Chapter Seventy-Five: The Spirit of China

A single stone stirs up a thousand waves!

At the sound of Wang Yangxin’s words, every reporter present instantly shifted their gaze to Qin Luo, following the direction of his pointing finger. Some, quicker to react, had already begun snapping photos of him.

Click, click!

The flashes dazzled so fiercely that Qin Luo could not even open his eyes. Never before had he experienced anything like this; instinctively, he stepped back, like a startled rabbit trying to hide itself among the crowd.

In the past, whenever he needed a photograph, he had to pay someone for it. He never imagined a day would come when people would rush up to take his picture willingly.

This, perhaps, is the greatest difference between a celebrity and an ordinary person.

“Mr. Qin, is it true that you are the heir to the Divine Taiyi Needle Technique?”

“Mr. Qin Luo, did you just compete in acupuncture with Master Wang Xiushen? Did you win?”

“Mr. Qin, who is your master? Wasn’t the Divine Taiyi Needle Technique lost for over a hundred years? How did you acquire such miraculous skills?”

“Mr. Qin Luo, I’m a reporter from the Chinese Medical Journal. Would you be willing to grant us an interview?”

Countless questions surged toward him like a tidal wave, overwhelming him in an instant. He could only see a sea of moving lips, men and women alike, but could not distinguish a single word in the din.

Though he bore the face of a star, he was utterly unprepared for such attention. Wang Yangxin’s public revelation left him at a loss.

“Qin Luo, forgive us for making this decision on your behalf. The ancient world of Chinese medicine is in need of someone to stand up, and that person is you.”

Suddenly, a voice spoke behind him. Qin Luo recognized his master, Wang Xiushen. Strangely, despite being surrounded by a barrage of questions, his master’s words stood out, each one clear and distinct as they reached Qin Luo’s ears.

Turning, Qin Luo managed a wry smile. “Master, so you knew about this as well.”

Wang Xiushen did not deny it; instead, he patted Qin Luo’s shoulder forcefully. “Qin Luo, we are getting old. We wish to do something for Chinese medicine, but our strength fails our will. You are capable, gifted, and thoughtful about our art. Of all the young people I have met, you are the most outstanding. Besides you, I can think of no one more suitable.”

Indeed, from the moment he first met Qin Luo, Wang Xiushen had harbored this intention: to send Qin Luo forth, to make him the face of Chinese medicine.

If a single doctor could be brought before the nation, before the world, then as his representative, Chinese medicine itself could gain global attention.

They had attempted to promote Chinese medicine as a whole before, but failed.

Now, they would try another way: first promote a person, and then, through him, the art itself. Perhaps this unconventional approach might yield extraordinary results.

Three days prior, after Qin Luo took possession of the Divine Needle King’s plaque, Wang Xiushen had a long conversation with his grandson, Wang Yangxin.

He questioned Wang Yangxin in detail about the competition with Qin Luo, seeking to determine whether Qin Luo had truly mastered the long-lost Divine Taiyi Needle.

To further test whether Qin Luo was the one they had been seeking, they devised the three-part contest for today: diagnosis, prescription, and acupuncture. If he succeeded in all three, he would be their chosen one.

Fortunately, Qin Luo’s performance far exceeded their expectations.

Thus, they summoned the reporters who had been waiting at the door and publicly revealed Qin Luo’s identity.

From this day forth, Qin Luo, the representative of Chinese medicine, the bearer of its hopes, would be propelled to an unprecedented height.

“So, what do you think I should do now?” Qin Luo asked with a smile.

“Show yourself,” Wang Xiushen replied emphatically.

Show himself? Did that mean he should shamelessly seize the limelight?

Perfect. That was precisely his forte.

Qin Luo stepped forward and stood alone at the very front, facing the reporters. The corners of his mouth lifted into a friendly, gentle smile. He remained composed, allowing the journalists to waste their film on his face.

When the flashes finally subsided, Qin Luo waved his hand. “Let’s settle down, everyone. If you all shout questions at once, I won’t be able to answer. Please, one at a time, all right?”

Seeing that Qin Luo had agreed to an interview, Wang Yangxin smiled and announced, “Friends from the media, our heir to the Divine Taiyi Needle has agreed to answer your questions. Let’s move to the conference room. You may ask your questions one by one, and our miraculous doctor will respond accordingly. How does that sound?”

Qin Luo took out his Nokia and glanced at it with an air of gravitas. “You have ten minutes.”

He knew that celebrities always set a time limit for interviews. Without one, if he sat there chatting for over half an hour, wouldn’t it seem as though he had no value at all?

The harder something is to obtain, the more precious it becomes. Qin Luo had understood this truth since childhood.

