Compared to the verdant south, the northern wilderness remained bleak and desolate. High atop the encampment, four or five men were pointing and gesturing towards the front when a pigeon suddenly flapped its wings and flew overhead.

"Master Chang, another letter from home for you," shouted a burly man who spotted it first.

Chang Yuncheng, wrapped in a dark crimson cloak and clad in the uniform of a military official patterned with tiger and leopard prints, with a faint stubble tracing his jawline, paused his conversation. His usually composed expression flickered slightly, betraying a hint of apprehension.

He excused himself and stepped aside. A guard had already retrieved the message cylinder from the carrier pigeon and presented it to him.

"What's up with Young Chang? Why are the letters from home so frequent?" the man behind him asked curiously.

"Mind your own business. Do you think everyone is like you, with a heart of stone, who leaves behind a wife and child for four or five years without a second thought," another man nearby quipped with a laugh.

The first speaker cursed in jest, then nodded in sudden understanding.

"Young Chang keeps going back and forth; he probably managed to plant a son this time," he chuckled, "That's why he's receiving letters looking both happy and scared. I was the same way when my wife was giving birth."

As they spoke, they glanced toward Chang Yuncheng.

Chang Yuncheng had already opened the letter. His body suddenly stiffened, then shook violently, culminating in a ragged howl that startled the men nearby.

They watched as Chang Yuncheng, clutching the letter tightly, turned and strode away abruptly.

"Looks like she gave birth," the others laughed.

"And it must be a boy," someone added cheerfully.

The atmosphere instantly turned jubilant.

"Let's go, let's go! Extra meal tonight! The General of Xuanfu just sent over some fine wine. Let's have a good drink!" the leading man boomed.

Military discipline was strict, especially now, as the turn of seasons made incursions by the Eastern Savages most likely. Drinking was strictly forbidden. For these rough men, guarding this desolate post offered little pleasure, and the greatest joy was a satisfying drink. Hearing this, they cheered loudly and rushed towards the camp in a wave.

The post Chang Yuncheng was stationed at was a border town named Bao'anzhou. Border towns could not compare to the prosperity of the interior; ruin was visible wherever one looked.

The military camp lay near the edge of the town, while Chang Yuncheng and the other officers resided within the city walls.

As night fell, the officers' mess hall buzzed with fervent activity.

The hall itself was equally decrepit, with mismatched tables, chairs, and benches. Now, the air was thick with the aroma of food and wine.

More than a dozen tables, both inside and out, were laden with large bowls of meat and vegetables, and immense flagons of wine. Everyone was devouring their food ravenously, splashing wine all over themselves.

Though the court did not withhold military stipends, the fare here was nowhere near as good as in the interior. A rare feast hosted by a superior officer meant they would eat and drink their fill.

"Drink, drink! This is happy news! Having a son is the happiest thing!" Several men surrounded Chang Yuncheng, urging him to drink.

Chang Yuncheng accepted every bowl offered, laughing heartily as he downed one after another, his steps soon becoming unsteady.

"It wasn't a son," he said, smiling.

No son? Everyone paused for a moment, but at this point, who cared? It was time to eat meat and drink wine.

"Then she's pregnant! She'll have one eventually," someone yelled, raising another bowl of wine without asking permission.

Chang Yuncheng laughed, took the bowl, and downed it in one gulp. He laughed so hard that tears seemed to spring to his eyes, finally stumbling forward and collapsing onto a table. He could only laugh, unable to rise.

"Good heavens, how much has he had? How can he be this drunk?" the others complained. "Master Chang is usually known for his capacity—never getting drunk after a thousand cups."

"He knows he's having a son, so he's happy. When people are happy, what's that saying about getting drunk?" someone tried to recall a classical quote but fumbled it.

"It's not the wine that intoxicates, but the person's own state," a clerk quickly supplied.

"Right, right." Everyone chuckled. Seeing Chang Yuncheng like this, they didn't press him further and had the guards help him inside.

Chang Yuncheng was helped up from the table but refused to leave, reaching out again for a wine bowl, gripping one tightly.

"Cheers!" he shouted loudly, raising the bowl with a trembling hand. Half the contents sloshed out.

The others laughed and raised their own bowls in response.

"Cheers!" they echoed, drinking their fill.

Chang Yuncheng drank too, then let out a great laugh, smashing the wine bowl onto the floor before collapsing onto the table again.

"Cheers..." he mumbled one last time before falling completely unconscious.

Since the news spread that treating minor injuries would cost nothing, the number of people flocking to the Qianjin Hall suddenly swelled. Upon arrival, they discovered a female physician, leading to an increase in women seeking care who might feel uncomfortable consulting a male doctor. Since she couldn't take pulses or run various laboratory tests, Qi Yue was initially overwhelmed trying to manage everyone.

"Diagnostic pulse-taking is crucial in herbal prescriptions, but as a doctor, there is another necessary supplement beyond that," Liu Pucheng told Qi Yue, who was eager to master every skill overnight.

"What is it?" Qi Yue asked.

"Intention," Liu Pucheng replied, tapping his chest.

Qi Yue looked at Liu Pucheng and suppressed a smile.

"You're starting to sound more and more like my father," she muttered. He always loved giving her political lessons; she wanted to learn surgical techniques from him, but he would drone on about other things.

Still, those lectures were now impossible to hear.

"Mistress Qi, I notice you have a great interest in the illness itself," Liu Pucheng continued.

Wasn't that right?

Qi Yue looked at him, puzzled. Wasn't her desire to treat illness inherently an interest in the sickness?

