Chapter 32 Acupuncture

The treatment continues, and the visiting students still have questions.

Evan had studied acupuncture at university. He'd been an outstanding student, at the top of his class in every clinical subject.

But even an outstanding student was still a student. Fortunately, he had spent a year training at Xiyuan Hospital in 1978. He hadn't just prescribed and dispensed herbs there; he had practiced acupuncture too, improving his clinical skills.

He was hardly a master, but he could manage ordinary conditions.

With the filiform needle in Max's roommate's Renzhong point, Evan began rotating it using the draining method.^[1]

“Do you feel an ache and pressure at the root of your nose?” he asked.

The roommate was terrified. “A… a little. You're not going to make me spring a leak, are you? What are you twisting that thing for?”

“How else am I supposed to get it all the way through?” Evan said irritably.

“What?” The roommate stared at him.

“Hold still, or I really might put it right through.” Evan was amused. This clown was so much like his old roommate.

How was he doing now?

Evan felt guilty. If he hadn't insisted on it that day, he wouldn't have been expelled, and his old roommate's family wouldn't have been dragged into it. All this time, he'd been hiding in this little clinic, too afraid even to get in touch.

He gathered his thoughts. “How about now? More aching and pressure?”

“Yes. More. It feels awful…” The roommate's whole face scrunched up.

“Bear with it. It'll go numb in a bit.” Evan continued the draining method.

Everyone around them watched with interest.

After a little while, the roommate said, “It's numb! It's numb! Oh no, that's it. Is my nose gone?”

Evan let go of the needle. “Stop clowning around. We'll leave it in for thirty minutes. Stand right where you are and turn at the waist. If it hurts, stop and turn the other way. Go on.”

He checked the time, left the needle in place, and went back to his seat.

“Any more questions? Oh, you're still recording?”

“Yes. I'll record a bit more,” Charlie said. He turned to the two female classmates. “Bing, Toby, didn't you prepare some questions? Go ahead.”

The two young women came forward, blushing a little. “Hello, Teacher Xu,” they said shyly.

Evan nodded to them. The girls were better than the boys. At least they had manners.

“No need to be so formal. You don't have to call me teacher. I'm only a few years older than you.”

Toby had even brought a little notebook. “Dr. Xu, may I ask—did you learn medicine from your family, or at school?”

“At school. I haven't been out of university long.”

“Which university did you graduate from?”

Evan paused briefly. “Nanzhongyi…”

The students were all taken aback. China's four best universities of Chinese medicine were in Beijing, Shanghai, Nanjing, and Guangzhou. All four demanded exceptionally high entrance-exam scores.

Damn. A top student!

They were stunned. They attended the medical university in Jiangbin. To put that in perspective, their university didn't have a single program in the top undergraduate admissions tier.^[2]

Sitting at the back watching, Ben was surprised too. He looked up. Evan had graduated from Nanzhongyi? Then how had he ended up in their little clinic?

Ben immediately turned toward Clara. Didn't she…

Clara was recording with her phone, the corners of her mouth curving up slightly.

She silently added something on Evan's behalf. He had been the best student in his graduating class. Without question.

Charlie sensed a story. “Dr. Xu, how did you come to work at this clinic?”

“It's quite nice here. Ask me something serious.”

Realizing Evan didn't want to discuss it, Charlie gave Toby a look.

She consulted her notebook. “Dr. Xu, we all saw that video of you tasting the fuzi decoction. Were you mocking the pharmaceutical research institutions and rejecting their test results on fuzi?”

Everyone looked at Evan again. Charlie trained the camera on his face.

“Fuzi is poisonous. Everyone knows that,” Evan replied. “You know it, and we knew it thousands of years ago. That's why ways of using it were developed so early.

“We rarely use raw fuzi. It's generally processed first, and proper processing greatly reduces its toxicity. There are also strict rules about dosage and which herbs to combine it with.

“For example, we add gancao—licorice root—to control its toxicity. Giving it an hour's preliminary decoction also greatly reduces its toxicity.^[3]

“I drank that decoction partly to show that a low dose of fuzi won't poison us, and partly to show that Chinese medicine practitioners ought to have the spirit of Shennong tasting the hundred herbs.^[4]

“We have to taste medicinal materials. Only when we know them well enough can we prescribe with confidence and precision.

“But I don't suggest that ordinary people try it. Chinese herbs are medicines for treating illness. Taking medicine when you're not ill, or taking the wrong medicine when you are, can both cause problems.”

Charlie frowned. Evan's answer was much too conventional. It wasn't what he wanted. He was a content creator; he needed something people would talk about.

“Research institutions have already studied Chinese herbs,” Charlie said. “They've done detailed work on their active constituents and pharmacology. Why not just read those reports? Why take the medicines yourself?”

“That's completely different.”

Charlie's questions grew sharper. “Do you reject the research done by those institutions altogether? Or do you think your own experience of taking a medicine is more accurate than a research report, and more applicable to patients?”

