Chapter 103: No One Can Stop Me!

Qin Luo knew it would be difficult to explain concepts like Yang deficiency and the flow of vital energy in internal cultivation to these foreigners. Their surgical knives were sharp and precise; during operations, they made no effort to identify acupuncture points, cutting straight through. To them, the meridians were no more than a network of blood vessels.

With a smile, he said, “This is vital energy—or rather, a branch of the body’s vital energy. Traditional Chinese medicine emphasizes unblocking the meridians and regulating the flow. When the meridians are clear, illness is dispelled.”

“Oh, that’s incredible,” Dr. Jack exclaimed in admiration.

Qin Luo smiled and nodded, accepting the compliment. “How do you feel now?”

“My body?” Jack carefully examined himself and immediately felt his mouth moistening, the internal heat and dryness completely gone. Guided by a cool current, his whole body felt refreshingly cool.

“Goodness, this is amazing! Am I cured?” Jack asked with astonishment.

“Most likely,” Qin Luo replied confidently. After all, he had employed the ‘Taiyi Divine Needle’ to bring a penetrating coolness. If he couldn’t cure even a simple heat syndrome, it would be utterly embarrassing.

“This is truly miraculous,” Jack said.

“Yes, I agree. The profoundness of traditional Chinese medicine lies exactly here,” Qin Luo seized the opportunity to promote TCM. If these academically trained doctors could be the first to accept it, the global acceptance of Chinese medicine would come a step closer.

“What kind of acupuncture technique is this? I want to write it down,” Jack said seriously, grabbing his notebook.

“It’s the Taiyi Divine Needle. The one that cured you is called ‘Piercing Coolness.’ The name itself indicates its cold and cooling nature,” Qin Luo patiently explained.

As he spoke, he withdrew the silver needle from Jack’s arm and said, “Try this one next.”

Qin Luo inserted the needle again at the same acupuncture point and position, but this time the insertion was slower, and the tip of the needle trembled with a greater arc—something difficult to detect without keen eyesight.

The needle pierced the flesh, and Qin Luo’s left hand pinched the silver needle, lifting and thrusting it rhythmically, almost like a certain intimate dance.

“Do you feel anything?” Qin Luo asked.

Jack’s blue eyes widened in amazement and delight.

“Oh, it’s so hot! How can it be this hot? It’s incredible, truly incredible!” He turned to his companions, excitement shining on his face.

“This is the ‘Burning Mountain Fire’ technique of the Taiyi Divine Needle, representing a warm and hot property,” Qin Luo explained, quickly withdrawing the needle from Jack’s arm.

Jack was already suffering from internal heat; applying a warm technique would likely cause him to vomit and suffer diarrhea that night.

“Oh, wondrous Qin, can I learn this?” Dr. Jack asked eagerly.

Americans tended to be like this: if they found something good, they immediately wanted to learn and master it. By contrast, Chinese people, constrained by pride, would rarely ask to learn others’ techniques, fearing it would reveal their own inadequacy.

Qin Luo shook his head. “It’s terrifyingly difficult.”

“Oh, I’ve read in medical texts that Chinese like to keep their secret skills hidden. Sorry, I was too forward,” Jack said apologetically.

“Dr. Jack, you misunderstand,” Qin Luo smiled, clarifying. “It’s not that I’m unwilling to teach; it’s that this acupuncture technique is extremely hard to master. Moreover, it requires a very special condition.”

“What condition?”

“The learner must be able to practice qigong.”

“Qigong? What’s that? Chinese kung fu?” Jack mimicked one of Bruce Lee’s signature moves, grateful to the superstar for popularizing Chinese martial arts worldwide.

“Yes,” Qin Luo nodded but did not elaborate. To explain this fully would be a formidable task for both sides.

“That’s a pity,” Dr. Jack said.

At that moment, a young man from the delegation quickly spoke to Dr. Jack in English. They appeared to be arguing, their expressions growing tense.

Finally, Jack shrugged and told Qin Luo, “He’s Han Mo, a microbiology teacher at our school. He wants to discuss surgical issues. If a person has malignant tumors, can your acupuncture and herbal medicine really cure such diseases?”

Tumors are classified as benign or malignant. Malignant tumors pose a serious threat to human health and life, ranking alongside cardiovascular diseases as two of medicine’s greatest challenges and leading causes of death.

Western medicine diagnoses these through imaging, MRI, radionuclide scans, ultrasound, endoscopy, laboratory tests, and pathological biopsies, followed by surgical removal or drug treatment.

