Chapter 53: The Effectiveness of the Herbal Pillow

When dealing with patients, one must be as warm as the spring breeze, but with ordinary people, such consideration isn’t necessary. Lu Feng treated Zhou Fuqu’s menstrual pain simply because she was a patient; once the treatment was over, there was no need to pay her any further attention. He stood up and left, having already decided that unless Zhou Fuqu brought a formal invitation, he would never interact with such a haughty person again.

Zhou Fuqu was left alone in the private room, and a surge of irritation welled up within her. No one had ever dared show her such disregard before—today was a first.

Su Dao’an noticed her displeasure and hurried to explain, “Lu Feng isn’t usually like this. He didn’t mean to offend you.”

Fang Huijuan felt somewhat awkward and tried to smooth things over. “People with real skill tend to have a bit of a temper, Miss Zhou. Please don’t take it to heart.”

Zhou Fuqu’s mood was unpredictable. Her pain had genuinely eased—more so even than with medicine—but she couldn’t be sure it was Lu Feng’s needle that had helped. After all, it was just a light prick; such miraculous effect seemed almost too much to believe.

Yet with Su Dao’an’s repeated praise of Lu Feng, she began to put some stock in his medical abilities.

Yun’an Group was known for its attentive service. When Zhou Fuqu left, the staff had already prepared a red bean herbal pillow for her.

She accepted it without ceremony, paying the thirty thousand yuan consultation fee at the front desk. This was the fee Lu Feng had mentioned earlier. She didn’t lack for money—seeing a doctor meant paying, whether or not a cure was found. Besides, she hadn’t come specifically for treatment at the start.

…

The Zhou family resided in Yuanscenic Hill.

Yuanscenic Hill was not merely a mountain, but a high-end villa community.

After returning home, Zhou Fuqu felt exhausted. She’d originally planned to rest at home because of her discomfort, but had reluctantly gone to Yun’an Wellness Center only because Fang Huijuan insisted on introducing her to a traditional doctor.

The trip back and forth left her feeling even worse. She hurriedly showered and collapsed onto her bed, only for pain to flare in her lower abdomen again, forcing her to curl up on her side, clutching her stomach.

A dignified, graceful woman entered the room. Seeing her daughter’s state, she immediately realized the pain had returned. She hurried over, saying, “Is it hurting again? Where did you put the painkillers? I’ll get you some water.”

Zhou Fuqu was about to say the painkillers were in the drawer, but instead replied, “There’s a herbal pillow in my car. Ask Aunt Liu to heat it in the microwave and bring it up for me.”

“Alright, just lie down for a while. I’ll get it.” The middle-aged woman quickly went to the garage to retrieve the herbal pillow, microwaved it for three minutes herself, and brought it into the room on a tray.

“It’s very hot after heating. How should you use it?”

Zhou Fuqu touched the pillow—it was indeed very hot. She wrapped it in a towel and placed it on her lower abdomen.

Gentle warmth radiated from the pillow, seeping into her belly, making her whole body feel cozily warm.

Zhou Fuqu found the pain much less severe, so she stretched out on the bed, enjoying the soothing heat on her abdomen, and soon drifted off to sleep without realizing it.

The middle-aged woman saw her daughter asleep, quietly withdrew, and softly closed the door.

…

Two hours later, Zhou Fuqu woke, feeling much better.

While abroad, Zhou Fuqu hadn’t paid much attention to her menstrual pain, simply relying on painkillers to get by. She knew it wasn’t a serious ailment—typically, it would heal naturally after marriage and childbirth, so treatment seemed unnecessary.

However, after prolonged use, she developed a tolerance to painkillers and found them less and less effective.

Moreover, marriage and children were not in her immediate future, so the pain gradually became a persistent ailment. With added stress and pressure from life and work, the pain worsened.

Her biological clock was always regular—sleep at eleven, rise at seven. But this nap had been outside her usual schedule, so she awoke after just two hours, checking the time to find it was past ten.

She felt her lower abdomen—there was hardly any pain, and she hadn’t taken any painkillers.

Madam Zhou had already checked on her twice. Seeing her daughter awake this time, she opened the door and asked, “Are you feeling better? I saw you asleep and didn’t wake you.”

Zhou Fuqu rubbed her forehead and replied, “Much better. The pain is gone.”

“Oh? In the past, you couldn’t even sleep through the pain without medicine. How did you get better this time? This herbal pillow is quite something! Which hospital prescribed it? I’ll order a few more for you,” Madam Zhou said.

Zhou Fuqu picked up the pillow, a faint smile on her lips. “It’s just a pound of red beans inside—nothing special.”

“Really? Then which doctor provided it? Maybe we should have him look at your grandfather. Perhaps he could help.”

Zhou Fuqu had been skeptical of Lu Feng’s skills, but now, hearing her mother’s suggestion, she was genuinely considering having Lu Feng treat her grandfather. Still, she recalled his arrogance and felt a twinge of reluctance.

“That traditional doctor has quite a temper. He said if we want his treatment, we must send a formal invitation,” Zhou Fuqu said with a frown.

“There’s nothing odd about that. In the old days, even wealthy landlords had to send invitation cards to renowned physicians. A gifted healer is bound to be proud. There’s a reason for this: a great doctor’s temper ensures only the humble and respectful receive treatment, while the arrogant are turned away,” Madam Zhou explained.

“But he doesn’t look like a miracle doctor at all…”

“You can’t judge people by appearances. Who says a miracle doctor must look immortal or ascetic?” Madam Zhou said.

“We’ll see. If he really is skilled, I’ll invite him to treat Grandfather,” Zhou Fuqu nodded.

“That’s good. Are you hungry? Should I have something prepared for you?”

“No, just ask Aunt Liu to warm a glass of milk and bring it up,” Zhou Fuqu replied, then lazily sank back onto the bed.

…

In the Su family’s second-floor parlor, Su Muyu and Su Muqing sat side by side, each hugging a pillow as they watched a horror movie.

Su Muyu curled up tightly but remained calm.

Su Muqing, on the other hand, was a bundle of nerves.

“Wow! That’s terrifying.” Just ten seconds earlier, she’d looked utterly frightened; now, she burst out laughing. “It’s so fake! The director knows nothing—people can’t possibly have souls.”

Lu Feng suddenly interjected from the side, “That’s not necessarily true. The soul is the human spirit and will. If refined enough, it can manifest.”

“Nonsense! You’re just making things up,” Su Muqing retorted, unconvinced.

“I’m not making anything up.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be a traditional doctor? Why are you talking about supernatural nonsense?” Su Muqing challenged.

“In Yunshan, medicine and the Dao have never been separate. Do you know who wrote the Golden Formula your family possesses?” Lu Feng countered.

“Who wrote that old book, Sister?” Su Muqing, uninterested, nudged Su Muyu with her elbow.

“Sun Simiao. He’s actually our ancestor from more than a dozen generations ago,” Su Muyu replied confidently.

“Did you know Sun Simiao was a Taoist priest?” Lu Feng asked again.

“I know that—history books mention it. Sun Simiao was indeed a Taoist,” Su Muyu replied, her interest piqued as she leaned in closer.

“That’s why, in Yunshan, medicine and the Dao have always gone hand in hand.”