Second, lifting the ban on the upper incense and lower 18
"Baga..." A young man sitting in the living room walked in, growled in a low voice, and gestured to pull Zhu Tong out.
"I am a doctor." Zhu Tong took out the silver needle and inserted three needles into Ikeda's chest and chin. This time, he used the Thirteen Needles of Ghost Gate, which was tested on Zhou Dong. Its function is to clear the meridians.
Strengthen the body and remove stasis, and restore the circulation of Qi and blood.
"Get out, this is China, you...get out!"
Ikeda was awake all the time. After Zhu Tong finished getting the needle, he angrily scolded the young Japanese in Chinese. His neck was fixed and he couldn't use force, and his words were a little weak, but his pronunciation of Chinese words was very accurate.
The young man bowed his head and exited. Ikeda looked at Zhu Tong and said, "Dr. Li, are you a Chinese medicine practitioner?"
"Yes, I'm sorry, I was the one who hurt you last night."
"Ah, what a miracle. I thought you... Dr. Li, I ask you to be my attending doctor." Ikeda's eyes flashed with eagerness as he begged.
"Let's wait until your doctor comes for consultation. I work here. If necessary, I will try my best to help." Zhu Tong took out the dog skin plaster and wanted to apply it to Ikeda, but he did not dare to open the fixed bracket, so he had to regret it.
He shook his head and put the dog skin plaster back; "In China, Chinese medicine practitioners are also learning science, and some things are not recognized."
"I believe in you, Dr. Li. Your acupuncture technique is magical. I can feel the flow of breath. I don't allow others to put nails and holes in my body. They are butchers and craftsmen, not masters."
Ikeda looked at Zhu Tong eagerly, turning a blind eye to the embarrassment of the orthopedic director next to him.
But the little liar was alert. When he inserted the three needles, he used Qi to guide the needles. Ordinary people might feel numbness and heat. But Ikeda could feel the flow of Qi, which proved that he must have practiced internal skills, which is a superb and exquisite skill.
, not the superficial kung fu that is spread on the street.
"It's really fucking weird. Foreigners believe in traditional Chinese medicine, but the Chinese themselves scorn it." Zhu Tong said softly, making the group of Western doctors around him feel a little embarrassed; "I'm sorry, everyone, I
Nothing else, Chinese medicine is actually very difficult to learn. This is due to the conservative habits of Chinese people, who are afraid that their family’s abilities will be exposed. Haha, if you pass it on from son to daughter, if you don’t have children, you will let a unique skill be lost. No wonder you are seeking your own death.
other people."
When Director Li said this, the weird atmosphere just now relaxed. The two younger doctors agreed with the little liar, which meant flattering; the older doctor thought that he relied on his own ability to earn a living, and there was no need to please this young man.
, he said goodbye and left; he said that Mr. Ikeda's condition is now stable, although he has no feeling in his limbs, and he may use some good medicine to recover slowly after a while.
Generally speaking, cervical dislocations like Mr. Ikeda's are caused by injuries to the spinal cord; even if handled properly, more than 80% of patients will become paralyzed or semi-paralyzed.
Under the guidance of Assistant Wu, Zhu Tong gradually understood the truth; to be honest, he had never encountered such a disease where a person with a broken neck did not die.
"Mr. Ikeda, I need to adjust and fix your vertebrae with my hands. It may be dangerous." Zhu Tong asked the patient's opinion again. After all, this was the first time for him.
"Sir, please feel free to perform the surgery. If anything happens, I will not blame you. I asked the doctors and they said I might be paralyzed. Death is not scary to me, but I am afraid of not being able to stand up again."
After Ikeda finished speaking, he called the men outside: "You can't disturb the doctor. No matter what he does, he is treating me."
Assistant Wu slowly untied the traction bracket for Ikeda, and Zhu Tong reached out and stroked it little by little to identify the position of the vertebrae; brute force cannot be used here, and Zhu Tong could only use internal force to force the vertebrae to reset.
At this time, Zhu Tong's whole body was full of true energy, and the phoenix mask served as a solid backing, supplying a steady flow of energy for him to squander.
