Fragrance on the Needle

She is the only descendant of Wu Zhongjing, the master of traditional Chinese medicine. With three old silver needles and a can of dried radish, he entered Renji Hospital, the top hospital in the country. On the first day, he was assigned to sit on the bench in the physical therapy room. Three broken beds and one chair with loose legs. Everyone thought she was a country bumpkin from the county town. Liu Ruyan, deputy director of the Department of Traditional Chinese Medicine, arranged for her to work night shifts for thirty days, and she said "ok". Colleague Zhou Fuling gave her a sachet mixed with musk, and she returned it with a smile: "Keep it for yourself." Vice Dean Liu Boyuan praised her in public, so she bowed: "Thank you, Dean Liu, for your love." No one knew that her hand that only knew how to press her waist could insert needles into acupuncture points at the age of twelve. Under her harmless-looking smile, there is a whole set of "The Art of Identifying People's Hearts" passed down from her grandfather. There is another person in the hospital who knows her details - the deputy director of the acupuncture department, He Wenwen. The grandson of He Shaotang, the master of traditional Chinese medicine, has been dormant in Renji for ten years, just waiting for one person to take the needle. "I won't ask. But if you tell me, I'll listen." She went from being stepped on, to being feared, to the whole Renji begging her to get acupuncture. It's not about words, it's about curative effect. Grandpa once said: Needles don't prick people, they only prick diseases. People don't follow people, only their hearts. Her name is Wu Dafang. The name is earthy, but the person is not earthy.