Chapter Forty-Six: Malice Strikes in the Shadows

After the first session of "Traditional Chinese Medicine Diagnostics," Qin Luo made his way to the administration building and knocked on the door of the department director's office.

"Come in." Director Guo's voice sounded from within, always steady and forceful.

"Director Guo. You wanted to see me?" Qin Luo pushed open the door and entered, looking at Director Guo, who was sitting in his chair grading documents.

"Yes, that's right. Teacher Qin, please have a seat for a moment. I'm just finishing up an urgent matter." Director Guo gestured for Qin Luo to wait on the sofa.

"Alright." Qin Luo nodded in agreement.

The room was quiet, save for the ticking of the clock on the wall and the soft scratching of a pen against paper. Qin Luo waited patiently, wondering why Director Guo had summoned him so hastily.

After four or five minutes, Director Guo finally closed the file in front of him, set down his pen, and stood up.

"Teacher Qin, would you like something to drink?" Director Guo asked.

"Tea, please," Qin Luo replied. After lecturing for so long and sitting idly for several minutes, he was indeed a bit thirsty.

Director Guo felt a surge of irritation. He thought to himself, this young man really doesn’t understand propriety.

Earlier, he'd sent the office assistant, Xiao Min, to fetch him, but Qin Luo had refused, citing that he was in class—completely disregarding the authority of the department director.

Even asking about what to drink was just a polite formality, but Qin Luo took it literally. Did he not fear bad luck, letting the director pour him tea?

Suppressing his anger, Director Guo poured Qin Luo a cup of tea and handed it over, his expression growing darker.

"Qin, I called you here today to discuss something," Director Guo said, settling onto the sofa with his insulated mug, watching Qin Luo intently.

"I guessed as much," Qin Luo replied. What else would you want me here for if not for something important?

"The thing is, I've always been very satisfied with your work. You're energetic, and even if there are occasional mistakes, that's just due to inexperience. We’ve always been tolerant, nothing too serious."

Qin Luo adopted a patient listening demeanor, waiting for the inevitable shift.

"But there's a problem we've overlooked," Director Guo continued, fixing his gaze on Qin Luo.

"What problem?" Qin Luo asked. He knew the real issue was about to be revealed.

"Someone reported to the higher-ups that our College of Traditional Chinese Medicine is arbitrarily hiring teachers without teaching certificates or medical licenses, which has a negative impact on students' education."

Director Guo watched Qin Luo’s unperturbed, monk-like expression, feeling a surge of annoyance.

Did Qin Luo truly believe Li Yonggang could protect him forever?

"You know, in other departments or majors, lacking these certificates isn’t a big deal. Talent is valued above all. But this is a medical college, training future doctors who will save lives. Such an institution must have stricter requirements for its faculty."

"Moreover, your class experienced a student transfer incident, which is on record. Therefore, the college has ordered me to investigate and reevaluate your teaching qualifications. What are your thoughts?"

Qin Luo smiled, squinting, and set his empty teacup on the table before him. "Director Guo, just tell me—what is your evaluation?"

"Be honest with me. Do you have a teaching certificate and a medical license?" Director Guo asked in an official tone. He knew Qin Luo had been recommended by Li Yonggang, so he couldn’t be too harsh.

"No," Qin Luo replied. "I don’t even have a kindergarten diploma. I’ve never attended school."

Director Guo’s expression shifted. "Then I’m sorry to inform you that you are being dismissed from the College of Traditional Chinese Medicine. We cannot employ a teacher with no academic background. It’s irresponsible to the students' futures and to the lives of patients."

Qin Luo waved his hand. "It doesn’t matter. You only need to be responsible to certain people."

He understood that the sudden opposition from the department director meant someone influential was dissatisfied with him.

"What do you mean by that?" Director Guo retorted, face dark.

"Never mind. This conversation is pointless," Qin Luo said with a smile. He took out a bank card and waved it in front of Director Guo. "Do you know how much money is in this card?"

"That’s your business. How would I know?" Director Guo replied, annoyed. What a foolish question.

"There’s a million in this card. And every month, at least ten thousand is deposited. When I agreed to teach here, the salary was five thousand. That means I’d have to work for twenty years to earn what’s in this card."

"What exactly are you trying to say?" Director Guo grew impatient.

"I’m telling you, I’m not short of money. I teach because I enjoy it. I never intended to rely on this for a living. If you think dismissing me will cut off my livelihood, then I must say, you’re being childish."

