Chapter 125: The Incompetent Doctor Who Doesn't Follow the Rules

The competition was being broadcast live. Seeing the old man’s agonized, near-death state on the large screen, everyone’s expressions changed dramatically.

Dr. Zhang’s face was ashen, no better than the old man’s pallor. At this moment, he was utterly distraught, his hand trembling as it gripped the silver acupuncture needle.

There were ten patients available for the contestants to choose from, and the old man was left until the very end. It was clear that either his condition was not the most critical, or it was the most difficult to treat, or perhaps the treatment carried the greatest risk.

To be honest, Dr. Zhang’s confidence was less than fifty percent. He simply refused to be eliminated without a fight. Even so, he had employed a conservative treatment approach. The nine needles he had inserted earlier were for precaution, aimed at reducing the chance of complications, though they also lowered the odds of recovery. Yet, to his dismay, an accident had still occurred—worse than he had anticipated.

Hong Chen and several other contestants exited the room simultaneously, but even before them, three judges were promptly summoned to the stage by the event staff at the first sign of the old man’s distress.

Among the judges, a man in his fifties was the first to grasp the old man’s wrist. Placing two fingers on the pulse point, he shook his head gravely after half a minute.

Immediately after, a man over sixty took the old man’s pulse. Squinting his eyes and focusing for over twenty seconds, he released his hold and spoke slowly, “I can only try to slow the loss of vitality. However, he will fall into a coma and likely never awaken. At best, this will only buy him a few more days.”

In other words, the old man’s life could be prolonged for a few days, but only in a vegetative state.

The last to take the old man’s pulse was a man in his forties. After barely ten seconds, he looked toward Dr. Zhang and said coldly, “Now only Elder Zeng can intervene. We will conduct an accident investigation afterward. What do you say?”

Dr. Zhang was shaken to his core, his legs weakening as he stepped back two paces. Fortunately, a quick-handed staff member caught him before he fell.

He fully understood the implication—this was a medical accident, and as the attending physician, he bore inescapable responsibility. He faced the possibility of negotiating compensation or even being sued.

Dr. Zhang was a specially appointed traditional Chinese medicine expert at Qing City’s Second Hospital. In over forty years of practice, he had made mistakes, but never one this grave. At more than sixty years old, this could ruin his entire career.

Who was to blame? Only himself. He had committed the gravest error a doctor could make: relying on luck. Life is precious and singular; patients are human beings, not lab rats.

His mind was torn by inner turmoil, cold sweat covering his forehead. If he nodded now, the matter would be settled. If he refused, and time dragged on, or if he took action himself and the old man died on the spot, his troubles would only multiply—especially since Elder Zeng had already claimed he had a method to extend the old man’s life, even if only as a vegetative patient.

“Dr. Zhang, why don’t you ask Divine Healer Hong? There’s no illness he can’t treat,” came a voice, calm yet pointed. Hong Chen, who was focused on peeling his fingers, furrowed his brow and glanced sideways at the source—it was Dr. Wang from the Zhongbao Hall, who had already been eliminated.

Looking left and right a few times, sure enough, once Dr. Wang spoke, all contestants, staff, and the three judges turned their attention to him.

Suddenly, Hong Chen became the center of attention again.

Dr. Wang slapped his forehead with an “Ah!” and loudly declared, “Dr. Zhang, just your rosy lips and white teeth won’t persuade Divine Healer Hong to act. I heard that a few days ago, the patriarch of the Luo family in Nanshi was at death’s door, but when Divine Healer Hong intervened, he miraculously rejuvenated him, making him seem ten years younger. The Luo family paid a sky-high fee of ten million for this—ten million!”

His exaggerated expression and outstretched palm were captured on the live broadcast. He deliberately raised his voice with full force, so even the audience could hear clearly. The hall fell silent before erupting in a wave of astonished gasps.

Ten million for a single treatment—this news shook Qing City’s entire medical community.

Hong Chen narrowed his eyes, a cold light flashing within. The first part of Dr. Wang’s statement—praising him—he could accept as flattery. But the rest was a classic case of backhanded compliment and moral coercion.