Chinese medicine mostly relies on prescriptions and acupuncture, which on the surface seem ineffective against malignant tumors.

Qin Luo smiled and said, “Western medicine typically uses chemotherapy and surgery, cutting away the affected tissue. Chinese medicine, however, seeks to address the root cause by examining the patient’s external signs and identifying why the tumor developed, then treating accordingly.”

“The principle of Chinese medicine is ‘expelling the evil without harming the healthy.’ It drives out stubborn illnesses while preserving well-functioning parts. This avoids the high risks, recurrence rates, and side effects of surgery and chemotherapy, thereby improving patients’ quality of life and survival rates.”

Because many still do not understand or believe that herbal medicine can cure cancer, most patients who seek TCM are in mid to late stages, having lost surgical options or experiencing multiple relapses after surgery, radiation, and chemotherapy. They often turn to TCM as a last resort, hoping to try rather than surrender.

Faced with this reality, Qin Luo felt helpless but resolved to press forward with courage.

Jack translated Qin Luo’s words to Han Mo, who listened with disdain, then whispered something back to Jack before laughing with his companions.

“What did he say?” Qin Luo squinted, asking.

“He’s just skeptical,” Jack explained awkwardly, signaling Han Mo not to be overconfident. In his heart, Jack already held much respect for Qin Luo’s skills.

“What did he say?” Qin Luo turned to ask again. Though he did not understand English, his students did.

“He said: ‘If your traditional Chinese medicine is so powerful, why is it nearly disappearing worldwide? Maybe only you believe it’s so great,’” a student translated angrily.

Qin Luo stared at Han Mo, narrowing his eyes. “Shall we make a bet?”

Wang Jiujiu stepped forward and faithfully translated Qin Luo’s words.

“A bet on what?” Han Mo asked in English. Wang Jiujiu quickly explained.

“I bet that traditional Chinese medicine will not disappear. Moreover, within three years, it will become wildly popular in America,” Qin Luo said firmly.

Hearing the translation, Han Mo and his companions burst into laughter again.

After a long while, catching his breath, Han Mo said, “I’m eager to know what you’re willing to stake.”

“Do you have one million US dollars?” Qin Luo asked.

Han Mo was stunned. He had not expected Qin Luo to propose such a large wager. Even with a good salary, a million dollars was a fortune to him.

“No? Then how much can you put up?” Qin Luo sneered, determined to see this fool lose everything.

“Five hundred thousand dollars. I’ll bet half a million, and if you accept, we can sign the contract now,” Han Mo boasted, holding up five fingers. He did not believe a Chinese teacher could match that amount.

“Though that’s a bit low… it’s acceptable,” Qin Luo said. “However, I’ll add one more condition.”

“What?” Han Mo turned serious. He could tell this young man was not joking.

Was he really willing to bet half a million dollars that TCM would be popular in America within three years?

That was impossible. Such a change could never hinge on one person’s efforts.

He was naïve!

“The loser shall never practice medicine again in this lifetime.” This time, Qin Luo struck harder, including Han Mo’s future livelihood in the wager.

Everyone has a weakness. For Qin Luo, born into a family of traditional Chinese medicine practitioners for generations, his weakness was the honor of TCM.

He could bear insults to himself with a smile, but he could not ignore the defamation of the medicine he revered.

“Teacher, this is not good, really not good. It’s a terrible idea,” Dr. Jack said anxiously, fumbling over his words.

Turning to Han Mo, he said, “Han Mo, I think you should apologize to the teacher. You shouldn’t insult their culture.”

“Doctor, I’m not insulting them. I’m stating facts. But if they want to give me money, I’m happy to accept,” Han Mo stubbornly replied.

His eyes glinted with madness as he looked at Qin Luo. “But are you sure you have half a million dollars?”

“Of course,” Qin Luo said, pulling a credit card from his pocket. “There’s one million yuan on here as a deposit.”

Seeing the card, Guo Renhuai’s facial muscles twitched. When he had fired Qin Luo, this card was used as proof that the young man was not short of money.

Now, Qin Luo was using the same card to gamble with their esteemed guests. Was he mad?

“Qin Luo, do you know what you’re doing? You’re a teacher; how can you gamble with our distinguished guests?” Guo Renhuai scolded angrily. This man was crossing the line.

“Director Qin, you can’t stop me. I’ve wagered my dignity and the honor of traditional Chinese medicine. No one can stop me now,” Qin Luo said fiercely.