Clara frowned at once. “Aren't you setting him up?”

Evan waved a hand. “I've wanted to talk about this for a long time. Yes, I reject it.”

Charlie's eyes lit up. Now this was something people would talk about!

Evan went further. “These so-called Western pharmaceutical research institutions shouldn't be studying Chinese medicine at all. The whole thing was wrong from the start.”

Charlie was thrilled. Damn. This was huge!

The other students were stunned too. Did Dr. Xu really speak that bluntly?

“Evan, watch what you say,” Clara warned. “You'll have everyone coming after you.”

Evan's expression grew serious. “When a great physician treats illness, he must not hang back, weighing his own good or bad fortune or putting his own life and safety first. I'm a doctor. If I think something is wrong, I have to say so. It doesn't matter who's involved.”^[5]

Clara and Ben both froze for a moment.

The students facing him were taken aback too.

This story has been stolen from NovelPhoenix. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

Charlie held the camera with both hands, suppressing his excitement. “Please explain.”

“Chinese herbs have never had any so-called active constituents,” Evan said. “What they have are four natures—warm, cool, cold, and hot; five flavors—sour, bitter, sweet, pungent, and salty; four tendencies—rising, descending, floating, and sinking; and an affinity for particular channels among the body's twelve channels.

“That's Chinese herbal medicine. We use those properties to treat illness, correcting the body's imbalance with a medicinal's particular tendency.^[6]

“Here's a simple example. There's a medicinal called fuxiaomai, floating wheat. What is it? Take a handful of wheat still in its husks and throw it into water. The grains that float are fuxiaomai.

“Now tell me what active constituent it has. Wouldn't plump, glossy grains be better than those shriveled things?”^[7]

The students stared at him.

“There's a veteran physician named Zhang Canjia, one of our National Masters of Chinese Medicine,” Evan went on. “When he was young, he thought treating people with floating wheat was absurd. There was no scientific basis for it at all. Floating wheat? You'd be better off eating a steamed bun.

“So whenever a classical formula included fuxiaomai, he left it out. But without it, the formulas worked poorly and the patients didn't get well. Put it back, and the effects came very quickly.

“Eventually he understood that what we use is floating wheat's rising and floating tendency. Without it, the formula simply won't work. Can a pharmaceutical research institute study that tendency? They'll tell you it isn't scientific.^[8]

“And ginseng! You all know ginseng. Western pharmaceutical researchers say its active constituents are ginsenosides. Yet their research found the lowest ginsenoside content in the main root and the highest in the lateral roots.

“The fine rootlets—even the leaves—have more ginsenosides than the main root. So why eat ginseng? Just chew the leaves!”^[9]

“Chinese herbal medicine badly needs research institutions, but it doesn't need Western-style research. You can't ask a Buddhist monk to study the Bible. They're different things. We need institutions that truly understand Chinese medicine and Chinese herbs.

“The Eighteen Incompatibilities and Nineteen Antagonisms have been debated for centuries. We need research on those too. Every genuine veteran practitioner has a few good formulas built up over decades in the clinic.^[10]

“Take Wugen Tang, the Five-Root Decoction of Li Fenglin, the well-known physician from Inner Mongolia. It's an excellent medicine for fevers in children from externally contracted illness. Its effects are almost as good as antibiotics, without their drawbacks. How many people would benefit if it were more widely used?^[11]

“There are so many formulas like that, and they're all languishing in obscurity. We badly need research into Chinese herbs, but it has to be done by people who truly understand both the herbs and Chinese medicine.”

