The Almighty Martial Arts System - Chapter 192

A young man who belonged neither to the Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM) Association nor to any of the three major schools or prominent medical families had indisputably taken first place in the Medical Competition.

If word of this got out, the twenty-odd so-called “prides of heaven”—the young talents hailed as the future of TCM—would likely lose face entirely.

However, when the staff of Tongrentang swiftly photocopied Jiang Fei’s prescription and distributed it to everyone present, the dozens of people in the room fell silent upon seeing its contents, their cheeks flushing slightly with embarrassment.

Compared to the flashy yet impractical prescriptions they had written—focused solely on quick results while ignoring whether the patients could afford the costly ingredients—Jiang Fei’s prescription was undeniably superior.

Even if its effects weren’t as rapid as those of the top contenders, his formula was something patients could take daily without financial strain.

Thus, Jiang Fei’s victory was fair and square.

And just as the revered Elder Cui had said, Jiang Fei had delivered a harsh but necessary lesson to the arrogant young prodigies in the room.

They were utterly convinced—every last one of them, whether they had initially approved of Jiang Fei or not.

…

Typically, the TCM Association’s Medical Competition spanned three days, with only one match per day. After all, the nation’s top TCM practitioners had gathered in the capital not just for exams but for discussions, networking, and leisure. One match a day was enough.

But this time was different. First, the number of participants had halved, leaving only twenty-some competitors, making the event quicker. Second, time was pressing—the Western medicine delegation’s aggressive approach left only half a month for preparations, leaving no room for the usual relaxed pace.

The four judges decided: since it was already noon, only one match could be held in the morning. But in the afternoon, they’d speed things up with two matches, wrapping up the competition in a single day instead of three.

Given the TCM Association’s affluent membership—many of whom drove luxury cars—lunch was anything but modest. They headed to the Diaoyutai State Guesthouse, a blend of ancient imperial gardens and modern state hospitality.

Jiang Fei, though rarely frequenting such high-end venues, wasn’t particularly impressed. No matter how skilled the chefs were, could they possibly outdo a culinary master like himself?

Frankly, if given the choice, he’d rather cook at home.

To add to his irritation, entering the guesthouse required ID registration—a hassle none of the nearly hundred Association members faced, as they all had access passes. Only Jiang Fei had to queue up like an outsider.

“What a pain. Is this place really that exclusive? Never coming back,” he grumbled inwardly.

Seating arrangements were informal yet subtly telling. The younger crowd avoided sitting with the older members, lacking common ground. Meanwhile, figures like Elder Cui and the leaders of the major schools naturally formed their own circles, unreachable to juniors.

Jiang Fei’s table included those who had sat near him during the morning’s competition: Cui Xiuping and the spirited young woman from the Fire God School with her signature ponytail.

…

“Jiang Fei…” Cui Xiuping, picking at the lavish ¥2,300-per-head spread, spoke with lingering embarrassment.

“Yeah?” Jiang Fei replied between bites.

Initially dismissive of the guesthouse, Jiang Fei had to admit the food was excellent—though still a notch below his own. As a top-tier chef, he could dissect every dish’s ingredients and techniques, noting even minor flaws in seasoning or heat control.

But the real luxury here wasn’t just the food—it was the service. Each dish came with a story: its origins, preparation, even historical anecdotes. It felt like dining as royalty.

The experience even sparked an idea: Maybe opening a high-end restaurant wouldn’t be a bad side venture.

“I… owe you an apology,” Cui Xiuping finally forced out, his pride as the heir of the “Thirteen Ghost Points” technique making the words heavy.

Jiang Fei chuckled. “For what?”

“I underestimated you this morning. It wasn’t you who was arrogant—it was me.”

Seeing the usually haughty Cui Xiuping red-faced and sincere, Jiang Fei’s teasing mood faded. He respected the humility. “Don’t worry. You weren’t the only one doubting me.”

“But now I see you as a true rival,” Cui Xiuping declared, rallying. “This morning, I lost fair and square. But in the next two matches—even in acupuncture—I won’t lose so easily!”

Jiang Fei grinned. “I’ll look forward to it.”

“I’m rooting for Jiang Fei!” the ponytailed woman, Lan Caijie, chimed in. “He’s my new favorite!”

Cui Xiuping’s determination faltered. Lan Caijie, once an admirer of his skills, had switched allegiances overnight.

The second round, held again at Tongrentang, focused on prescriptions—the backbone of TCM. While seemingly straightforward, standing out among peers was no easy feat.

This time, the patient was a three-year-old with a sore throat, mild fever, and runny nose. Treating children was notoriously tricky—their delicate systems required careful dosing, and they couldn’t articulate symptoms clearly.

Yet none of the contestants hesitated. After examinations, they drafted prescriptions, though now with far more caution than before, double-checking every detail before submitting.

When Yu Ruzhi announced the results, the room buzzed with surprise: Jiang Fei, the morning’s champion, wasn’t among the top eight.

Was this a rightful outcome, or had something gone awry?