Led by Wang Yangxin, Qin Luo, Wang Xiushen, Old Zhuo, Guo Xusheng, and a group of reporters entered the conference room of the Divine Needle King’s club.

Surrounded by such famed practitioners as Wang Xiushen and Old Zhuo, Qin Luo took the seat at the head of the round table. Journalists from various newspapers and magazines sat on either side.

“Thank you all for your cooperation. You may now ask your questions freely,” Wang Yangxin, acting as master of ceremonies, addressed the eager crowd.

“Mr. Qin, could you briefly introduce yourself? Both we and the public are eager to know more about you,” a bespectacled female reporter began.

“Qin Luo. ‘Qin’ as in Qin Shi Huang and Han Wu, ‘Luo’ as in the Luo River. Studied medicine from childhood, and am only now beginning to master it,” Qin Luo replied with a smile.

A man may flatter a horse, but a horse cannot flatter itself; thus, to boast of oneself is always awkward, especially before so many reporters. Qin Luo dared not overstate his own achievements.

“How old are you, Qin Luo?” another female reporter asked. It seemed the women were particularly interested in him.

Perhaps the male reporters simply hadn’t found a chance to speak.

“A man’s age is a secret.”

“You look quite young. How did you manage to learn the Divine Taiyi Needle?”

“I’ve always believed that ability and age are unrelated. Some recite poetry at five, others at fifty know only their alphabets. As for how I mastered the Divine Taiyi Needle, I suppose it’s a matter of talent.”

“But wasn’t the Divine Taiyi Needle lost for a century? Where did you learn such a profound art? Who is your master? Did you encounter some special opportunity?” a male reporter finally seized his chance and fired off his questions.

“The Divine Taiyi Needle was not lost; rare manuscripts have always circulated among the people. Yet for hundreds of years, no one could master it.

“My master was a wandering Taoist. I do not know his name, not even his courtesy name. But that is unimportant. What matters is that he saved my life, taught me medicine, and imparted the principles of healing and conduct. I am forever grateful for his kindness and will never forget it.”

Qin Luo glanced at Wang Xiushen beside him, then addressed the reporters, “Likewise, Elder Wang Xiushen is also my teacher. He has taught me much. All who strive to preserve and promote Chinese medicine and culture are worthy of my respect and affection.”

Upon hearing that the heir to the Divine Taiyi Needle also called Wang Xiushen his master, all eyes fell upon the old man.

“Master Wang, have you competed in medicine with Qin Luo? Who is superior?”

Wang Xiushen looked at Qin Luo and laughed cheerfully. “I lost. We competed three times, and I lost all three.”

“Then why is he willing to call you his master?”

“That is what makes Qin Luo exceptional. Humble in victory, gracious in defeat. His character and skill are exemplary. Though I lost to him, he still gained something from me during our contest and so chose to call me his teacher. In truth, I am an unworthy master—I have nothing left to teach him.”

“Master Wang, are you saying that Qin Luo’s medical skills surpass your own?”

“Far beyond,” Wang Xiushen replied without hesitation.

“Forgive me for asking, but are you perhaps belittling yourself to promote your disciple?” a gaunt-faced male reporter inquired.

“I can vouch for it,” said the usually jovial Old Zhuo, his tone uncharacteristically grave. “Qin Luo’s medical skills surpass even mine.”

“I am no match for him, either,” said Guo Baixian, his expression stern.

“He is far stronger than I,” added Guo Xusheng, the Cupping King.

Wang Xiushen cast a grateful glance at his old friends, then addressed the reporter, “I would stake my lifelong reputation on this. But could I risk theirs as well? The truth will reveal itself in time.”

The four great medical masters of Beijing had all stood to vouch for Qin Luo—weighty testimony indeed.

Literature knows no first, martial arts only second. For such luminaries in their fields to publicly acknowledge their inferiority spoke volumes of their respect for Qin Luo’s skill.

Wang Yangxin checked his watch. “That’s all the time we have. The interview is over.”

“One more question—the last one!” the delicate female reporter who had first spoken called out anxiously.

Wang Yangxin turned to Qin Luo, and seeing him nod, smiled, “Very well, one last question.”

“Mr. Qin, why do you wear a long robe? In a modern city, such attire is seen as eccentric.”

Qin Luo paused, then replied in a low, steady voice, “There is a rule in my family: all direct male descendants of the Qin clan must learn medicine, wear long robes, and marry Chinese wives.”

He glanced down at his blue robe, pride shining in his eyes. “What others forget, we remember. What others abandon, we reclaim. Whether I am seen as eccentric or ridiculed, I do not care.

“I know there are things that must not be lost: Chinese medicine, our written language, and the enduring spirit and backbone of our nation that has survived for thousands of years.

“We are the descendants of dragons. We are proud of this—always have been, and always should be.”

Thunderous applause erupted in the conference room.