The butterfly insect was lightly activated. Fortunately, Ikeda Kazuo was fat enough. Zhu Tong used the method he learned from Zhou Dong to slowly cultivate it, guide it, and absorb nutrients little by little to strengthen itself. Only when it grows to a certain extent,
Only then can I help.
Half an hour later, Zhu Tong let go of his hand, put a piece of dog skin plaster on the back of Ikeda's neck, and signaled Assistant Wu to fix the bracket. His whole body seemed exhausted and he couldn't use any strength, and his hospital gown under his white coat was soaked with sweat.
"Sir, you are a real Chinese medicine practitioner, and this plaster is a real dog skin plaster."
Ikeda also felt the beauty of the dog-skin plaster and experienced it with his eyes closed; when Zhu Tong wanted to pull out the silver needles, he was able to wave his hand and refuse: "No, I need them."
Why? Assistant Wu didn't understand, and Zhu Tong was also a little confused: "What do you feel?"
"They are qi machines, and your plaster needs their support. Sir, you saved me; haha, I, Kazuo Ikeda, will stand up again. Sir, what is your name?"
"My name is Li Xiang."
"He is the youngest chief physician in our hospital, Mr. Ikeda, who are you?" Assistant Wu had seen Zhu Tong's dog skin plaster, and was even a little superstitious; he had checked Zhu Tong's body last night, especially the shoulder. There was originally a
A very deep cut, but now not even a scar is left, only the beautiful black butterfly.
"I want to rest for a while, Mr. Li Xiang, you are the most brilliant person I have ever met."
Ikeda was talking about people, not doctors; only Zhu Tong could understand this sentence, and Ikeda didn't think Zhu Tong was just a doctor.
On the evening of the next day, as the setting sun of winter had just faded into the horizon, a Buick RV stopped in front of Puxian Temple on the outskirts of Shanghai.
The car door opened, and a gentleman in his thirties stepped out. His clothes were simple but not simple, and his face was calm and quiet. He was only accompanied by a driver, a very simple middle-aged man.
The Zhike monk of Puxian Temple is the most discerning. When he saw such a person, he greeted them early, diligently promoted the Buddhist practices of the temple, and took the two people into the temple.
When we entered the Tianwang Hall of Puxian Temple, the novices waiting inside thought that a rich man had arrived, so they burned incense and lit incense candles. Several monks came in, sat down at the corner of the incense table and chanted scriptures.
The gentleman respectfully held up three pillars of incense, meditated for a moment, lowered his head and lit the incense burner.
The monk who knew the guest was secretly happy that the guest had chosen the thickest incense. What was the price?
"We just donated 100,000 yuan to the China Charity Federation." The gentleman said to the yellow-robed monk who came from behind: "We are not here to have a relationship with the Buddha. The Buddha can still see every plant and tree with his own eyes.
To save people, why can’t Buddhist disciples join in worldly charity with bodhisattva compassion?”
"What the donor said is absolutely true. Puxian Temple also provides aid to the poor. Buddhist disciples do not seek wealth, and donations are ultimately for the benefit of society." The monk in yellow raised his hands and sang Buddha. He raised his hands, the incense candles were extinguished, and the monks who were chanting sutras also retreated.
.
Since the visitor has made it clear that he will not pay for anything, no matter how good the things are, he will give them in vain. Buddhism is pure and economical is the top priority, so reciting sutras cannot be in vain.
"I want to see Master Kongmu, please let me know." After the gentleman finished speaking, he ignored the astonishment of the monk in yellow and strolled out of the Heavenly King's Hall.
There is a stele in the right corner in front of the hall. He is not interested in the big word "Buddha" on the stele. He squats down and touches the sapphire turtle base under the stele.
Helpless and without awe.
The ruthless monk came from the corner of the hall and chanted the Buddha's name from a distance: "Which benefactor is coming to Samantabhadra Temple? Amitabha, Master Kongmu has traveled far a few days ago. Is there anything you can say to the poor monk?"
