Chapter 7: Finnley's Medical Skills

"The specialists from the state will be in the ward in twenty minutes. Uncle told you to hurry..." Isabelle's voice died as she caught a familiar figure out of the corner of her eye.  For a heartbeat, time held its breath.  She went rigid, as if she'd been frozen in place. "You showed up at the perfect moment!" Apollo's eyes lit up. He strode over to Isabelle's side and, with a self-satisfied tilt of his chin, said to Finnley, "Isabelle and I are about to get engaged. As our mutual friend, you'll congratulate us, right?" He stared at Finnley, refusing to blink. He had rehearsed this scene a thousand times.  He ached to see shock, disappointment, and disbelief spread across Finnley's face. Finnley took in the two of them standing together.  His expression didn't change. He kept smiling. In his previous life, he had long since learned about the two of them. Apollo had even delivered their wedding invitation and photo straight to his prison cell. Finnley turned to Isabelle and asked, "Did you know Apollo signed the malpractice report?" Isabelle's stiff expression faltered.  "What signature?" "Seems you don't really know him." Finnley shook his head.  "You need clear eyes to see who people really are." "Isabelle knows what kind of man I am. You don't need to sermonize!"  Apollo blurted, raising his voice in a hurry, stung by the absence of the reaction he craved. "Where is the patient?" Finnley asked, cutting to the point. "Patient? I'm a doctor. I don't disclose patient information," Apollo declared for all to hear.  "And about that signature, I did nothing wrong." "The patient took other drugs in the past two years, but they were standard meds without side effects. It was your medicine that caused his health problems." "There was nothing wrong with my signing the medical evaluation report." Apollo jabbed a finger at the clock.  "You just heard it. I only have twenty minutes left to see patients, and many people are still waiting. Stop wasting everyone's time. I'm asking you to leave." "Only twenty minutes left?" The onlookers who had been enjoying the spectacle instantly grew anxious. "We told you to go. Why are you still hanging around?" "Yeah, don't you understand this is about people's lives? And to think you used to be a doctor. Where are your medical ethics?" "Move along, stop blocking the doorway!" Isabelle frowned and glanced back at the line of patients.  She faced Finnley and said gently, "Finnley, congratulations on getting out." "Whatever dispute you two have, let Apollo finish seeing patients first." "All these people came for him. Treatment comes first."  "What's coming up is important to him. He really needs this chance." The chorus of scolding swelled.  Finnley looked at Isabelle, then at Apollo, his face gleaming like a general fresh from a victorious battle.  He turned and took in the wall covered with gratitude banners from patients. Suddenly, he laughed, and the laugh was bright with genuine pleasure. "Apollo, it seems you have forgotten something. What I gave you, I can take back." Finnley thought. "It's just seeing patients—no need to make a big deal of it. You're short on time. I have time." He pivoted, lifted a hand, and pointed to the loudest patient in the crowd.  "You can go home." "You're not ill. A toothache spiked your blood pressure. The hypertension triggered the headache, and then you scared yourself into believing you had something serious." The man's bluster snapped off.  He gaped at Finnley. How did he know all that? Finnley didn't pause. He pointed at a middle-aged man behind him.  "Your issue isn't serious either. You have a fever with vomiting and diarrhea. It's a stomach flu. Go to the pharmacy out front and buy a bottle of Digestive Pill. Take it for three days, and you'll be fine." The man stared, stunned. "And you." Finnley pointed to a woman next.  "You've got a cold in the stomach. That's why you have indigestion and keep drinking hot water." "No need for drugs. I'll give you a unique prescription. Use one lychee and six peppercorns. Pound the lychee, grind the peppercorns into a powder, and mix with moxa floss. Roll the mixture into a small ball. Place it over your navel with medical tape. Put it on at night and remove it in the morning. Use it for three nights, rest one day, and you'll feel better within a week." "And you." Silence spread through the consultation room and into the hallway.  Only Finnley's voice remained, clean and steady.  In barely a dozen seconds, he had assessed three patients. People kept glancing back at the first three patients.  Their startled, then delighted expressions made it plain Finnley's words had hit the mark. Remembering how, two years earlier, he had been a star physician whose skill was praised by everyone, the crowd began to hope he would reach them sooner. "Impossible!" Apollo was stunned, eyes locked on Finnley.  How did Finnley's Body Diagnosis achieve such sharpness? He could assess the illness without taking the patient's pulse. Apollo couldn't do it. He had never seen a traditional medicine doctor who could.  Even in conventional medicine, you'd run tests before making a diagnosis. Wasn't Finnley in prison for two years? Panic set in. His confidence a moment ago had rested partly on their swapped positions in life, and partly on the belief that two years behind bars would have blunted Finnley's skills.  He believed that two years of hard work had put him shoulder to shoulder with Finnley, maybe even a step ahead. Who would have thought that two years in prison hadn't dulled Finnley's skills at all? It had honed it. Isabelle stared at Finnley, dazed.  For a moment, she saw the Finnley from two years ago, confident and adored by his patients. "You, and you, and you," Finnley said, pointing from patient to patient.  "You all came to see him for hemorrhoids, correct?" "You can even see hemorrhoids by sight alone?" Apollo thought. Apollo's heart hammered against his ribs.  He had never heard of any traditional doctor who could pick out hemorrhoids through Body Diagnosis. Then the next sentence made his gut clench. "You don't need to line up for that. And you don't need to present me with a gratitude banner when you're cured. I'll give you two prescriptions. Get the herbs and prepare them yourselves. These two prescriptions can cure hemorrhoids." "Really?" Eyes lit up all around. "Finnley!" Apollo barked, a sheen of sweat standing out on his forehead.  People turned to look at him, puzzled.  Isabelle looked at him, too. He ignored them, gaze bolted to Finnley. His current reputation rested on adjusting the two hemorrhoid prescriptions Finnley had once given him.  If Finnley disclosed them, what would he have left? "We can talk this out," Apollo said, voice tight.  "There's no need to make a scene here." Finnley looked at him with a sunny smile and went on as if he hadn't heard. "The two prescriptions are..."