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

And what about the Zhao family?

It really quieted down.

It's unusually quiet!

Yang Hu knew perfectly well that the messenger's words were no joke.

But he couldn't guess where that young master Zhao would make his move.

We can only tell everyone in the yard to be careful.

Life goes on.

There are more people seeking medical treatment than when it was in the east of the city.

The Yang family's reputation as a "miracle doctor" has truly been established ever since they cured Old Master Wei.

This afternoon, there was a sudden commotion outside the door.

Two workers carried and supported a person inside.

He was a man with a face as pale as paper, his mouth and clothes covered in black bloodstains, looking like he was on the verge of death and probably wouldn't make it.

"Dr. Yang! Please, Dr. Yang, save my life!!"

One of the workers suddenly knelt down.

"Our boss...our boss has coughed up blood again!!"

This time I vomited more severely than ever before!

"What's going on?" Yang Hu put down what he was doing and rushed over.

He recognized the person.

The owner of the largest silk shop in town, Mr. Sun, brought a very heavy gift a few days ago, wanting to buy out all of their future business in wound medicine.

"What's wrong?" Yang Hu asked while taking the pulse.

"The master has been vomiting blood for several months." The shop assistant said with a mournful face, "All the doctors in the city have seen him. They all say it's some kind of tuberculosis, that the blood is coughing up from his lungs, that his internal organs are deficient, and that there's no cure. They told us to prepare for his funeral."

This afternoon, the boss was halfway through taking stock of the accounts when he suddenly vomited a mouthful of blood, enough to fill a whole basin…

The white-bearded old doctor who followed was the same one who had previously diagnosed "consumption as a fatal disease".

At this moment, however, he shrank his neck and shook his head.

"He's vomiting blood all over the place, completely drained of his vital energy. Even a miracle couldn't save him. No matter how skilled this kid is, can he really diagnose a patient like us who've been practicing medicine for decades?"

Yang Hu ignored him and placed three fingers on his wrist.

It was indeed an imaginary number, but it showed no signs of the frantic nature of consumption. He looked into Manager Sun's eyes, pried open his mouth to examine his tongue, then lowered his head and pressed several points on his stomach below his heart.

The man let out a muffled groan and curled up in pain.

He already had a plan in mind.

The blood wasn't coughed up from the lungs.

The blood was dark red, containing some undigested food. Pressing down on the area below his chest revealed a hard, throbbing pain. The cause was in his stomach; a tear had opened inside, and blood was leaking out, causing him to vomit.

What kind of tuberculosis is this?

"This isn't tuberculosis," Yang Hu said confidently, standing up. "It's a festering wound in his stomach, and the blood is leaking from that wound."

"A rotten, bleeding stomach." The white-bearded old doctor scoffed. "I've practiced medicine for forty years and I've never heard of such a thing. It's clearly tuberculosis with a cough."

"The blood he coughed up was from tuberculosis; it was fresh, frothy, and coughed up," Yang Hu interrupted him directly. "The blood he vomited was dark, mixed with food residue; it was vomited up. One is from the lungs, the other from the stomach—they're worlds apart! You're treating a stomach ailment as tuberculosis; no wonder it's getting worse!"

The old doctor opened his mouth, but in the end, he didn't dare to speak.

The waiter was startled and quickly asked, "Then...then...is our boss still alive?"

"Stop the bleeding first." Yang Hu said decisively, having already instructed Aji to fetch the medicine. "He's in a critical condition right now, the bleeding is very severe. First, stop the bleeding from his mouth, then clear the stagnant heat inside."

He then took several hemostatic and blood-stasis-removing medicines, crushed them himself, soaked them in water, and slowly poured them into Manager Sun's mouth.

Furthermore, he was instructed that for the next two days, he should not eat or drink anything but hot water to moisten his lips. After the bleeding stopped, he should only eat rice porridge and not eat anything greasy, alcoholic, or spicy.

"The hole in his stomach is the same as the rotten, insect-eaten fabric in your silk shop," Yang Hu said to the bewildered shop assistant after washing his hands. "Pull up the hole and let it heal slowly. If it heals well, it can recover. But if he continues to drink and eat spicy food like you used to, living an unhealthy life, the hole will only get bigger and bigger, and then it will be truly over."

