Chapter 370: Shifting Paths: A Difficult Choice for Healing

The next day, Zhou Can brought a blushing Su Qianqian to Tuyu Hospital for a checkup.

Once they got the results Zhou Can’s mood grew especially heavy.

Her glomerular filtration rate was 62 ml/min. That meant her condition was already dangerously close to Stage 3 by international standards.

Internationally, chronic kidney failure is divided into five stages, and the main indicator is the glomerular filtration rate.

Chronic kidney disease Stage 2 is a GFR between 60–90 ml/min. If it drops below 60, it means Stage 3 has begun.

But it had only been a little over two years. She’d been taking her medicine on time, yet her illness progressed this fast.

Zhou Can honestly hadn’t expected this.

He’d originally hoped that if he could wait another five or six years, his own surgical skills would have reached a much higher level, and with a well-coordinated team, he could personally perform a kidney transplant for Su Qianqian.

And even then, a transplant was always the last resort.

Because even if the transplant succeeds, the recipient still has to endure lifelong rejection. That struggle never truly ends.

Anyone who receives an organ transplant needs to take anti-rejection medication for life.

That was why Zhou Can had always considered kidney transplants only as the very last option—a choice made only when there was truly no other way.

After all, organ transplants are incredibly risky, and the requirements are strict in every respect.

Having money doesn’t mean you can do whatever you want.

No one’s body will ever accept a donor organ as well as its own.

It’s like a man divorcing his gentle, devoted wife because he took her for granted, chasing passion with someone new. When he finally marries the new flame, he realizes he was better off with his first wife.

It’s only after the remarriage that regret sets in—the original was so much better.

There are so many people like this. Their lives were fine, but after ditching their wife for someone new, work falls apart or their savings vanish. Worse, they might even get conned out of everything by the new spouse. Once she gets what she wants, she tosses him aside, and he ends up on the street—a cautionary tale.

It’s the same with organ transplants. Your original organs are your lifelong partner, quietly and tirelessly keeping your body running.

Even when they get sick, they still labor on without complaint.

But a transplanted organ, no matter how much anti-rejection medicine you throw at it, can turn ‘temperamental’ the moment things get tough or your body slips up.

There’s an old joke among doctors: getting a transplant is like taking in a cranky ancestor you have to treat with kid gloves.

That’s why it’s so important to cherish every part of your body.

Treat them well—it’s as good as cherishing your own life.

“Honey, are the results really that bad?”

Su Qianqian asked nervously.

“It’s not great, but it’s not the worst it could be. I’ll take these results to the nephrology specialists and see if we can come up with the best treatment plan for you.”

Zhou Can tried his best to keep her spirits up. She couldn’t afford the weight of heavy psychological stress.

Staying positive and relaxed is a huge part of recovering from illness.

He took Su Qianqian straight to Director Jiang’s office.

They were in luck. Director Jiang, Director Jian, and a deputy chief physician from nephrology were in the office, discussing a case.

“Hey Xiao Zhou, you’re here! Is this your girlfriend?”

The moment they saw Su Qianqian, everyone’s eyes lit up.

Even with just a bit of light makeup, she stood out—radiant and stunning.

“This is my girlfriend, Su Qianqian. I brought her in today for a checkup—could you all take a look at the results?”

After speaking, Zhou Can introduced the three chief physicians to Su Qianqian.

Su Qianqian greeted them all with a polite smile.

“I still have a patient waiting on medication, so I’ll head out now!”

Deputy Director Chen had just come to consult Jiang about a problem. Seeing Zhou Can here for his girlfriend’s exam, he excused himself immediately.

That way, they’d have the office—and time—to themselves.

“Miss Su, please don’t be nervous. Have a seat!”

Director Jiang invited Su Qianqian to sit down so they could talk comfortably.

After reviewing her test results, his expression didn’t change much—but his brow did furrow with concern.

“Director Jian, what do you think? How should we adjust her medication?”

Director Jiang handed the results to Director Jian, looking for his opinion.

Director Jian took them and read through carefully.

“Her condition is progressing pretty quickly. If things were well-controlled, it’d usually take at least five years to reach the edge of Stage 3. Has she been taking her meds regularly?”

The truth is, chronic kidney failure isn’t as scary as people imagine.

