Chapter 25: Liver Qi Rebellion

The young mother, holding her child, walked into the outer acupuncture room, looking around tentatively.

Zhang Jing immediately stood up and stepped forward to greet her. "Madam, please follow me into the inner examination room."

The young mother followed, appearing hesitant. To avoid any unnecessary misunderstandings, Zhang Jing left the door open.

"Please, have a seat," Zhang Jing offered.

"Dr. Zhang, we are not here for acupuncture. We are looking for traditional Chinese medicine and herbal decoctions," the young mother reminded him.

"I understand. Please, sit down first, and let me take a good look at the little one," Zhang Jing said with a smile.

The young mother remained standing. A moment later, as if she had reached a difficult decision, she stammered, "Dr. Zhang, it’s not that I don’t believe in your skills. It’s just that my child is so young, I’m worried he won’t be able to drink the herbal medicine. S—so, I... I was wondering, could I use his appointment slot to be examined instead?"

Zhang Jing understood clearly: she still did not trust his medical expertise. In truth, it was understandable. A practitioner this young, sitting in an acupuncture room—it would be strange if she didn't have her doubts.

To put her mind at ease, Zhang Jing nodded solemnly. "That is perfectly fine. No problem at all."

The young mother had already been calculating this in her mind. They say the efficacy of a traditional Chinese physician lies entirely in their ability to read the pulse. She wanted to test his pulse-reading skills to determine if this Dr. Zhang truly possessed genuine talent. Therefore, after sitting down, she deliberately avoided mentioning her symptoms.

"Dr. Zhang, then I’ll trouble you to check my pulse and see if you can tell what is wrong with my health."

If this were before, Zhang Jing would have been panicked. But now, his pulse-reading ability had reached a near-masterful level, so he remained completely composed.

He nodded slightly and pointed to the pulse cushion. "Very well, please place your left hand here, palm facing up."

"Eh? Isn't it supposed to be 'left for men, right for women'? Why do you want my left hand?" the young mother asked, looking skeptical.

"We check the left hand first, then the right. Both must be examined, regardless of gender. Please try not to speak while I am taking your pulse, so as not to affect the results."

After Zhang Jing explained patiently, he closed his eyes slightly and began to focus on the pulse.

*Oh, he’s putting on quite a show,* the young mother thought to herself with a smirk. *I’ll see just how much skill you really have. I won’t give you a single hint. Let’s see if you can tell that I’ve been suffering from severe insomnia and have a poor appetite.*

After about six or seven minutes, Zhang Jing had a clear understanding of her pulse. At the *Guan* position on the left, the pulse felt taut like a bowstring—tense, straight, and long. It was a classic pulse indicating a disharmony of liver qi.

"I have a basic assessment. Would you like me to tell you now?"

Zhang Jing did not speak too soon. After all, traditional Chinese medicine emphasizes the four diagnostic methods, especially the integration of tongue and pulse diagnosis. However, it seemed the young mother was not keen on letting him examine her tongue.

"Yes, go ahead, tell me," she urged immediately.

"According to your pulse, you are suffering from a blockage of liver qi," Zhang Jing said calmly.

"My liver? I just had a physical exam not long ago, and my liver is perfectly fine!" The young mother felt a surge of satisfaction. *Just as I thought, he's all show and no substance. I caught him out immediately.*

"In traditional Chinese medicine, the 'liver' is not simply the organ defined by Western anatomy; the two are not the same thing at all."

"Fine, I don't understand that anyway. Just tell me plainly what is wrong with me."

"Insomnia, poor appetite, and sometimes accompanied by stomach pain," Zhang Jing said slowly.

"Ah?" The young mother was stunned.

This diagnosis was not just perfect—it was beyond expectations, as she did indeed suffer from occasional stomach pain. How could this be? Had he read her mind? That was impossible! Unless he was a supernatural being! She had always thought that such miraculous abilities existed only in movies, and she knew those were mostly fictional. She never imagined she would encounter such a master in real life! And he was so young!

"You... you really can tell all that just by reading a pulse?" she asked, stammering.

Zhang Jing said modestly, "Actually, pulse diagnosis alone cannot guarantee a hundred percent accuracy. However, because your pulse was quite characteristic, I was able to infer the condition."

"That is still incredible!" The young mother gave him a thumbs-up with both hands. Then, looking a bit ashamed, she added, "I am so sorry, Dr. Zhang. I was doubting you just now. Please forgive me!"

"Oh, it's quite alright. I understand completely. Now, shall we proceed with the medicine for you or for the child?" Zhang Jing asked with a smile.

"Both, please. You can prescribe mine first, and when I go downstairs to pay and pick up the medicine, I’ll pay the registration fee for myself as well."

"How about this? Your condition is not serious. I suggest you start with a traditional patent medicine called *Chaihu Shugan Wan*. Our pharmacy downstairs has it. I will list it under the child's name so you don't have to pay the registration fee twice."

"This... how could I impose like that?" The young mother was so touched she stammered again.

"It's settled. Let's focus on the little one first."

"Yes, yes, of course. Our Huanhuan's situation is like this..." the mother began hurriedly.

"Please, don't describe the symptoms just yet. Let me read his pulse first."

"You can read a child's pulse too?" she asked in surprise.

"Of course, though due to the small size of a child's wrists, I must take the pulse from all three positions simultaneously."

"But—"

"Please, no talking. Stay quiet," Zhang Jing signaled for silence.

The young mother froze and immediately closed her mouth.

Zhang Jing gently held Huanhuan's small fists, pressing his thumbs onto the child's wrists. This was a pediatric pulse-reading technique taught to him by Li Yu during his system-arranged apprenticeship—it was highly practical.

It took only about a minute. This was a necessary adaptation for children, as they are naturally restless and would never cooperate with a long examination. Moreover, a child's pulse is relatively simple, and taking all three positions at once is sufficient.

"The pulse is weak and slightly slippery," Zhang Jing said slowly.

"What does that mean? Is it serious?" the young mother asked, looking nervous.

Zhang Jing shook his head to reassure her. "It's nothing to worry about. Let me perform a tongue examination as well."

"Oh, that's a relief," she sighed.

"Little one, open your mouth wide and say 'ah' for me, okay?" Zhang Jing leaned down and said softly.

Little Huanhuan hesitated, turning to look at his mother. The young mother immediately encouraged him, "Huanhuan is the best. Let the doctor uncle see if there are any little bugs in your mouth."

A mother knows her child best. While someone else might have used intimidation, she used encouragement. It worked perfectly, and little Huanhuan opened his mouth wide.

Zhang Jing examined him closely. The tongue was pale, and the coating was thick and greasy, especially in the middle. A pale tongue indicated yang deficiency, and the thick, greasy coating pointed to dampness in the middle burner. Combining this with the weak, slippery pulse, it was a classic case of yang deficiency with dampness retention.

"Alright, Huanhuan's mother, now you can briefly tell me about the child's illness and the treatment he has received over the past few days," Zhang Jing said calmly.