Jiang Fei got into the car and glanced at Cui Xiuping’s driving route. Surprised, he asked, “Aren’t we going to Jishi Tang?”
Cui Xiuping chuckled. “We’re heading to the headquarters of the Traditional Chinese Medicine Association.”
Jiang Fei’s eyebrows shot up. “What for?”
Suddenly, a thought dawned on him. If it were just Old Master Cui who wanted to see him, they would’ve gone straight to Jishi Tang. But now, with the destination being the Association’s headquarters, it was clear this wasn’t just about the old physician.
As expected, Cui Xiuping grinned and admitted, “Today, it’s not just my grandfather who wants to meet you. The leaders of the three major medical schools also wish to discuss something with you.”
“What exactly?” Jiang Fei pressed, though he already had an inkling.
Cui Xiuping shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“Really?” Jiang Fei probed again.
Cui Xiuping felt a prickle of unease. This guy was too sharp—it was nearly impossible to hide anything from him. But whether Jiang Fei could guess the truth was one thing; whether he would spill the beans was another. So he clamped down and repeated, “I don’t know.”
“Fine. Just focus on driving,” Jiang Fei said with a laugh, dropping the subject.
…
Half an hour later, the car pulled up in front of the TCM Association’s main building.
This time, Cui Xiuping didn’t lead Jiang Fei to the conference hall they’d visited before. Instead, they turned down a long corridor, passing through multiple checkpoints guarded by security personnel before finally reaching a door at the far end.
The room clearly wasn’t accessible to just anyone—given the heavy security, it might as well have been a military intelligence hub, Jiang Fei mused silently.
Fortunately, Cui Xiuping, as the young heir of the Cui family’s famed “Ghost Needle” lineage, held considerable sway within the Association. His face alone granted them smooth passage.
They pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The room wasn’t particularly large—certainly nowhere near the scale of the main hall—spanning less than a hundred square meters. But the décor was undeniably luxurious.
Near the entrance, a thriving pot of devil’s ivy sprawled lushly. Further in, by the window, sat an exquisitely pruned bonsai, so meticulously shaped it could’ve been a museum piece. The furniture, however, was the real showstopper: every chair, table, stool, and bookshelf was crafted from premium-grade rosewood—specifically, the rarest violet sandalwood, a cut above even the high-quality rosewood pieces in Jishi Tang’s back hall.
The bookshelves groaned under the weight of ancient tomes, their yellowed pages and worn spines betraying their age. Jiang Fei, with his keen eyesight and connoisseur’s eye, estimated these volumes were at least a century old, with some dating back several hundred years.
Even disregarding their content, these books alone could fetch a fortune as antiques. Skimming the titles, Jiang Fei’s pulse quickened:
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Clinical Guide to Medical Cases by Ye Tianshi
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Systematic Differentiation of Warm Diseases by Wu Jutong
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Treatise on Damp-Heat Disorders by Xue Shengbai
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Corrections of Medical Errors by Wang Qingren
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Compendium of Ancient and Modern Medical Works
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Compilation of Acupuncture and Moxibustion by Hua Xihong
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On Pestilence by Wu Youke
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Comprehensive Medical Compendium of All Ages by Xu Chunfu
These were legendary texts in classical Chinese medicine. While they might not rival the fame of Li Shizhen’s Compendium of Materia Medica, Sun Simiao’s Thousand Gold Formulas, or Zhang Zhongjing’s Treatise on Cold Damage and Miscellaneous Diseases, each was a cornerstone of medical scholarship.
Even if these weren’t original editions but hand-copied versions from the Ming and Qing dynasties, any one of them could easily auction for over a hundred thousand yuan.
No wonder this place is locked down tighter than a vault, Jiang Fei thought, awestruck. This little room is a treasure trove—those books alone are worth a king’s ransom!
His gaze drifted to the walls, where landscape paintings, floral-and-bird scrolls, and calligraphy pieces hung. Though no art expert, Jiang Fei recognized the signatures: Dong Qichang, Qi Baishi, Li Shutong…
Unbelievable. The medical texts were impressive enough, but these artworks? Given the room’s opulence, there was no chance these were fakes. Based on their size and provenance, each piece could sell for millions at auction without breaking a sweat.
How does a public organization like the TCM Association afford all this? Jiang Fei wondered, baffled. Unless these physicians are so filthy rich they’re dumping personal fortunes into decorating their office?
The total value of the room’s contents had to exceed ten million yuan.
What a waste. They could’ve used that money to actually advance Chinese medicine instead of hoarding antiques, he grumbled inwardly.
After swiftly taking in the room’s lavish setup, Jiang Fei finally turned his attention to the four figures seated at two violet sandalwood tables:
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Old Master Cui, the venerable patriarch of the Cui family.
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Kong Yun, leader of the Danxi School.
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Yan Xiping, head of the Gongxie School.
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Yu Ruzhi, the alluring and enigmatic chief of the Fire Spirit School.
When Jiang Fei and Cui Xiuping entered, the quartet had been mid-sip from delicate porcelain teacups—likely authentic Jingdezhen ware—filled with premium-grade West Lake Longjing tea. The fragrance alone, crisp and vegetal, was unmistakably from pre-Qingming “Ming Qian” harvests, the rarest and most expensive tier of tea leaves.
These people live like emperors, Jiang Fei noted wryly.
As Jiang Fei settled in without ceremony, Cui Xiuping—still mindful of his junior status—excused himself with a respectful bow. On his way out, he cast an envious glance at Jiang Fei. Very few in the Association ever earned the privilege of sharing tea with these four power players.
…
“Young friend Jiang Fei,” Old Master Cui began genially, “do you know why we’ve invited you here today?”
Jiang Fei set down his cup. “I’m afraid not. Cui Xiuping didn’t enlighten me during the ride.”
The four exchanged glances. They knew Jiang Fei was sharp enough to have guessed—his feigned ignorance was pure diplomacy.
Normally, Kong Yun would’ve taken the lead in such discussions, but with Old Master Cui present, protocol demanded deference.
Cui Qinghe cut to the chase. “We have two matters to discuss. First, regarding your warning about the Poison King, Wu Laotou—we need to strategize countermeasures if he disrupts the upcoming East-West medical exchange. Despite technically being a TCM practitioner, his hatred for our tradition runs deep. If he intervenes, he’ll likely side with Western medicine to humiliate us. His toxins are notoriously lethal—once administered, even Hua Tuo himself might struggle to cure them. We must prepare.”
He paused, his aged but piercing eyes locking onto Jiang Fei. “The second matter… the four of us formally invite you to join the TCM Association.”
Jiang Fei didn’t hesitate. “The first issue absolutely requires our attention. As for the second… I decline.”