“If you could save the Luo patriarch when he had only one breath left, and the old man here is still breathing on his own, then if you don’t act, the only explanation is insufficient payment and letting him die. If you do act but fail, you’ll still be accused of shirking your duties without adequate compensation, and you’ll bear the consequences.”

It was a trap, cruelly designed to force Hong Chen’s hand.

“Divine Healer Hong...” Dr. Zhang parted his lips, his eyes filled with pleading and hope, clearly treating Hong Chen as his last lifeline.

Hong Chen asked directly, “You want me to intervene?”

Dr. Zhang nodded. Hong Chen replied decisively, “Fine,” and stepped forward. His gaze swept the old man’s face twice before taking one of his hands, placing a finger on the pulse point. Less than ten seconds later, he withdrew and inserted two silver needles into the old man’s chest.

Suddenly, the old man spewed a large mouthful of white foam, his neck slumping as he lost consciousness.

Everyone’s faces turned pale. Dr. Wang rushed forward to check the old man’s breathing, but Hong Chen waved him off sharply and glared coldly, “Don’t you know the rules?”

Dr. Wang was taken aback, his face flushing as he retorted stubbornly, “I’m just concerned about the patient’s condition.”

Hong Chen was blunt: “This is Dr. Zhang’s patient. If he asks me to treat him, you have no right to even be concerned given your medical skills.”

His voice suddenly rose, each word clear and forceful: “You’re just an incompetent doctor who doesn’t understand the rules.”

His voice rang like a bell, silencing the uproar completely. When it ended, the entire Hall One was deathly quiet.

Dr. Wang trembled with rage, his face crimson—a shade akin to raw liver. It was the first time in his life he had been called incompetent, and in public, at the prestigious Saint of Medicine competition no less. Infuriated, he shouted, “Puerile brat! I praised you as Divine Healer Hong, but do you really think you are a miracle worker? When I practiced medicine across the land, you weren’t even born!”

Hong Chen replied coolly, “Yes, you are old, your medical career longer than my age, but your skills are inferior to mine. Is calling you incompetent wrong?”

He paused, then added, “Every field has its experts; the wise learn from those above them. My skills surpass yours; you should look up to me with respect. Yet instead, you arrogantly lean on your age. Is it wrong to say you don’t understand the rules?”

Hong Chen sneered and repeated, “Is it wrong to call you an incompetent doctor who doesn’t understand the rules?”

He asked three times in a row. Dr. Wang opened his mouth thrice, trying to retort but was speechless. His blood pressure soared, his face shifting from red to blue, fingers trembling as he pointed at Hong Chen, “You, you, you…”

“Dr. Hong, don’t go too far. Dr. Wang is your senior. As a junior, you should at least show respect to your elders,” Di Xiu suddenly spoke up in support, his face dark and tone grim. He and Dr. Wang both hailed from Zhongbao Hall. They had entered the Saint of Medicine competition under the Hall’s name, not individually, meaning their fates were intertwined—shared honor and shame.

Hong Chen gave him a sidelong glance and said contemptuously, “He doesn’t understand the rule that the wise learn from their betters, and neither do you. To me, he is an incompetent doctor, and you are just a slightly better incompetent doctor. You have no right to lecture me.”

A cold gleam flashed through Di Xiu’s eyes. “Dr. Hong, don’t be overconfident. We haven’t yet seen whose medical skills are superior.”

“Is that so?” Hong Chen smiled wryly, pointing at the old man on the treatment table. “If you believe your skills rival mine, there’s no need for arguments. Treat this patient. If you succeed, I will retract my judgment and apologize. How about that?”

Di Xiu’s pupils contracted slightly. None of the three judges could help. Even if he had confidence in his own skills and didn’t think he was inferior to the judges, there was no reason to risk this thankless challenge.

“Hmph, I see through you now. You’re just using provocation. You recklessly botched the patient’s treatment, and now you want to pass the blame to others. The most basic tenet of medicine is to take responsibility for your mistakes. A person of such poor character has no right to be a doctor.”

Just as Di Xiu hesitated, Dr. Wang seemed to undergo a sudden transformation. His body steadied, his face returned to normal, and he cast a sinister smile at Hong Chen. His voice rang strong and righteous.