reputation rose even higher.

The line of patients stretched all the way to the alley entrance; people even came from the west and south of the city seeking his help. Yang Hu continued to see patients every day, and in his spare time, he checked the accounts, tended the medicinal herb garden, and investigated the path along the rocky hill.

That noon, he took Aji to Sun's shop to get some medicinal herbs.

As usual, Old Manager Sun didn't raise the price by a single penny. In the end, he gave him an extra handful of honeysuckle. On the way back, Aji carried the medicine bag in one hand and two sugar cakes stuffed into his other hand, laughing so hard that his toes smacked loudly.

When I reached a bustling street in the east of the city, it was lunchtime.

Food stalls along the street hung their signs, steam rising from their steamers. The aroma of hot flatbreads and noodles mingled with the lively chatter, all crowded together. Hardworking porters, horse-drawn cart pullers, and peddlers who roamed the streets all gathered around the tables, grabbing a bite.

Just then, a commotion broke out in front.

Someone screamed at a noodle stall.

Yang Hu looked over.

A burly man pulling a cart, who had just been eating steamed buns with gusto, suddenly stood up, clutching his neck tightly, his face flushed red.

He opened his mouth, but couldn't utter a single word. Instead, he made strange "hoarse" sounds, as if a rag was stuck in his throat.

Everyone at the stall panicked.

"Oh dear, what happened?"

"What happened?"

"Are you dizzy?"

"Pinch the philtrum!"

An old woman was busy pinching the person's philtrum, until her own fingers turned purple, but the person's condition worsened, and their face began to turn blue.

A peddler patted him on the back, his patting becoming more and more urgent; someone else said, "Hurry up and ask a shaman to come and call back the soul, it's bad luck to have bumped into someone during the day."

The man's eyes were glaring outwards, and his body was collapsing downwards.

A man in a long robe squeezed through, stroking his beard; he was a doctor from a clinic at the street corner.

He looked into the man's eyes, felt his pulse, and shook his head.

"He's had a stroke, phlegm has clouded his mind, and evil spirits have attacked his heart. Give him a sip of hot water to help him go down, and then call back his soul."

Someone brought over a bowl of hot water, intending to pour it into the man's mouth.

The man choked violently, his face turning blue.

"stop."

Yang Hu pushed the bowl of water aside.

Someone in the crowd recognized him and said, "It's Doctor Yang from the east of the city!"

The doctor glanced at him sideways, saw that he was a young man in his early twenties, and snorted.

"You little brat, what do you know? It's a stroke with phlegm buildup. If he can't drink hot water, he's done for. Go buy him a funeral shroud."

Yang Hu ignored him.

He rushed over and circled around to the back of the man.

It wasn't a stroke, nor was it any kind of evil spirit.

He choked. A piece of unchewed steamed bun was stuck in his throat and trachea, preventing him from breathing in or out.

After another incense stick burned, the person was gone.

In his old place, he could have done this in no time. Now, he doesn't even need a clean cloth; he relies entirely on his own two hands.

Yang Hu grabbed his waist, made a fist with one hand and pressed it against his heart, then grabbed him with the other hand and pushed him upwards forcefully.

The man let out a muffled sound.

Everyone was stunned.

"What are you doing?!" "Strangle me!" "Slap my stomach, beat me to death!"

The doctor's face darkened: "Damn it! You killed someone!"

Yang Hu didn't have time to talk to him about this.

Unable to push it out, he steadied his hand and tried again.

Three tops.

With a "poof".

A half-eaten piece of bread was spat out of the man's mouth.

It fell to the ground.

The man gasped for breath, hunched over, supporting himself on the stall, coughing violently.

His purplish face gradually returned to normal.

survived.

The people at the stall were completely silent for a long while before they finally erupted in a commotion.

"Is that all?", "A piece of bread? It got stuck in your throat?", "The doctor said you almost had a stroke, did you eat it?"

The man recovered and immediately knelt down before him.

"My benefactor! You saved my life!" His voice was still hoarse. "I was traveling and starving, so I stuffed this down my throat, swallowing the noodles without eating a single bite... and then I felt suffocated, couldn't see, and thought I was really going to die!"

Yang Hu helped him up.

"Eat slowly," he said. "If something gets stuck in your throat, nothing can help. If you die before an incense stick has burned out, even a god can't save you."

