However, to Director Qian’s surprise, after he finished speaking, the man became hesitant, looking as if he wanted to say something but then stopped himself. This greatly annoyed Director Qian.

"Family member, what exactly do you mean? Are you going ahead with the surgery or not?" Director Qian had no choice but to press him again.

The man’s gaze was evasive as he looked at Director Qian, conveying a somewhat intriguing meaning.

Director Qian was no ordinary person; he had encountered all kinds of family members and seen every sort of expression.

As the man’s gaze swept over him, the meaning in that evasive look was immediately clear to Director Qian.

Suddenly, a surge of evil qi rose within him. "What, do you think I’m insisting on surgery just to charge you more money? If you don’t trust me, you’re free to go to other hospitals. I won’t stop you. Go ask the doctors at other hospitals. See if they think your father can recover from his current condition without surgery."

Misunderstood as a mere profiteer, Director Qian felt insulted, and his tone became very serious as he spoke.

Usually, when a doctor spoke like this, the patient’s family members would quickly deny any misunderstanding and offer an explanation. This man, however, remained silent, his expression still peculiar.

It made a certain kind of sense, though. After all, he had likely used connections to get a director at Good Friend Hospital to treat his father. However, judging by their current expressions and behavior, their connection didn’t seem very close—perhaps even distant.

Feeling a rising irritation, Director Qian said angrily, "You figure it out yourself. Come find me when you’ve made up your mind.

"And let me make things clear to you. First, regarding the intestinal obstruction and the pain caused by the hernia—you’ve seen your father’s condition, so I won’t elaborate. Secondly, prolonged intestinal obstruction can lead to lesions and necrosis in the twisted intestines. Furthermore, with hernia incarceration, the protruding section of the intestine will gradually necrotize, potentially causing peritonitis, which is extremely dangerous."

After saying all this, Director Qian waved his hand in annoyance. "Alright, think it over yourself. I have work to do."

At this moment, the man suddenly spoke. "Director Qian, it’s not that I don’t trust you, but yesterday I heard something from one of your nurses."

"What could you have heard that would make you distrust me like this? Speak," Director Qian said, his face cold as he stared at the man.

The man coughed softly. "Not long ago, didn’t an older doctor from your hospital also suffer from intestinal obstruction? And his condition was much more severe than my father’s is. However, I heard from your nurses that the old doctor didn’t have surgery; he resolved the problem by drinking Chinese herbal medicine."

The man’s expression shifted, and finally, he gritted his teeth and said, "Why is it that a doctor from your own hospital can avoid surgery, yet my father must have it? Can’t my father drink Chinese herbal medicine to solve his problem?"

Director Qian froze on the spot.

Yes, he had studied this method carefully. How could he have forgotten it in the heat of the moment?

Upon careful reflection, he realized it was due to a longstanding professional prejudice. Although he had never openly expressed such thoughts, as a practitioner of modern medicine, he harbored a degree of distrust and prejudice towards traditional Chinese medicine. This was especially true given his experience with numerous patients who had suffered severe consequences from misdiagnoses or the inappropriate consumption of Chinese herbal medicine, which had solidified this bias. Looking back, he realized he rarely sought help from traditional Chinese medicine unless it was absolutely necessary. Moreover, his dissatisfaction with Du seemed to have colored his view of this particular treatment method. Although he had studied the method, he had, in his heart, deliberately avoided considering it.

Now that the man had brought it up, Director Qian instantly understood. After a moment’s thought, he said, "Alright then. Go home and buy one kilogram of fresh white radish. Then, go to a pharmacy and get half a kilogram of mirabilite. Simmer them together in a soup for half an hour, then bring it for your father to drink."

The method had been explained, and the man should have left.

But after hearing Director Qian’s words, the man’s eyes widened, and he looked at Director Qian with a puzzled expression. "Director Qian, can simply boiling some white radish soup work? Is it really that simple?"

He then scratched his temple. "I know eating too much radish makes you pass gas, but can this really cure an illness? Isn’t that a bit too simplistic?"

Director Qian was conflicted. He acknowledged the potential efficacy of traditional Chinese medicine, yet his ingrained prejudice couldn’t be dispelled so easily, leaving him feeling quite awkward.

"Chinese herbal medicine can be quite remarkable. Many serious illnesses are cured using very common ingredients." At this point, Director Qian found himself promoting traditional Chinese medicine. "I once treated a seven-month-old baby with recurrent bloating. The condition would return just days after treatment and discharge. Eventually, with no other options, we sought help from a TCM practitioner. Can you guess what method they used?"

The man shook his head; how could he possibly know?

Director Qian also wore an expression of disbelief. "At that time, the traditional Chinese medicine expert instructed the child’s parents to clip their own fingernails, grind them into a powder, and give it to the child to drink."

"Fingernails? Can that actually work?" The man found this hard to believe and even felt a bit nauseated.

Director Qian gently shook his head. "My reaction was much like yours at the time, but the outcome was truly incredible."

"It really got better?"

"It did," Director Qian affirmed softly. "To this day, I still can’t be sure if it was the fingernails themselves or the other medicines prescribed at the time that worked. But after that, the child never had bloating again. So, don’t underestimate Boiled Radish Water. It actually cured our doctor’s intestinal obstruction."

The man scratched his head in confusion once more.

He had initially assumed it would involve a consultation with a traditional Chinese medicine expert and some rare, expensive medicine ingredients. He hadn’t expected this kind of outcome.

After thinking again, the man asked, "Can’t it be cooked at the hospital?"

"You can just cook it at home. Why waste money having it prepared at the hospital?" Director Qian suddenly sounded a little impatient. "If the hospital were to prepare it, we’d have to get another TCM to write a prescription. Not only would that be troublesome, but you’d also have to pay an additional consultation fee. Of course, if you’re willing, I can help you contact a doctor in the Chinese Medicine Department."

The man hurriedly shook his head. "No need, no need. I’ll call my wife now and have her cook it and bring it over."

"Alright, off you go then." Just as Director Qian finished speaking, he suddenly recalled how quickly Lan Changhua had responded to the soup and quickly added, "Listen, after your wife brings it, make sure to call me. I’ll stay late today; I want to be there when your father drinks it."

"Okay, thank you, Director Qian." The man’s attitude was now markedly different from when he had first entered.

Although this shift in attitude irritated Director Qian, as a doctor, he felt he had to accept it.

In April, the days grew dark much more slowly than they had around the New Year. For instance, though he had only delayed his departure from work by two hours today, the world outside was already illuminated by streetlights.

For Director Qian, however, this wait felt significant. It was his first time personally employing such a method—one leaning towards traditional Chinese medicine yet essentially a dietary therapy—and he felt a sense of excitement.

After the man’s father drank the soup, Director Qian observed him for a few minutes. Seeing no immediate reaction, he gave the son some instructions and then returned to his office.

However, after only half an hour in his office, he grew restless and returned to the hospital room.

"How is your father doing now? Is there any rumbling in his stomach?" Director Qian asked the man as soon as he entered.

The man, however, replied uneasily, "There’s been no reaction at all, and he’s even vomited twice. I think he might have thrown up all the soup he just drank."