The decision to invite Jiang Fei to join the Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM) Association was the result of a unanimous agreement among Elder Cui, the revered master physician, and the leaders of the three ancient medical schools.
Jiang Fei was the inheritor of the Divine Needle Eight Techniques, a man of extraordinary medical skill. As Elder Cui had stated during the TCM Association’s Medical Duel Competition, Jiang Fei’s expertise not only surpassed all the young prodigies but had even eclipsed that of his predecessors in certain aspects.
How could the TCM Association let such a genius slip away?
In China, unless a doctor had prior conflicts with the association or was an extreme recluse—content to practice in a small town, treating patients within their own humble sphere—any physician who reached a certain level of mastery would eventually receive an invitation.
Doctors needed the TCM Association to elevate their status, granting them access to benefits and opportunities. Conversely, the association needed fresh talent to expand its ranks and strengthen its influence.
It was a mutually beneficial arrangement.
However, today’s situation was unprecedented in the decades since the TCM Association’s founding. For the first time, Elder Cui—the honorary president—alongside the three school leaders, had personally extended an invitation to a single doctor.
No other renowned physician, no matter how distinguished, had ever received such treatment.
Yet, in response to this grand gesture, Jiang Fei had only one answer:
“I refuse.”
Cui Qinghe was stunned. The three school leaders were equally dumbfounded, momentarily forgetting they ought to be furious.
This was downright humiliating!
“Why refuse?” Cui Qinghe pressed urgently. “Does your master have some unresolved grievance with the TCM Association? Is there a sect rule forbidding you from joining?”
In their minds, this was the only conceivable reason a TCM practitioner would decline.
Jiang Fei shook his head.
He had no master—and thus, no sect restrictions.
After a pause, he carefully chose his words: “My refusal has nothing to do with anyone else. I’m simply a free spirit, unaccustomed to constraints. Take the last TCM symposium—I only attended because I happened to be in Beijing. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have gone.”
“Joining the association imposes no restrictions!” interjected Kong Yun, leader of the Danxi School. “Though the TCM Association is prestigious and government-recognized, members enjoy complete freedom. Membership brings benefits, connections with top physicians, and opportunities for exchange. That’s why so many dream of joining!”
Seeing their determination to recruit him, Jiang Fei smiled faintly. He stopped beating around the bush, his gaze sharpening.
“But I don’t just dislike constraints—I also dislike taking orders.”
This was the real reason.
Jiang Fei wasn’t naive. He understood the rules of the world: there was no such thing as a free lunch. Benefits came with obligations. Membership might not restrict his freedom outright, but it would inevitably mean answering to the association’s elders, being dispatched for tasks at their whim.
Why shackle himself when he already ran his own clinic, answering to no one?
As for the perks? Jiang Fei couldn’t care less. He wasn’t lacking in money or status.
Yu Ruzhi, the alluring leader of the Yin-Yang School, shot him an exasperated look. “The association may occasionally ask for your cooperation, but what’s wrong with contributing to TCM’s legacy?”
Jiang Fei’s expression turned icy.
“I’m happy to contribute to TCM. But contributing to the TCM Association? I’ve no interest.”
“You—!”
Yu Ruzhi’s face flushed with anger. The others’ eyebrows twitched. Jiang Fei’s words were a direct insult—implying the association was a self-serving, bureaucratic husk.
The room simmered with rage.
Humiliation had turned to fury.
This arrogant young man had crossed the line!
Yet Jiang Fei sipped his tea, unfazed by their murderous glares.
“If they think that’s harsh, they haven’t heard the worst of it,” he mused inwardly.
Avoiding orders was one reason for his refusal—but not the only one.
The real reason was the TCM Association’s shameful complacency.
Despite its vast resources and government backing, the association had done nothing to advance TCM. Instead, its members grew obscenely wealthy while the broader field withered.
The association operated like an exclusive club, known only to a privileged few. Even most doctors had never heard of it.
What was the point of such an organization?
To Jiang Fei, it resembled a corrupt dynasty in decline—gorging on luxury while ignoring the masses.
He was no saint; he charged for his services. But he believed in giving back, in lifting TCM as a whole.
The association’s priorities were the opposite.
Even this upcoming TCM-Western Medicine exchange? Their “grave preparation” wasn’t purely for TCM’s sake—it was to protect their own interests from Western encroachment.
Jiang Fei had long anticipated this invitation.
And he’d long decided to reject it.
The three school leaders seethed, barely restraining themselves. Only Elder Cui, the paragon of medical virtue, remained composed.
“So,” the old master asked piercingly, “you refuse because the TCM Association has disappointed you?”
“Yes,” Jiang Fei admitted bluntly.
“You believe we’ve failed TCM, serving only ourselves?”
“I do.”
Jiang Fei held his ground. If Elder Cui wanted honesty, he’d get it.
“I don’t think doctors must live in austerity. The association has enriched its members—but what about the majority of TCM practitioners? How do their earnings compare to Western doctors’?”
“Maybe the elite still respect TCM, paying top yuan for your services. But when you neglect the common people, isn’t that why TCM is dying? It’s a vicious cycle. Without the public’s trust, decline is inevitable.”
“Outrageous!” roared Yan Xiping, leader of the Gongxia School. “How dare you accuse us of neglecting TCM’s revival!”
Jiang Fei shrugged. “Actions speak louder than words. You haven’t done enough.”
Elder Cui raised a hand, silencing Yan Xiping. His eyes never left Jiang Fei.
“You’re right. We haven’t done enough.”
“That’s exactly why we need you.”
