Chapter 65: Who Is Superior?

You can tell a true expert the moment they make their move.

Like the Taiyi Divine Needle, the Five Dragons Needle Technique is also one of China’s ancient and mysterious acupuncture practices. The difference is, the Five Dragons Divine Needle belongs to the Manchu tradition and has been passed down through generations, whereas the Taiyi Divine Needle is nearly extinct due to its unique method of application.

In the world of traditional Chinese medicine, it has been centuries since anyone could perform orthodox Taiyi Divine Needle. Even Qin Luo’s grandfather, Qin Zheng—revered as the King of Medicine—was unable to master it.

Yet, by a twist of fate, Qin Luo learned this technique after studying the “Taoist Twelve Sections of Brocade” left behind by a wandering Taoist.

The Five Dragons Divine Needle is truly a peerless art, capable of treating lumbodynia, lumbar disc herniation, lumbar spondylosis, cervical syndrome, kidney deficiency, kidney weakness, cold kidneys, muscle weakness in the waist, and countless other difficult ailments.

The chest Five Dragons Needle points are located at Fengmen, Jueyinshu, and Shenzhu. The waist Five Dragons Needle points are at Sanjiaoshu, Dachangshu, and Mingmen. Its clinical effect is remarkable—one treatment is usually enough.

Currently, Wang Yangxin was targeting the waist Five Dragons Needle points, inserting the needles with both speed and stability, each movement perfectly timed. Even by Qin Luo’s standards, there was nothing to criticize.

“It seems I really underestimated him,” Qin Luo thought to himself.

Hearing Qin Luo praise their master, the observing students grew even more smug.

“Now you see how formidable he is? Fame is never groundless. My master’s reputation is well-deserved.”

“Exactly. You were acting so impressive just now, but it seems you’re not so great after all.”

“It’s just like they say, whether it’s a mule or a horse, you know once you take it for a walk.”

Qin Luo glanced at the male disciple with pockmarks on his face, who was gazing at Wang Yangxin with a look of sycophantic admiration, and asked in an even, emotionless voice, “So, is your master a mule or a horse?”

He knew that speaking in this tone was the quickest way to drive someone mad—he’d experienced it himself with Lin Huanxi.

“You—” The man wanted to curse at Qin Luo, but remembering the setting, he forced himself to stay silent.

Wang Yangxin, hearing Qin Luo’s question, accidentally let his right hand tremble. One needle was pressed in a bit too forcefully.

“Ah!” The patient lying naked on the bed cried out.

Wang Yangxin quickly steadied himself, calming his nerves, and soothed the patient: “Don’t move. It’s alright. You’ll be fine in a moment.”

It was just like a mosquito bite—the fat man didn’t suffer for long and soon lay quietly again.

Yet from this slip, Qin Luo noticed Wang Yangxin’s flaw.

A truly skilled acupuncturist must be bold in treatment, meticulous in mind, and steady of hand.

Wang Yangxin was certainly bold, using the highly difficult Five Dragons Divine Needle right away, even choosing the three-needle simultaneous “Dragon Raises Its Head” method.

He was meticulous, too—without it, he couldn’t have so quickly found the precise acupoints, and his interaction with the patient was competent.

However, his hand was not steady enough.

Qin Luo shook his head. Lacking any one of these three qualities, he hardly deserved the title “Divine Needle King.” No wonder Qin Luo felt justified in reclaiming that yellow pear wood plaque.

Wang Yangxin himself knew he’d fallen prey to impatience. He couldn’t help glancing back, seeing Qin Luo shaking his head at his back, which made Wang Yangxin inwardly furious.

He thought, “Let’s see what astonishing needlework you can show us next.”

Still, having learned from his earlier mistake, he kept his composure and focused all his attention on observing the patient’s skin and expressions, gently rolling the silver needles between his fingers in the ‘Cradling the Fish’ technique.

The Five Dragons Needle Technique is miraculous, but time-consuming; needles must be retained for thirty minutes.

Time trickled by. Everyone watched Wang Yangxin’s hand with rapt attention.

Even the other waiting patients were drawn in, watching with interest.

Acupuncture, like martial arts, is a national treasure in China. Every Chinese person harbors a deep-seated reverence and love for these arts.

After half an hour, Wang Yangxin simultaneously withdrew the needles from the patient’s body.

“Put your clothes on,” he instructed, knowing the patient must avoid catching a chill right after treatment.

“Get him a cup of water,” Wang Yangxin said, handing the silver needles to a disciple for sterilization. At once, a female disciple brought warm water for the patient, and another, prettier girl brought a basin and tea for Wang Yangxin to wash his hands.

Qin Luo looked on enviously, realizing there was indeed a difference between students and disciples. Wang Yangxin could order his disciples to serve tea, pour water, massage his legs, even share his bed—could Qin Luo ever expect his own students to do the same?

Secretly, Qin Luo resolved to take on a few beautiful female disciples himself. After all, teaching one or teaching another made little difference.

After sipping his tea to moisten his throat, Wang Yangxin turned to the patient. “How are you feeling now?”

The short, fat man cautiously twisted his waist. “It doesn’t seem to hurt as much anymore.”

“Try standing up—don’t worry, you can move a bit more,” Wang Yangxin encouraged.

