Chinese medicine: from rural hospitals to top three hospitals in Kyoto

Heshan County, nestled in the embrace of the mountains in the northeast of Hanping City, is a typical agricultural county that has been gently treated by time. Although its economic development is not dazzling, the people here are honest and kind, and the pace of life is as leisurely as a mountain stream.

The surrounding environment was quite nice along the way.

Zhuang Qiwen's clinic is not located in the bustling center of the county town, but on the edge of the county town, right next to the national highway that carries stories of people coming and going.

The clinic's storefront is small, and the white sign with red lettering that reads "Qiwen Traditional Chinese Medicine Clinic" has become faded and worn from years of weathering, as if silently telling the story of the passage of time.

On either side of the entrance, a wooden couplet, though faded in color, still bears the words imbued with the benevolence of a healer: "May all people in the world be free from illness, why should we care if the medicines on the shelves gather dust?"

These days, there aren't many traditional Chinese medicine clinics that still use this couplet.

The main problem is a lack of skill; using such couplets makes one easily ridiculed.

Chen Yang and He Pengjun set off quite early. It only took them an hour and a half to drive from the city, and it was only a little past nine in the morning.

There were many patients waiting for their appointments sitting on old, long wooden benches outside the clinic.

An elderly man coughed softly, each cough heavy with phlegm; a young mother held her crying toddler, her brow furrowed with anxiety; and a middle-aged man clutched his upper abdomen, his face sallow, fine beads of sweat glistening on his forehead.

The clinic doors were open, and patients were coming and going.

Across the street, a black sedan was parked steadily on the side of the road.

"Dr. Chen, this is it." He Pengjun, in the driver's seat, raised his chin and pointed to the clinic across the street.

Chen Yang looked out the car window at the clinic across the street.

Across the street, Chen Yang could see that although the patients waiting for their appointments all looked sick, they would occasionally whisper to each other, their expressions revealing their trust in the clinic, unlike the anxiety and unease commonly seen in large hospitals.

"Dr. Chen, there are quite a few patients here," He Pengjun said.

There were more than ten patients waiting at the entrance, as well as those inside the clinic.

For a small clinic, having so many patients is definitely a sign of booming popularity.

"Let's go in and take a look."

Chen Yang took out a mask and put it on, then put on a pair of simple black-rimmed glasses before getting out of the car.

Chen Yang is now a famous doctor with 50 to 60 million followers. Many people know Chen Yang. On his way from Kyoto to Hanping City, Chen Yang was recognized by several people.

Of course, some people recognized him but only pointed at him from a distance; not many people actually went up to talk to Chen Yang.

Zhuang Qiwen is a practitioner of traditional Chinese medicine, so he is highly likely to recognize Chen Yang.

He Pengjun followed closely behind, and the two crossed the not-so-wide road one after the other.

Stepping into the clinic, the interior space is slightly more spacious than it appears from the outside, but the furnishings are extremely simple.

Directly opposite the entrance is a rather old glass counter, neatly displaying various common Chinese patent medicines.

Behind the counter, a set of floor-to-ceiling Chinese medicine cabinets occupies an entire wall, with yellowed labels of medicinal herbs affixed to the densely packed small drawers, and the rich aroma of herbs wafts from here.

A simple cotton curtain separates the treatment area on the left, through which the acupuncture bed and treatment table can be vaguely seen; on the right, the waiting area has several long wooden benches, which are now fully occupied.

A woman in her early forties, wearing a clean white coat, was skillfully handling, weighing, and packing medicines in front of the medicine cabinet. Her movements were fluid and precise, and each medicine package was neatly and efficiently tied.

The curtain was lifted, and a patient came out with a prescription. The woman naturally took the prescription and began a new round of dispensing the medicine.

"Next, Li Xiufang." A gentle and steady voice came from behind the curtain.

An elderly woman with gray hair got up in response and slowly lifted the curtain to enter.

Chen Yang and He Pengjun observed from the waiting area, trying not to attract attention.

Several banners hung on the wall of the clinic. These banners were of different shades and were obviously presented at different times. The words "miraculous healing" and "exemplary medical ethics" were particularly eye-catching in the slightly dim clinic.

The signatures are mostly from villagers in the county or surrounding towns. These simple ways of expressing gratitude are more sincere and touching than the formulaic banners in big city hospitals.

He Pengjun whispered to Chen Yang, "Dr. Chen, it seems that Dr. Zhuang has a good reputation among the local people. These banners don't look like a deliberately created scene."

About fifteen minutes later, the curtain was lifted again.

A man in his thirties helped an elderly woman, pale-faced and coughing, out of the house, clutching a prescription with ink still wet in its hand.

"Dr. Zhuang, can my mother's cough really be cured completely? She's been seeing doctors at the county hospital for over half a year, and they say it's chronic bronchitis. She's taken a lot of anti-inflammatory drugs, but it keeps recurring." The man's tone was full of deep worry.

Zhuang Qiwen also came out to see him off. He was wearing a slightly worn white work uniform. He was thin and his face looked older than his actual age. The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes were as deep as if they had been carved by a knife, but his eyes were exceptionally bright, exuding a calm and focused strength.

"don’t worry."

Zhuang Qiwen smiled and said, "The old lady has phlegm and dampness obstructing her lungs, and the prolonged cough has damaged the qi of her lungs and spleen. Simply reducing inflammation only treats the symptoms, not the root cause. She needs to strengthen her spleen, resolve phlegm, and clear her lungs to stop the cough. I have prescribed seven doses of medicine. Take them first and see. Come back for a follow-up visit after you finish them. Your cough should be greatly relieved by then."

After a pause, Zhuang Qiwen added, "Pay attention to keeping warm, eat a light diet, and avoid raw, cold, and greasy foods."

"Thank you, Dr. Zhuang," the man said, and took the old lady to get the medicine.

Zhuang Qiwen's gaze swept lightly across the waiting area, lingering briefly on the unfamiliar faces of Chen Yang and He Pengjun, before he went to the restroom. A moment later, he returned and continued calling out numbers: "Next, the lady with the child."

A woman holding a young child hurriedly got up and entered the clinic. The child was about two or three years old, his face was flushed red, and he was listlessly leaning on his mother's shoulder.

Chen Yang and He Pengjun exchanged a knowing glance, and the two of them quietly moved to the curtain at the entrance of the consultation room, peering inside through the gap.

Inside the consultation room, Zhuang Qiwen gestured for the woman to sit down, first drying her hands with a clean towel before sitting down himself.

What's wrong with the child?

While asking questions, Zhuang Qiwen reached out and gently touched the child's forehead to check the temperature, and then carefully examined the child's throat.

"He's had a fever for two days, and started coughing and wheezing yesterday. We went to the hospital, and they said it was bronchitis and gave him an IV drip. The fever went down a little, but it came back soon after, and the cough got worse. He hasn't been sleeping well at night," the child's mother said.

Zhuang Qiwen nodded, took out his stethoscope, warmed the stethoscope in his palm before gently placing it on the child's chest, and carefully listened to the breathing sounds in the lungs. Then, he placed three fingers on the child's slender wrist to take the pulse. After taking the pulse, Zhuang Qiwen carefully examined the child's fingerprints.