The doctor, who was stroking his beard, turned a liverish color. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but couldn't utter a word. He slunk away to the back of the group.

The onlookers pointed and whispered.

"Luckily, Doctor Yang passed by, otherwise that old doctor would have killed the person by treating him as if he had a stroke."

"That miracle doctor in the east of the city was recently driving away bandits from the rocky hills in the north, and he even snatched the snake bites back from the King of Hell."

No wonder, no wonder.

An uncle carrying a load on a shoulder pole licked his lips: "Years ago, I saw my little nephew. He choked on New Year's cake, and his family could only watch helplessly as he died. If it weren't for Doctor Yang, all that would have been for nothing."

Aji stared blankly at the medicine bag.

On the way home, I couldn't help but ask, "Master, that man was clearly having trouble breathing; his face turned purple. How come he didn't have a stroke?"

"A stroke patient's face is half-crooked, and their body can't move, but their breathing is still unobstructed," Yang Hu said. "They choked on something, and their breathing completely stopped. At this time, they can't breathe when they drink water, and pinching their philtrum won't help them breathe; they'll choke. You need to push the air out of their throat, and once their breathing is restored, they'll be fine."

"So you hugged me from behind?"

"It's about using a burst of energy to push the air upwards and dislodge what's stuck," Yang Hu said. "Remember, if you ever encounter someone eating and suddenly can't speak, frantically squeezing their neck, and turning purple-blue, that means they're choking on food. Don't panic, and don't drink water, just do exactly that."

Aji nodded emphatically, having memorized it.

The man was a short-legged cart driver. He had elderly parents and young children to support, and they all made a living from this kind of business.

Yang Hu didn't take anything from him, but finally tossed him two packets of phlegm-relieving medicine. The man was extremely grateful, his face flushed as he rubbed his hands, saying he had no other way to repay him, in short:

"Dr. Yang, if you ever need to run errands in the future, just call me. I won't charge you a penny!"

Yang Hu casually asked: What kind of road do we run?

Upon hearing this, the man immediately frowned: "This road to the north end has been very strange lately."

He lowered his voice and said:

"The people on Luanshigang are ruthless. They even hijacked a car belonging to Ma Ji in the west of the city a couple of days ago."

"None of us in this family dare to go? We can take a three-day detour without any problem, just to avoid them. Zhou Ji's car has made countless trips there, and nothing's happened. It's really strange!"

Yang Hu made a mental note of it.

Weekly journal entry, and also the rocky hill!

Everyone else saw this clue, but no one thought about it more deeply.

When Yang Hu returned to the clinic, it was already dark.

Lu Yan came up to him and stuffed a steaming sweet potato into his hand.

"I heard our young master rescued someone on the street?" she asked with a smile.

"They got here faster than I did!"

"It was nothing," Yang Hu said, breaking open a sweet potato and taking a big bite.

Lu Rou fiddled with the abacus, not even looking up: "Saving people is a good thing, but our young master hasn't earned a single penny. This clinic relies entirely on the few taels of silver in consultation fees!"

Spend the money that needs to be spent. Earn the money that needs to be earned.

Yang Hu laughed, "That driver's whole family depends on him. Taking a dollar from him is like taking half his life!"

Lu Rou pouted, but ultimately couldn't say anything. She added "free medicine" to the ledger, but then paused, adding the cost of the two bags as well.

Qin Ying sat by the window, holding a whetstone, but didn't touch the knife for a long time.

"You're just that kind of person."

She said, "You can never worry about the location when you're rescuing someone!"

"Wherever the patients are, that's where the hospital is!"

Qin Ying ignored her; under the light, the sharpness of her profile was somewhat diminished.

When night fell, the clinic was closed, and Yang Hu sat there.

This scene on the street today, without medicine or acupuncture, just with that one move, brought a person's choked face back to normal.

This kind of thing is the easiest to spread.

Within two days, several more people in the city would come seeking treatment from those who had heard of his reputation.

His clinic became increasingly famous.

However, the words spoken in the car got stuck in his mind.

Zhou Ji's car has traveled through the rocky hills time and time again without any accidents.

That's what made it so "strange"—something others dared not even think about, but he was determined to figure it out!

Yang Hu extinguished the oil lamp.