"Is that it?" Everyone present was stunned.

Director Zhu sighed deeply, lamenting the fragility of life.

The Hao siblings began wiping their tears, breaking into sobs.

“Step aside,” Gao-Yuan said, pushing past Hao Meiling. He quickly examined the old man's condition, noting that while his breathing was faint and cold, it was still there. After a brief diagnosis, he declared, “He’s only fainted. He’s still alive.”

Hao Meiling, initially upset by Gao-Yuan's abruptness, immediately grew anxious upon hearing his words. “My father’s still alive?”

“Alive?” Hao’s eldest son echoed in shock.

The other grieving family members paused their wailing, suddenly unsure if they had started crying too soon.

Gao-Yuan took the patient’s hand and began diagnosing the pulse. The moment his three fingers pressed against the wrist, his brows furrowed tightly. Moving his fingers to feel along the寸口脈 (Cun Kou pulse point), he focused intently.

“What’s the pulse like?” asked Teacher Han Dai.

Switching to the other hand for diagnosis, Gao-Yuan continued probing the pulses. His voice turned grave. “The six pulses are faint, almost indiscernible.”

The assembled Chinese medicine practitioners fell silent, their hearts sinking. A faint pulse was a grim sign.

Then Gao-Yuan added, “Wait, there’s a pulse.”

Everyone looked at him with renewed hope.

But Gao-Yuan’s brow tightened again. “It’s a bird-pecking pulse, and extremely faint.”

Disappointment swept through the room.

Shaking his head, Han Dai commented, “The bird-pecking pulse is one of the seven deadly pulses—a pulse of certain death. And with it being so faint…”

Upon hearing the words “certain death,” Hao Meiling panicked. “Can’t you think of something else? Don’t just declare him doomed so quickly! There has to be a way—try another medicine, another treatment! My father… My father hasn’t even seen me get married or have kids. He… he can’t leave us this soon…” Tears streamed down her face as she pleaded.

The other siblings sighed. Meiling, the youngest and most successful among them, was also the busiest, rarely coming home. They understood her guilt and sorrow—after all, it had been years since she spent much time with their father.

Seeing no response from her father, Meiling broke down further, her grief overwhelming her. She thought about how little time they had spent together in recent years. Now, with her father gravely ill, she hadn’t even had the chance to care for him at his bedside. And just as she returned, he was about to leave forever.

“Dad…” she cried, her voice choked with emotion as she stumbled forward, intending to throw herself onto her father in anguish.

But Gao-Yuan extended his arm, stopping her firmly. “Stay back!” he barked. “Don’t get in the way of my resuscitation!”

Startled, Meiling froze in her tracks.

Everyone else was equally taken aback. Resuscitation?

Without wasting another second, Gao-Yuan squatted down, turning his attention to the patient’s swollen and damaged feet to examine the three lower pulses. Pressing his fingers against the foot, he found his hand sinking into the inflamed, soft tissue. Diagnosing the pulses here was challenging, but he carefully felt around for any signs.

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“What is he doing?” Hao’s eldest son asked, confused.

Meiling’s crying paused mid-sob as she watched.

Old Master Wan explained, “The three lower pulses are considered the foundation of life. However, diagnosing these is far more complex and less convenient than diagnosing the寸口脈. Thus, it’s not widely practiced. Still, the ancients believed that in cases of severe illness or when the寸口脈 is unreliable, one must examine the three lower pulses to determine if there’s any chance of survival.”

The Hao family finally understood.

“How are the three lower pulses?” Wan Lao asked Gao-Yuan.

Still focused on the task, Gao-Yuan shook his head. “The Taichong pulse… is absent.”

Wan Lao sighed. “The liver’s energy is dissipating.”

Gao-Yuan moved to check the Fu Yang pulse and again shook his head. “The Fu Yang pulse is also absent.”

Another shake of Wan Lao’s head. “The stomach’s energy is fading.”

Finally, Gao-Yuan examined the Taixi pulse, carefully feeling for any trace. “The Taixi pulse is faint but barely discernible,” he said.

Meiling glanced nervously between Gao-Yuan and Wan Lao.