"How can you talk like that? What do you mean? Who’s dismissing you? It’s your own fault for lacking qualifications!" Director Guo’s refined demeanor vanished, his face twisted as he pointed at Qin Luo.

"Enough. I won’t waste any more words with you. I have to go say goodbye to my students," Qin Luo said, stretching and heading for the door.

Bang!

Director Guo hurled his insulated mug against the wall, cursing vehemently, "That bastard!"

Breathing in the fresh campus air and watching the youthful, smiling faces of the girls passing by, Qin Luo felt a pang of reluctance.

When you pour your heart into something, only to have it cut short before you can reap the rewards, the feeling is hard to bear.

Since agreeing to become a teacher of Traditional Chinese Medicine, Qin Luo had devoted himself entirely to teaching. He had no ulterior motives, sharing all the hard-earned knowledge he’d acquired through suffering and discipline.

Some say: Teach your apprentice, and the master starves. But he never saw it that way. If an industry truly thrives, everyone in it will have food to eat. Take Western medicine—so many practitioners, yet everyone makes a living.

In comparison, Traditional Chinese Medicine is woefully weak. Qin Luo earnestly hoped to train a group of exceptional students so that, upon graduation, each would become an outstanding practitioner.

Then, they would use their knowledge to heal others, or, like him, teach and enlighten—passing the torch, unceasing through generations.

That way, Traditional Chinese Medicine would never die.

Yet, after all his effort, others dismissed him with a single sentence.

"Has a negative impact on students’ education. It’s extremely irresponsible toward their futures, and a danger to patients’ lives." Such a critique was a harsh blow to Qin Luo’s proud spirit.

But, occupying the moral high ground and invoking righteousness, they left him no room to refute.

What they said was true; he did not possess a teaching certificate. He hadn’t even entered a formal school.

How could someone like him teach students?

When Qin Luo returned to the classroom, several minutes of class had already passed. The students were chattering and laughing, but when they saw him walk up to the lectern, they quickly pulled out their textbooks and began reciting the tongue-twisting "Decoction Song."

Qin Luo tapped the desk with the chalkboard eraser, signaling everyone to settle down.

The recitations dwindled and ceased. Faces turned to him, all smiling in anticipation, hoping he’d grant them more time.

"Everyone’s memorized it, right?" Qin Luo asked with a smile.

"No," the students replied in unison.

"I knew you hadn’t. But if you focus, it’s easy enough to memorize. The 'Decoction Song' is a treasure of our nation's Traditional Chinese Medicine, the crystallization of countless sages’ wisdom. If you can memorize it, it will be very helpful in becoming a competent doctor."

Qin Luo’s gaze swept over every student’s face, carefully observing their familiar smiles, and said, "Perhaps I won’t have the chance to test whether you’ve learned this song. But even if I’m not here, I still hope you’ll complete this assignment. For that, I thank you all."

Hearing Qin Luo speak so earnestly, the students' laughter disappeared, replaced by thoughtful and somber expressions.

They sensed something unusual today. Though Qin Luo kept smiling, his words sounded like a farewell.

Was Teacher Qin leaving?

"Teacher Qin, what do you mean? Why won’t you have the chance to test us?" Wang Jiujiu asked.

"Yes, Teacher Qin. Even if you don’t test us this class, you can do it next time. Why wouldn’t you have the opportunity?"

"Teacher Qin, you’re not leaving, are you?"

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Looking at the anxious, worried faces before him, Qin Luo felt his efforts had been worthwhile.

At least, his students truly cared for him.

Qin Luo waved his hand, signaling for everyone to quiet down. "I’ve deceived you all. In fact, I have two happy announcements today. The first is that I finally learned how to use QQ, which I’ve already told you."

"Now, here’s the second piece of good news," Qin Luo said. "I’ve been dismissed by the school. I won’t be forcing you to learn tedious things anymore. See, now that I’ve shared my unhappiness, does that make you all happier?"

"Teacher Qin, don’t joke. Are you serious?" Li Meng stood up and asked.

"Yes, Teacher Qin. What’s going on? How can the school dismiss you?"

"Unless they make you principal, I have nothing to say. Otherwise, they shouldn’t think of letting you leave."

"Teacher Qin, please don’t scare me. I’ll cry," a girl said, her cheeks flushed and eyes moist.