Though more than twenty needles pierced his body, each buried deep, he felt no pain—not even the slightest tingle when the silver needles first penetrated his skin. This was the difference between a master acupuncturist and an ordinary one; Zhang Yang’s technique had already reached a grandmaster level.

One by one, Zhang Yang drew needles from the case, stopping only after meticulously embedding over twenty of them into Zhao Zhi’s vital acupuncture points across his entire body.

Pausing, Zhang Yang immediately closed his eyes to rest. Treating so many deep insertions required immense expenditure; more than half of his internal Neijin was depleted, and sweat beaded on his forehead. After all, this was a tumor that had already begun to worsen, making the treatment difficult even for Zhang Yang.

The twenty-odd needles protruding from his body vibrated faintly. Any stranger witnessing Zhao Zhi in this state would certainly be startled. However, Zhao Zhi felt no discomfort. On the contrary, a current of warmth flowed from the needles, converging throughout his body, inducing a languid comfort far exceeding that of basking in the spring sun. This pleasantness was so profound it nearly compelled him to cry out, but Zhao Zhi, being no ordinary man, suppressed it all.

While Zhang Yang rested and Zhao Zhi remained covered in needles, others dared not disturb them, and quiet discussions began to circulate among the onlookers.

Qin Yong approached Su Zhantao. Having learned Su Zhantao’s identity, he grew even more curious about Zhang Yang, deciding that gleaning information from Su Zhantao was the most suitable approach. Meanwhile, Niu Pangzi was questioning the two individuals standing near Zhao Zhi, meticulously gathering every detail of the day's events.

As they conversed, several more figures entered. Old Jin, wearing gold-rimmed spectacles, rushed in hastily. All three major stakeholders were now present. What was noteworthy was that Zhang Yang was entirely unaware of their identities, just as they were unaware of his—only that this young doctor had shocked them with his initial procedure on the first day.

Old Jin was named Jin Zhicheng. He had co-funded this venture alongside the others, contributing a similar amount of capital, but Jin Zhicheng was the true driving force. Jin had resigned in the late 1980s to go into business. Beyond his wealth, he possessed a sharp, active mind. A crucial factor was that Jin Zhicheng’s family included powerful officials; otherwise, he could not have assumed the leading role.

“You’re finally here! Old Zhao was stopped earlier; they said he had some frightening illness. That man is quite something—he stuck so many needles into Old Zhao, and yet Zhao didn’t suffer the slightest ill effect!”

Upon seeing Jin Zhicheng, Niu Pangzi immediately walked over and briefly recounted what had just transpired. As he spoke, Niu Pangzi kept shaking his head, still visibly shaken by the scene. Niu Pangzi also had his own physicians, including Chinese Medicine practitioners, but his knowledge paled in comparison to Zhang Yang’s. At the very least, he had never witnessed such acupuncture skill in any other doctor.

“I know,” Jin Zhicheng merely nodded. Zhao Zhi suddenly developing a critical illness was unexpected, but Jin Zhicheng was contemplating deeper issues. This ‘business’ had already commenced; they could not simply halt it. Stopping now would not only be a waste but could actively cause losses. Under their instigation, substantial capital had already poured into the Sanqi market. Should they relinquish their dominant position, the Sanqi market would either descend into chaos or be taken over by others. In either case, control would slip from their grasp. For stakeholders, losing control was tantamount to disaster. Jin Zhicheng considered all this in that moment, though he revealed none of it.

About an hour later, when many stomachs began to rumble with hunger, Zhang Yang finally opened his eyes and slowly withdrew the needles, which had long ceased their vibration. As each needle was extracted, the top and bottom segments showed a stark difference: the exposed upper portion remained silver-white, while the submerged tip that had entered the acupuncture points carried a hint of black, a sight that made observers uncomfortable.

“Sir!” As soon as the last needle was pulled, Zhao Zhi anxiously inquired. His life depended on this; he couldn't help but be worried, especially after seeing the appearance of the needles.

“Don’t worry. I’ll write you a prescription shortly. Take the medicine as directed, and I will return tomorrow to apply the needles again. Once preparations are complete, I will excise that mole for you, and then you’ll be free of worry,” Zhang Yang smiled faintly. This man was fortunate to have encountered him today, precisely when Zhang Yang was participating in the contest, which drew his attention to him.

“Please rest assured, I will follow your instructions precisely.” Zhao Zhi nodded hurriedly. Zhang Yang took out paper and pen from his canvas bag and began writing the formula. The prescription was not complex. Relying solely on this medicine would have little effect on the melanoma; at most, it could provide symptomatic relief. However, when combined with Zhang Yang’s Neijin and acupuncture, the formula would play a crucial role.