Reader Notes

1. ↩︎ Rotating and draining. A filiform needle is a fine solid acupuncture needle. “Draining,” also translated as reducing, names one side of the traditional reinforcing-and-reducing framework for needle manipulation. It does not mean drawing fluid out through the needle or giving a laxative. Rotation is a manipulation, distinct from lifting and thrusting. Renzhong, the point introduced in the previous chapter, is in the groove between the nose and upper lip. This terminology describes Evan's procedure without establishing its effectiveness. Source: WHO — International standard terminologies on traditional Chinese medicine, entries 3033 and 3045–3047.
2. ↩︎ Nanzhongyi and admissions tiers. Nanzhongyi is a Chinese shorthand for Nanjing University of Chinese Medicine; the dialogue preserves Evan's brief answer. Yiben refers to the first undergraduate admissions batch, associated with more selective entry. It does not mean a different medical qualification. Batches varied by province and have been merged through reforms. The novel's “four best” is its own characterization, rather than an official ranking supplied here. The students' earlier “Teacher Xu” is a respectful address to someone they hope to learn from, not a claim that he holds a teaching post. Sources: NJUCM — University charter, Article 2 (in Chinese); Ministry of Education — Admissions-batch reform, 2016 (in Chinese).
3. ↩︎ Processing, decocting, and combining herbs. Fuzi is the aconite-derived medicinal discussed earlier. Processing a medicinal before use and decocting it when preparing a prescription are distinct steps. Gancao means licorice root; combining medicinals is another part of formulation. Hong Kong's Department of Health describes these factors as relevant to reducing aconite toxicity, while also identifying poisoning risks. Evan's one-hour example and his statement about low doses are his explanation in the scene; they do not establish a universal safe preparation or dose. Source: Hong Kong Department of Health — Chinese medicines containing aconitum alkaloids (in Chinese).
4. ↩︎ Shennong's example. Shennong, the Divine Farmer, is the legendary figure associated with tasting the “hundred herbs.” Evan invokes that tradition as an ideal of firsthand knowledge, returning to the allusion used earlier. The legend is not a record of a modern drug-testing procedure. Source: Beijing University of Chinese Medicine Museum — Shennong and the poisonous herb (in Chinese).
5. ↩︎ The great physician. Evan's formal sentence draws on Sun Simiao's “On the Absolute Sincerity of Great Physicians,” a section of the Beiji Qianjin Yaofang. The passage places the patient's suffering above the physician's concerns for personal fortune and safety. Here he applies that ethical language to his willingness to speak despite criticism. The English translates the novel's shortened quotation; the surrounding classical text is not added to his speech. Source: Sun Simiao — Beiji Qianjin Yaofang, “Dayi Jingcheng,” electronic transcription (in Chinese).
6. ↩︎ Properties and channel affinities. The four natures describe traditional warming or cooling tendencies, rather than a medicine's temperature in the cup. The five flavors also carry traditional functional associations. Rising, descending, floating, and sinking describe directions of action within that framework. Channel affinity associates a medicinal with particular parts of the traditional functional network. Together these terms explain Evan's argument about correcting imbalance. They name a way of classifying medicines; they do not themselves demonstrate that an herb has no chemically active constituents. Sources: Science Press — Chinese Materia Medica Notes, preview, printed pp. 15–17 (in Chinese); Hong Kong Health Bureau — Channels and acupuncture.
7. ↩︎ Floating wheat. Fuxiaomai is the medicinal name for light, shriveled wheat grains, distinct from ordinary plump grain or wheat flour. Fu means “floating”; xiaomai means wheat. The name helps the students follow Evan's comparison. Floating on water identifies a physical characteristic in his account, whereas the directional tendencies he has just listed belong to traditional pharmacological language. These are different kinds of description, and the name alone does not establish a clinical mechanism. Source: Beijing drug administration — Draft medicinal-material standard, “Fuxiaomai,” PDF p. 16 (in Chinese).
8. ↩︎ A title and a clinical anecdote. National Master of Chinese Medicine is a national honor. Zhang Canjia is a real physician's name, retained in pinyin; his university records his receipt of that honor. Evan presents the floating-wheat story as a lesson from the physician's experience. Confirmation of the title and identity does not independently verify the story's treatment results. The anecdote remains attributed to Evan rather than supplied as a documented clinical trial. Source for the physician and honor: Shandong University of Traditional Chinese Medicine — Zhang Canjia honored, 2009 (in Chinese).
9. ↩︎ Ginsenosides and plant parts. Ginsenosides are a group of saponin compounds, not one substance. Research has found differing amounts and profiles in ginseng leaves, fine roots, and main roots. Results also depend on the particular compounds, samples, and growth stages examined; studies do not give one universal ranking for every part. Measuring a constituent's abundance is distinct from establishing a preparation's effects in patients. Evan uses the comparison rhetorically to challenge a constituent-based account of Chinese medicine. Sources: Kang and Kim — Comparison of ginsenoside contents, Table 2; Liu et al. — Ginsenoside profiles across parts and growth stages.
10. ↩︎ Two traditional incompatibility lists. The Eighteen Incompatibilities and Nineteen Antagonisms are named lists of medicinals traditionally regarded as unsuitable for combination. The numbers belong to those received names, rather than counting research studies. Historical practice and interpretation have not been entirely uniform, which is the debate Evan invokes. “Antagonisms” here names a traditional category; it does not claim that every pairing has the same demonstrated biochemical mechanism. Source: Jining government — Medicinal contraindications, section on combinations (in Chinese).
11. ↩︎ Wugen Tang and externally contracted illness. Tang denotes a decoction; Wugen means “five roots.” Waigan, translated here as “externally contracted illness,” attributes illness to an external pathogenic influence within Chinese medicine, rather than naming one modern infection. A collection of Li Fenglin's clinical experience records Wugen Tang for pediatric fever and discusses laboratory bacterial-inhibition comparisons. Laboratory comparisons do not establish equivalent clinical results in children or an absence of adverse effects. The broader comparison with antibiotics is Evan's assertion. Text consulted: Kou Qiong and Li Ying — Li Fenglin Erke Yicui, electronic transcription, preface and Wugen Tang discussion (in Chinese). Terminology: WHO — International standard terminologies on traditional Chinese medicine.