Especially when caught early—like hers. With a balanced diet, regular schedule, and strict medication compliance, the illness can be managed and progression slowed down a lot.

“I’ve always taken my medication on time, and I come to the hospital for checkups every month or so,” Su Qianqian said, digging out her medication record from her purse.

Director Jian checked the list and nodded slightly.

“Your prescriptions are good—nothing wrong there. Do you usually eat salty or sweet foods? And how regular is your daily routine?”

“My routine’s hardly regular, work keeps me busy. As for diet, he keeps an eye on me. This isn’t allowed, that’s not allowed, so it should be fine.”

She glanced at Zhou Can with a faint sigh.

“Oh, right, I forgot—your boyfriend’s a doctor himself, and one of our most promising young nephrologists. With him watching, you probably don’t have any diet issues. That just leaves your routine. Work pressure, late nights, and not enough sleep all add up. Su, you’ll have to ease up a bit going forward.”

After learning her basic situation, Director Jian glanced back at Director Jiang.

“We can make some adjustments to her medication, but I doubt they’ll bring real satisfaction.”

“Western meds are mostly similar. The doctor who prescribed them is good, so whatever we adjust will only have a limited positive effect. Stopping the disease’s progression outright isn’t realistic.”

Director Jiang nodded in agreement.

This wasn’t something they could sugarcoat for Zhou Can.

“You two are the top nephrology experts. Are you telling me even you don’t have a better solution?”

Zhou Can’s heart sank.

He’d long since gotten used to the feeling of helplessness when facing relentless illness.

“Well… if you’re willing to try, I’d suggest visiting Mr. Chen Guoli for some herbal treatment. Judging by the speed of her illness, I’ll be blunt: if she keeps on Western medicine, she’ll probably need a transplant in less than two years.”

After some deliberation, Director Jian gave his professional suggestion.

With his wealth of clinical experience, his prediction about needing a kidney in two years likely wasn’t just a guess.

When illness gets worse, it can feel like a snow-capped mountain collapsing.

At first, it’s just a faint rumble. But as time goes on, it gains speed and force—impossible to hold back.

Zhou Can hadn’t expected Director Jian to recommend giving up on Western medicine completely and turning to traditional methods.

Honestly, Zhou Can’s own specialty was Western clinical medicine; his knowledge of traditional medicine was only skin deep.

He’d never put much faith in traditional Chinese medicine.

The market had decided—everything.

Traditional medicine had faded so far it was nearly gone.

“Director Jian, my girlfriend’s condition is already progressing rapidly, and she’s almost at Stage 3. Pardon my bluntness, but is traditional medicine really reliable?”

He had to ask, for the sake of the woman he loved.

“Xiao Zhou, I can tell you with confidence that for many chronic conditions, traditional medicine sometimes works even better than Western treatment. I know Mr. Chen Guoli personally—he’s one of the few proper old-school doctors in the province, and his skills are excellent. He’s a successor from the Menghe Medical School, unassuming and deeply committed to his craft, which is why few people know his name. Among my patients, one was told by me they had three months to live, but under Mr. Chen’s care, they’re still alive six years later.”

Director Jiang, too, had nothing but respect for Mr. Chen.

Zhou Can knew almost nothing about these medical lineages.

He barely understood the basics—he didn’t even know how to take a pulse, never mind what the Menghe School was.

“Is the Menghe School that impressive?”

He realized as soon as he spoke it was a foolish question.

Thankfully, both directors were fond of him and never took it personally. In their eyes, he was almost like a half-apprentice.

“Wu region’s doctors are famed across the land, but Menghe doctors are the best of Wu. So, is it impressive?”

Director Jian didn’t bother hiding his slight displeasure at Zhou Can’s historical ignorance.

“Xiao Zhou, remember this: As heirs of Huaxia, we owe it to our ancestors not to belittle the precious heritage of traditional medicine. Even if we don’t idolize it, we shouldn’t dismiss it. You’re easily the most gifted young doctor I’ve known. Your potential in medicine is huge, and so will be your influence. I hope you’ll view traditional medicine rationally and objectively.”

“It may be in decline now, but it once shone brightly. Without it, Huaxia’s huge population wouldn’t exist. In our history, Westerners and Africans alike died in droves from pandemics, but we survived time after time thanks to this humble medicine.”