Just as the prescription was written and handed to Zhao Zhi, a hand suddenly shot out from behind him and snatched the paper away. Zhang Yang’s eyebrows twitched, and Zhao Zhi looked up, glaring angrily at the thief.

“Indigo root (Qing Dai), Zhu Ling, Scutellaria (Huang Qin), Fieldhorsetail (Bai Mao Gen), Ban Zhi Lian, Raw Rhubarb (Sheng Da Huang), Prince Ginseng (Tai Zi Shen). Not bad; the herbs are correct, and the dosages are appropriate. Young man, this prescription is your own, isn't it?”

The one who snatched the prescription was the irritating Ji Hongguang, standing right behind them, with Qin Zheng and his grandson flanking him. It was Qin Yong who had gone out to escort them inside. The patient Ji Hongguang was treating was slightly ahead of Zhang Yang’s; this patient was standing at the rear, observing everything with curiosity.

“Whether the prescription is mine or not, you took it from the patient without permission. Isn't that exceedingly rude?” Zhang Yang spoke calmly. Some of Ji Hongguang’s behavior was utterly unacceptable. Zhang Yang’s words carried weight; respect for the patient is paramount to a doctor. Zhang Yang always upheld this with his own patients. Yelling at, disrespecting, or looking down upon a patient demonstrated poor medical ethics. Zhang Yang’s critique implied that Ji Hongguang’s own medical ethics were compromised.

Ji Hongguang paid no attention to Zhang Yang’s words. He turned around, handed the prescription back to Zhao Zhi, and said softly, “Hello, I am Ji Hongguang, master of the Ji Family Clinic. May I examine your hand?”

“Ji Family Clinic?” Zhao Zhi’s look of anger instantly vanished, replaced by visible delight. Zhao Zhi was a local, and the Ji Family Clinic was the most renowned private medical facility in the area. He had previously tried to seek treatment there but faced impossibly long waiting lists; no amount of extra money persuaded them to see him immediately. This had forced him to seek care elsewhere. At the time, Zhao Zhi’s ailment wasn't severe, and other hospitals could manage it. Although he had never met the master, Ji Hongguang, he had heard much about this famous local physician. Hearing Ji Hongguang announce himself brought only surprise and joy, erasing all previous anger. Every patient hopes to find the best doctor, much like seeking appointments with top specialists when visiting a major hospital. Zhao Zhi now hoped to benefit from an expert’s opinion. This wasn't a reflection of distrust in Zhang Yang; it was human nature for anyone with a serious illness to seek second opinions.

The attendants beside Zhao Zhi quickly made space for Ji Hongguang to sit. Once settled, Zhao Zhi proactively extended his hand. Ji Hongguang sat down unceremoniously, raised his head, and smiled at Zhang Yang. “Young man, don’t worry. I only wish to see the extent of his condition. He is your patient; I respect the rules!” With that, Ji Hongguang rested his hand directly on Zhao Zhi’s radial artery.

Zhao Zhi turned back and offered Zhang Yang an embarrassed smile, realizing his own reaction had perhaps been excessive. Zhang Yang was the one actively treating him, not this man before him.

After a brief moment, Ji Hongguang’s brow furrowed. After a little over two minutes, he withdrew his hand and closely examined the mole on Zhao Zhi’s face, even gently parting the skin for a better look. As he manipulated the mole, Zhao Zhi winced in pain, wanting to ask him to be gentler but daring not to speak.

After his examination, Ji Hongguang slowly nodded. “You have won this competition. I admit your medical skill is profound. Young man, can you tell me where you are from? I am very curious. With your level of skill, especially at your age, even the great aristocratic families could not have produced such a prodigy!” Ji Hongguang turned to Zhang Yang and spoke quietly, his expression still serious.

Zhang Yang’s eyes widened slightly. He hadn't expected Ji Hongguang, after just a brief observation of Zhao Zhi, to concede defeat so readily. Given Ji Hongguang’s temperament, Zhang Yang assumed he would dispute the loss extensively before admitting it.

His apprentice was equally astonished. The apprentice quickly bowed and whispered, “Master, the patient we found today is also very complex—she has suffered facial paralysis for decades, which countless doctors failed to cure. You achieved significant improvement with just your first touch. In my opinion, our treatment results are superior; we should have won this round!” His voice was low, but surrounded by the gathered crowd, many people heard him.

Qin Zheng, standing nearby, silently agreed with the apprentice in his heart. He had been following Ji Hongguang and witnessed firsthand how he stopped a woman in her fifties, questioning her briefly before realizing her expression was rigid. When she spoke, her mouth drooped, and she drooled. This patient’s facial paralysis was severe. Upon inquiry, the woman was not local; she had accompanied her son to purchase medicinal herbs. She had suffered from this paralysis for over twenty years. Twenty years of facial paralysis definitely qualified as an intractable disease.