"Qingwu." The gentleman stood up, looked back, and continued to stare at the sapphire turtle: "Isn't Master Kongmu here? What a coincidence. Master Qingqing, I have heard that Puxian Temple is prosperous, but when I came today, the only thing that caught my eye was this turtle.
That’s all.”
"Sir, who is...?" The ruthless monk was called a bad name, but he couldn't even tell the origin of the other person, so he was even more cautious.
"My surname is Lan, you can call me Lan Zhanjiang." When the gentleman said these words, he knelt down again.
"The ancestors created Chinese characters, which were inspired by the patterns on turtle shells. There is a saying: a thousand-year-old king and an eighty-thousand-year-old turtle. The turtle doesn't say anything, but it sees everything. The world's good, bad, joys and sorrows depend on it.
They say it's all a farce. Will the tortoise care about the worship, praise, hope, and pressure that the world puts on it? The wizard burns the tortoise and points the country in its name, but the right to interpret still lies with people. Li
If you are happy, if you are hurt, you are angry, and it has nothing to do with it.”
The gentlemen chatted, but the ruthless monks were sweating on their heads; very few people knew the name Lan Zhanjiang. He was the convener of this Jianghu Reception. With this status alone, he would not come to Puxian Temple easily. Moreover,
Although Lan Zhanjiang is low-key, Qing Wuqing knows that he is still the representative of the third-grade blue stone in the world. He represents strong financial resources and interpersonal relationships behind him. He is a pivotal figure in the world and in society.
Behind the inscription on the stele that Lan Zhanjiang caressed was engraved the name of another Lan, who was the great benefactor of Puxian Temple.
Thirty years ago, it was the Third-grade Blue Stone that spent huge sums of money to renovate the dilapidated Puxian Temple, and also bought hundreds of acres of surrounding fields and planted dense woods to isolate the temple from the world. Only then could the First-grade Golden Buddha be found in Shanghai.
The current situation.
Today, the trees planted by Blue Stone thirty years ago have grown into towering trees; just like these trees, the First Grade Golden Buddha has inherited the Zen teachings that have been passed down for thousands of years and grown into the largest sect in the world.
Lan Zhanjiang's entourage, in Wuwu's view, is even more of a master, and his cultivation has reached the point where he has returned to his original nature; when Wuqing approached, he saw a footprint left on the bluestone behind Lan Zhanjiang. Judging from the shape of the shoes, there were only footprints under his feet.
Only the pair of soft-soled cloth shoes can be kept.
"Is Mr. Lan's visit here because of the incident involving Master Xue Kuang Monk?" Qingwu can't pretend to be confused in front of an expert. The pursuit of Zhu Tong the night before yesterday is unreasonable for the Golden Buddha Sect no matter what.
Any conflicts between the eight sects of the Jianghu can be easily discussed. Such a blatant pursuit is easier said for other sects, but it is almost unprecedented for the Golden Buddha.
"Master Wuqing is very pleased. Lan came here this time just for the Snow Monk. We all don't want another accident to happen in the world. Zhumen needs an explanation. Their minds are not as broad and tolerant as the Buddhists, and their methods are nothing."
You must not be aboveboard. If something like that happened, the Golden Buddha also needs to give an explanation to Jianghu Dao."
Lan Zhanjiang stood up again and faced the ruthless monk: "We don't want the tragedy of decades ago to happen again. Jianghu Dao has just begun to improve. If it is too arrogant, it will attract government intervention. They openly chase and kill police officers and Jianghu on the streets of Shanghai."
Comrade, it will destroy the foundation of the world that we have worked so hard to build."
"Mr. Lan, you have wrongly blamed us." Wuqing said with a wry smile: "Uncle Snow Kuang Monk has not been in contact with us since his trip to Xiangxi. Uncle seems to be possessed by a devil; there were times when he acted wildly, but he never
Not as desperate as this time."
He had to explain that in fact, the ruthless monk was also confused about Monk Xue's pursuit of Zhu Tong. That was not the behavior of Buddhist masters in the past.
"Enchanted?" Lan Zhanjiang muttered, and a judgment flashed through his mind. Could it be that Zhu Tong did something to the Snow Kuang Monk?