As he spoke, Director Jian’s voice was rich with feeling.

Zhou Can could sense a deep, personal conviction in his words.

There was patriotism, a sense of heritage, and a love for traditional medicine all mingled together.

He’d seen this same feeling in other chief physicians—an enduring fondness for traditional medicine.

Zhou Can didn’t know much about it himself.

But he did know something of history—he’d learned of the many pandemics that happened in human civilization. The rise of Cold Damage theory owed a lot to these outbreaks.

In ancient times, without technology or medicine, a pandemic in a crowded area could empty out whole villages in days.

Nowhere was denser than the Yangtze and Yellow River basins.

The abundance of southern Jiangnan and splendor of Jinling were anything but accidental.

The West lost huge swathes of population in a single episode of plague.

But through thousands of years of history, every time a deadly disease emerged in Huaxia, not only were outbreaks contained, they were eradicated.

Traditional medicine made that possible.

Realizing his narrow-mindedness, Zhou Can solemnly apologized.

“I’m sorry, Director Jian. I shouldn’t have dismissed traditional medicine. Especially when it’s Qianqian’s safety at stake, I was wrong to rule it out so easily.”

Seeing Zhou Can apologize first, Director Jian’s expression relaxed.

Director Jiang added, “Xiao Zhou didn’t mean any harm; he just doesn’t know much about traditional medicine yet. It’s normal—these days, almost everyone relies on Western medicine: drugs, surgery, chemo, ablation. People just don’t think about traditional methods anymore.”

It was a simple truth.

Look around, and almost everyone gets modern medical treatment—it’s the way things are, and the market’s fully mature.

Take heart disease, for example: imagine someone telling a doctor to skip all Western treatments and try acupuncture or herbal massage instead.

That doctor would probably suggest the family see a psychiatrist—he might even worry the patient had a mental illness!

“Where does Mr. Chen live? Do you have his contact info?”

Because he trusted both directors, Zhou Can decided to take Su Qianqian to see Mr. Chen.

It wasn’t that they’d definitely switch to traditional medicine—but at least they could learn more.

“I’ll write down his contact and address for you! Mr. Chen holds clinic at his home every Saturday. Tomorrow’s Saturday—you can see him then.”

Director Jian wrote out Mr. Chen’s address and phone number for Zhou Can.

“You probably still don’t believe traditional medicine can treat chronic kidney failure. Let me put it simply: Western methods target the disease directly, but traditional medicine heals and nurtures at once. Right now she’s very weak—this is the perfect time for that dual approach.”

Hearing that, Zhou Can found it made sense.

Su Qianqian’s rapid decline was because she’d burned herself out. With her body this weak, it was no wonder disease was winning.

“Thank you for your advice. We’ll go see him tomorrow!”

After thanking both directors, Zhou Can left the office with Su Qianqian.

“Qianqian, do you have to go to work today?”

“Of course! I’ve got a ton to do!”

Having to do this checkup meant pushing work back even more.

If it were up to Zhou Can, she’d quit her job immediately.

He just wanted her to rest, focus on recovery.

But he knew she’d never agree.

“How about this—after work, I’ll come keep you company. Tomorrow I’ll take the morning off and go with you to see Mr. Chen.”

Zhou Can said gently.

“Okay! I’m heading out then!”

She knew nothing about medicine, so she put her full trust in Zhou Can.

Whatever treatment he chose, she’d follow.

Zhou Can walked her to the underground lot, where Wei Fang was waiting in the car.

“See you tonight!”

She gave Zhou Can a quick hug before climbing in.

Watching his girlfriend leave, Zhou Can was filled with worry and longing.

He hoped tomorrow would bring some answers at Mr. Chen’s place.

…

Early the next morning, Zhou Can and Su Qianqian got up and drove to Mr. Chen’s home.

He lived in an old apartment complex in Hexi.

“The more capable someone is, the simpler their life becomes. I never imagined Mr. Chen lived in such an old building.”

Zhou Can and Su Qianqian got out and headed for Building 12, Unit 101.

Wei Fang went to find a spot to park.

No sooner had they walked into the complex than they saw a long line just up ahead.

Were all these people here to see Mr. Chen?