Ji Hongguang found his patient later than Zhang Yang, but his treatment was faster. Using acupuncture combined with fire cupping, he managed to stop the woman from drooling and significantly relaxed her facial expression in just half an hour. Such a clear and miraculous effect left Qin Zheng full of admiration—this was indeed the famed doctor recommended by his old friend; he certainly had skill. Furthermore, the patient who received treatment was moved to tears of gratitude. She had suffered for twenty years, sought treatment for twenty years, without success, only to finally see hope today thanks to a renowned physician. Later, Ji Hongguang directed her to follow him to find Zhang Yang, and she complied without hesitation.

“Are you doubting me?” Ji Hongguang slowly raised his head and glanced calmly at his apprentice. His tone was soft, but the meaning was heavy. His words instantly caused the apprentice to bow lower, stammering with alarm, “Master, I do not doubt you. I merely feel that you haven’t actually lost yet!” The apprentice was genuinely frightened now, a line of cold sweat trickling down his forehead as he spoke. Ji Hongguang had a strange temper, which made serving him a misery for his apprentice. If Ji Hongguang berated him directly, it would be one thing, but the calmer his tone became, the greater his anger, signaling a more dangerous situation.

“Very well, I will tell you where I lost!” Ji Hongguang suddenly sighed and turned to look at Zhang Yang. Qin Yong, Qin Zheng, and Su Zhantao all leaned in to listen. Only Zhao Zhi and Niu Pangzi remained somewhat confused but dared not interrupt.

“Firstly, the patient he chose had a more severe and more hidden condition than ours.” As he spoke, Ji Hongguang pointed to the mole on Zhao Zhi’s face. “Many people have moles on their face; even our founding father did. Few would suspect that this particular mole harbored a problem. While the manifestation of our patient was less obvious, it was still present—her facial expression was rigid. In this regard alone, we conceded one point.” Many people have moles, and no one stares at others’ moles constantly. When comparing a mole to a slightly stiff facial expression, the latter is naturally more noticeable. In terms of observational insight, Ji Hongguang admitted Zhang Yang had surpassed him.

“Secondly, melanoma is a difficult disease to treat; even in its early stages, even I cannot guarantee a complete cure—I could only attempt treatment. Yet, when I took his pulse just now, I discovered his condition was already controlled. On this point alone, I am ashamed to be inferior,” Ji Hongguang said, shaking his head vigorously and casting a complex glance at Zhang Yang. Melanoma is, after all, a precursor to cancer; even a master physician like Ji Hongguang could not claim certainty of cure. Most importantly, Ji Hongguang understood that he lacked the immediate ability to stabilize the patient's condition. Based on this alone, he recognized Zhang Yang’s medical art was superior to his own. In this contest, he conceded defeat wholeheartedly.

“Finally, regarding needling technique. Did you not see the used needles nearby? I can also insert needles this deeply, but after placement, I cannot use them to draw out internal toxins as he did. This is the third point where he defeated me. With these three factors, do you still need to ask who won and who lost this contest?” Ji Hongguang gestured toward the needle box where the used needles lay. The apprentice stared at them, realization dawning with surprise. After Ji Hongguang’s analysis, the apprentice was speechless. He now understood his master’s reasoning. The patient chosen by the opponent was sicker and more complex; Zhang Yang employed techniques they wouldn't dare use and achieved results they could not replicate. The outcome of the match was clear: Zhang Yang had won.

One thing Ji Hongguang omitted was that in terms of both needling and medical skill, he had lost to Zhang Yang. Zhang Yang could achieve the same results for his own patient, but Ji Hongguang could not perform any of Zhang Yang’s maneuvers. Compared point by point, he hadn't just lost; he had lost decisively. Of course, only the two principals understood the full scope of this loss; the others remained oblivious.

My condition wasn't ideal today, which is why this chapter took a long time to write. However, I am in a very good mood today, thanks to the readers' support. We’ve leaped from the bottom rankings straight to sixth place, something I hadn't anticipated. I must specifically thank my long-time friend, ii., whom I've known since my very first novel, who has consistently supported and accompanied me. Here, I express my gratitude again. With the recent surge in support and advancement in ranking, there will certainly be bonus chapters. My current state isn't great, so I cannot promise how many chapters I can add, but I vow to use all my effort, even without sleeping, to complete those bonus updates! There are more updates coming; if anyone has monthly recommendation tickets, please spare a few for me. Thank you all!