The man put down his cup and hopped off the bed. He twisted left, then right, and then exclaimed with delight, “Heavens, my back is healed! It’s incredible! Before, even the slightest movement hurt so much—Dr. Wang, you truly are a miracle doctor!”

Previously, Wang Yangxin would treat such patients in three or five sessions to ensure multiple payments. But today, eager to demonstrate his full skill before Qin Luo, he gave everything in one go, letting the patient feel immediate relief.

“Rest quietly for three days—no strenuous activity. After that, you’ll be fine,” Wang Yangxin instructed.

“Thank you, Miracle Doctor, thank you!” the man said gratefully. The joy of being freed from pain was infectious; everyone present began to applaud spontaneously.

Wang Yangxin, proud, turned to Qin Luo and said challengingly, “Dr. Qin, shall we now witness your miraculous needlework?”

Qin Luo nodded. “Of course.”

He rolled up his sleeves and said to Wang Yangxin’s disciple, “Bring me a box of silver needles—new ones. I don’t like using things that others have used.”

The disciples didn’t care for Qin Luo and were unwilling to oblige, but under Wang Yangxin’s gaze, a reluctant girl fetched a box of needles and handed it over.

Qin Luo opened the box, selected a seven-inch needle, sterilized it, and approached a young patient in a white shirt.

“What’s bothering you? Where do you feel discomfort?” he asked.

“Cervical spondylosis. My neck aches, shoulders hurt,” the young man replied.

“Take off your shirt,” Qin Luo ordered.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing? Maybe I should just let Dr. Wang treat me,” the young man hesitated, eyeing the long needle in Qin Luo’s casual grip.

Compared to Qin Luo, Wang Yangxin was from a renowned family, his fame well established. He’d just healed another patient before everyone’s eyes—of course, patients would rather put their trust in him. Who’d want to risk their own body?

“He’s not as good as I am,” Qin Luo said with a smile.

The young man seemed infected by his confidence and grinned. “Alright, I’ll be your guinea pig. Just go easy on me, will you?”

“Don’t worry,” Qin Luo patted his shoulder reassuringly.

Once the young man removed his shirt, Qin Luo, without warning, inserted the needle into his Fengchi acupoint.

Light lift, gentle press, repeated three times—then the needle was swiftly withdrawn.

“That’s it. Put your shirt back on,” Qin Luo said.

“That’s it? I didn’t even feel anything!” the young man exclaimed in surprise.

“Not feeling anything is just right,” Qin Luo replied with a smile, sterilized the long needle, and approached the next patient. “What’s your complaint?”

“My lower back aches, and sometimes I feel I can’t completely empty my bladder…” the man said awkwardly.

“I see. Inflammation. Take off your pants,” Qin Luo instructed.

“Huh? Really?”

“Honestly, I have no interest in men,” Qin Luo said, straight-faced. If it were a woman, being coy might seem charming—but a grown man, what’s the big deal about taking off your pants?

If I’m not worried about hurting my eyes, why should you be?

Embarrassed, the man glanced at Wang Yangxin’s female disciples, then unbuckled his belt and took off his pants.

Qin Luo targeted his Huiyin point at the base of the spine, using the same three lifts and presses.

This time took a bit longer, but still less than three minutes.

After three minutes, Qin Luo withdrew the needle. “Alright, you can get dressed.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Qin Luo continued down the line, treating each patient with a single needle—swift and decisive.

In no time at all, the six or seven patients waiting for Wang Yangxin in the VIP clinic had all been treated by Qin Luo.

In other words, Qin Luo took less time to treat seven patients than Wang Yangxin took for just one.

“Is that really how you treat people?”

“Is he pulling a fast one on us?”

“Just poking randomly with a silver needle—does that make him a miracle doctor?”

Qin Luo put the sterilized needle back in the box and smiled. “Whether it works or not, let the patients speak for themselves.”

“My neck really does feel better—so much lighter,” the young man with cervical spondylosis marveled.

“And I feel much more comfortable down there,” the man with the prostate trouble said, delighted after careful consideration.

“Incredible! Incredible! My back doesn’t hurt anymore either—”

If these patients hadn’t first come here for treatment, Wang Yangxin would have suspected Qin Luo had planted them as shills.

How could such miraculous results be real? Relief with just one needle? Was he a living immortal?

“Well?” Qin Luo smiled at the stunned Wang Yangxin. “Is that enough to earn your approval?”

“If what they say is true… then, I suppose we’re evenly matched,” Wang Yangxin sighed.

“Master, he’s not as good as you! You used three needles at once, and he only used one!”

“Exactly! How could he compare to you?”

“You’re actually treating illnesses—he’s just playing around. Who does acupuncture like that?”

The students grumbled in protest at the suggestion of a draw.

“Silence,” Wang Yangxin snapped.

The students fell silent, not daring to speak further.

“Do you really think it’s a draw?” Qin Luo narrowed his eyes.

If Wang Yangxin had any real discernment, he ought to have seen that Qin Luo’s rapid needling was highly skillful—and that he had employed the “Blazing Mountain Fire” and “Piercing Chill” techniques from the Taiyi Divine Needle according to each patient’s constitution.

If Wang Yangxin hadn’t noticed, this competition was meaningless—because the two men’s medical skills were not even on the same level.

“You win,” Wang Yangxin said, his face clouded and his voice bitter.