"I mean, you are interested only in the disease, not the person," Liu Pucheng clarified.

What did that mean?

Qi Yue was even more confused.

"When a patient is ill, their mind becomes anxious. Mental tension and worry lead to low spirits and restlessness, which in turn damage the liver and deplete the kidneys. That's why the old saying holds true: illness arises from the heart," Liu Pucheng said with a gentle smile. "As the healer whom the patient trusts and relies upon, beyond prescribing the correct medicine, you must also soothe their worries and give them hope for recovery. Sometimes, this is even more effective than potions and stones. When they come to you, talk to them more. The four diagnostic methods—looking, listening/smelling, inquiring, and feeling the pulse—include looking, listening, and inquiring, not just feeling the pulse."

Qi Yue nodded slowly, considering his words thoughtfully.

In modern hospitals, patients waiting for appointments lined up all the way to the entrance. Each person would come in, ask two or three questions, get a prescription written, and then go for tests or be admitted. Chatting with the patient? Preposterous.

Qi Yue recalled the old director at the rural health clinic, holding his large enamel teapot, talking with patients for half a day—starting from when his leg began hurting, talking all the way to how his piglet was stolen and he didn't dare tell anyone, leading to sleepless nights while pretending everything was fine in front of others. During that time, she could have seen ten patients.

She had found the old director's approach utterly baffling. Why discuss things completely irrelevant to the illness? She had dismissed it as a byproduct of the slow pace of life in the countryside and the scarcity of medical resources, where they weren't afraid of wasting time.

"Ah, the root of his leg pain is likely this mental affliction. Not sleeping for days, forcing a smile—the stagnation of the heart meridian naturally impedes the flow of qi and blood," Liu Pucheng explained with a smile when she hesitantly asked about the example. After a moment's thought, he added, "He might not feel comfortable sharing these things with people he knows well. Letting him speak it out helps relieve some of that stagnation, which is certainly beneficial to his condition."

That worked too?

"You must use your heart," Liu Pucheng concluded with a smile. "Benevolence and virtue."

Qi Yue couldn't quite place the feeling in her heart. On one hand, she felt Liu Pucheng was right; on the other, it conflicted with her own ingrained habits. The next time a woman came to her seeking diagnosis, Qi Yue decided to try it.

"So, your rapid heartbeat started three years ago. What was happening when it began?" she inquired gently.

The woman, in her early thirties, sighed upon hearing the question.

"That was when my husband had just passed away, and my youngest was just learning to crawl..." she began.

"Heavens, your life must have been so hard then," Qi Yue said with genuine sympathy and concern.

The woman nodded, raising a hand to wipe away a tear.

"Yes, I almost wanted to go with him then," she choked out. "Doctor, you have no idea..."

She began recounting the story of her childhood sweetheart, the bond forged in youth, the joys and sorrows shared while supporting each other in their prime. Qi Yue listened attentively, without interruption or impatience, even getting up to pour her a cup of tea.

"...How could I not miss him? It's been so many years, and I still can't close my eyes at night; the moment I do, I feel like I can still see him..." the woman said.

By the time she finished speaking, Qi Yue had the general picture.

"Sister, your illness isn't severe. It's because your heart is in too much pain. It's been so many years, and you still haven't moved on, causing severe emotional fluctuations that lead to unstable blood pressure and arrhythmia," she sighed, patting the woman's hand. "Taking medicine is necessary, but you also need to find peace, Sister. Think about it, if you remain like this, your husband won't rest easy underground either."

Liu Pucheng, standing outside the door, smiled and nodded as he watched the woman leave, walking briskly with her prescription slip to fetch her medicine.

"Master, outside the door..." Just then, a disciple rushed in, his face slightly flustered.

"What's happening outside?" Liu Pucheng asked.

Before his words finished, the clamor outside reached them.

"...A physician with benevolence and virtue? How can a woman of such poor character serve as a healer?"

An aged voice spoke from beyond the doorway.

Liu Pucheng was about to step out, but Qi Yue was already a gust of wind moving past him.

"That old bastard is here again," she said.

Outside, Old Master Liu stood in a long gown, his hair as neatly arranged as the last time—even the wind couldn't dishevel his clothes—as he addressed the assembled crowd near the Qianjin Hall with solemnity.

The surrounding onlookers were rapidly gathering.

It was the Qianjin Hall again, the place full of excitement. Children hawking goods from baskets on the street immediately flocked over.

"...Fresh apricots..."

"...Egg pancakes, egg pancakes..."

"...Almond tea, Sister, have a bowl... watching excitement cools the inner fire..."

The street instantly became lively.

"...An abandoned wife from the Marquis of Dingsi's household dares to practice medicine so openly? If her own conduct is unscrupulous, how can she claim to save lives?" Old Master Liu proclaimed, casting a look at a woman emerging from the Qianjin Hall, holding the hand of a small child. "When Mother Meng moved three times for the sake of her son, what was the reason? You bring your child to a quack's clinic like this; you are unworthy of being a mother."

The woman was left momentarily stunned. Seeing that the old man was clearly a scholar, and everyone held scholars in great reverence, she became immediately frightened. Her face flushed and paled, as if she truly were an inadequate mother.

"Enough, Old Man Liu, stop playing the saint out here," Qi Yue's voice projected from inside the door.

Upon hearing that voice, Old Master Liu became visibly agitated, and the surrounding crowd also buzzed with excitement.

A drama needs two sides singing opposite parts to truly be a play.