With a deep sigh, Wan Lao turned to her. “Prepare for the worst. The pulse is gone.”

Meiling’s face went pale, her body trembling. She turned her desperate gaze toward Director Zhu.

Director Zhu gave a wry smile and shook his head.

Meiling nearly collapsed, but her siblings quickly rushed to support her.

For months, the family had mentally prepared for this outcome. Although they had expected it, accepting it was still hard.

But Gao-Yuan wasn’t ready to give up. Releasing the Taixi pulse, he stated, “The Taixi root pulse hasn’t disappeared entirely. It’s not a certain death. There’s still a glimmer of hope.”

“What?” Wan Lao was stunned, almost doubting his ears.

Everyone else exchanged confused looks, wondering if they’d heard correctly.

Meiling stared at Gao-Yuan in disbelief.

Hao’s eldest son, holding his trembling sister, grew angry. “Our sister is already like this, and you’re still giving her false hope? Why keep toying with us like this? Do you think this is fun?”

“I’m only trying to save him,” Gao-Yuan replied calmly.

“You think you can save him when even the provincial hospital couldn’t? They sent us home, saying there was no hope. Who do you think you are? Giving us hope only to crush it—is that some kind of game to you?”

Unfazed, Gao-Yuan turned to him. “So what if the provincial hospital declared him terminal? It’s not like I’ve never saved someone in such a state before.”

The eldest son froze, momentarily stunned.

Everyone else was equally speechless.

Meiling’s tearful eyes remained fixed on Gao-Yuan.

Standing up slowly, Gao-Yuan’s resolute posture made him seem larger than life. In Meiling’s mind, a phrase unexpectedly surfaced: “The gaunt man, as he stood, seemed like a towering giant.”

“But the patient already has the deadly pulse,” Wan Lao interjected. “And his stomach’s energy is nearly gone. Without stomach energy, death is inevitable. Are you still going to try?”

“As long as there’s the faintest hope, I’ll never give up,” Gao-Yuan answered firmly.

Wan Lao fell silent, unsure of how to respond.

Gao-Yuan scanned the room, his voice resolute. “Didn’t you all want to see if the Bentun Decoction could revive someone on the brink of death? This is the chance! The patient exhibits classic Shaoyin collapse symptoms. His life hangs by a thread, so we must promptly use Bentun Decoction in a modified form to rescue him. Prepare the prescription!”

His commanding tone was like a thunderclap.

“Yes!” both Wang Hanzhang and Director Li responded in unison.

Even Wang Hanzhang found himself exhilarated by the intensity of the moment.

Without hesitation, Gao-Yuan began listing ingredients: “Three taels of processed Aconite, three taels of Chinese Yam, one mace of Cinnamomum Oil, one mace of Agarwood…”

The moment he mentioned three taels of Aconite, the room erupted into gasps.

“Three taels of Aconite?! Are you trying to kill someone?” Korean medicine teacher Han Dai muttered, dumbfounded.

Ignoring the reactions, Gao-Yuan continued, “Boil it immediately! Hurry!”

Wan Lao quickly stepped in to caution him. “Doctor Gao, three taels of Aconite in a single dose is already excessive. How many days do you plan to administer this for?”

“Three doses during the day, one at night, for four consecutive days. The treatment must not be interrupted. Now go prepare the medicine!” Gao-Yuan barked.

“Twelve taels in total?!” Wan Lao nearly threw his cane in shock. “Three taels is already enough to terrify most people, and you’re talking about nearly a pound! What is this, a meal?!”

The surrounding Chinese medicine practitioners inhaled sharply, half-joking that they might as well absorb the patient’s cold energy themselves.

Director Li wasted no time, rushing out to have the medicine prepared.

Bureau Chief Yuan Hai stared at Gao-Yuan in shock, then turned to Wang Hanzhang for an explanation.

Wang Hanzhang waved his hand nonchalantly, as if to say, “No big deal, just another day.”

Han Dai could only manage an awkward laugh. “Doctor Gao, maybe you should rename this decoction. Don’t call it Bentun Decoction anymore.”

Gao-Yuan frowned. “Why?”

With a wry smile, Han Dai replied, “I’m afraid Old Wu might not take it well.”