The man's eyes welled up with tears upon hearing this, and he remembered every word.

Aji, who was assisting with the task, kept his eyes fixed on the small mortar and pestle used for grinding the medicine. Finally, he couldn't help but ask, "Master, he has a sudden illness where he's vomiting blood. He's vomiting so violently, why don't you use ginseng or anything to help him recover? Instead, you're telling him to avoid this and that?"

"This is bleeding from his stomach, not a sign of weakness," Yang Hu said, grinding the medicine without even looking up. "Using ginseng and deer antler to replenish his body at this time would be like adding fuel to the fire; the bleeding from his mouth would only intensify. We need to stop the bleeding first, then clear away the stagnant heat inside, allowing the wound to heal slowly before considering any other treatments. If the order is wrong, even the most precious herbs will only hasten his death."

Aji seemed to understand, but he still kept it firmly in mind.

After the medicine was administered, a full half hour passed, and the previously raging vomiting of blood actually stopped slowly.

Manager Sun's pale face gradually regained some color, and he let out a low groan in his dazed state.

"He's recovered." Yang Hu took his pulse. "The hardest part is over."

The kneeling man was so happy that he shed tears and kowtowed three times to Yang Hu.

The white-bearded old doctor's face turned as red as a pig's liver. He dared not stay there any longer and slunk away.

After Manager Sun regained consciousness, the shop assistant wanted to offer a thick sum of money as a consultation fee, but Yang Hu only accepted money for the medicinal herbs he had used.

"Your employer's illness is something he's been enduring; he'll need to recuperate for a while." He pushed the money back, saying, "Save the money; give him more rice, oil, and lotus root starch—things that are good for his stomach. Don't give it to me!"

The waiter was stunned, tears welling up in his eyes: "Thank you, Master Yang!" He bowed again.

Within two days, half the city knew the news:

There's a new topic of conversation in the teahouse:

"The silk shop owner, Mr. Sun, vomited a basinful of blood. The gentlemen said he was dying of tuberculosis and they were preparing for his funeral. But Dr. Yang from the west of the city revived him!"

"Absolutely! I heard that Doctor Yang could tell at a glance that the bleeding wasn't from his lungs, but from a rotten stomach. No one can match his eyesight!"

These past few days, Yang Hu has been spending extra time thinking about the unresolved matters at the Zhao residence. Lu Yan noticed his exhaustion and made him a bowl of sleeping soup every night, placing it on his table. When Lu Rou was doing her inventory, she included Sun Ji's upcoming big deal, secretly chuckling to herself. Qin Ying, as usual, was wiping her dagger, not saying much, but occasionally glancing up at the person hunched over the table.

The peaceful atmosphere in the room subtly eased Yang Hu's worries about the Zhao family.

After resting for several days, Manager Sun was finally able to get out of bed. He made a special trip to thank Yang Ji. As soon as he entered, he wanted to sell the box of wound medicine he had received earlier to Yang Ji with a profit. He also whispered something else to Yang Hu.

"I have no way to repay Dr. Yang for saving my life." He clasped his hands together, his expression somewhat hesitant. "I have something to say, but I can't say it carelessly. But I dare say that Dr. Yang has treated me well. There are a few people in this city who are not to be trifled with. The Prefectural Magistrate's Office is one of them. Our silk shop sends a lot of good goods to the Prefectural Magistrate's Office every month. Those are sources of wealth that others dare not touch. In the future, when you encounter people from that area, try to avoid dealing with them as much as possible."

Yang Hu held the teacup firmly, his face beaming with smiles, but a sudden pang of anxiety gripped his heart.

Juncheng Mansion!

It's the Prefectural Magistrate's residence again!

The Wei family's water supply is connected to it, and the people who come to deliver invitations carry it with them. Now, even the silk shop's source of income is trying to get a piece of its pie!

The rope he had been groping in the dark, the figure that had been hiding, gradually became clear through each door-to-door invitation and each expression of gratitude.

But the clearer it became, the more he understood that climbing up that rope would lead him down a path that was anything but pleasant.