Dr. Wells pointed a shaking finger in my direction. "Master, this arrogant young man claimed my diagnosis was wrong. He said the medicine wouldn't work."
Dr. Graves studied me with sharp eyes. "Is that so?"
"I simply observed what was apparent," I replied calmly.
"Apparent to whom?" Dr. Graves's voice carried decades of authority. "You look barely old enough to shave, let alone practice medicine."
The crowd murmured in agreement. Several people nodded their heads, clearly siding with the renowned physician.
"Age doesn't determine accuracy," I said.
Dr. Graves's eyebrows rose. "Such confidence. Tell me, young man, where did you study medicine?"
"In the mountains."
"The mountains?" Dr. Wells laughed bitterly. "Master, he's obviously some country quack who thinks he knows better than trained professionals."
"Perhaps," Dr. Graves said slowly. "But his prediction about Marcus's treatment proved correct."
The room fell silent. Dr. Wells's face went pale.
"However," Dr. Graves continued, "one lucky guess doesn't make a doctor. I've been practicing medicine for fifty years. I've saved thousands of lives."
"I understand your reputation, Dr. Graves."
"Do you?" His eyes glinted dangerously. "Then you understand that I don't appreciate amateurs questioning established medical practice."
I remained silent, watching as his assistants prepared the new medicine.
"Master," Dr. Wells said urgently, "surely you're not giving credence to this boy's nonsense."
"Nonsense or not, his observation was accurate." Dr. Graves turned back to me. "But accuracy in one instance doesn't prove competence."
The elderly man in the crowd spoke up. "Dr. Graves, this young man has been quite disrespectful. Perhaps he needs to learn proper humility."
"My thoughts exactly," Dr. Graves replied. "Young man, since you seem so confident in your abilities, let me propose a wager."
"A wager?" I asked.
"Yes. I'll prepare my medicine and treat this woman. If my treatment succeeds, you will publicly apologize for your arrogance and never question established medical practice again."
The crowd stirred with interest. Several people were already smiling, anticipating my humiliation.
"And if your treatment fails?" I asked.
Dr. Graves's expression hardened. "It won't fail. I am the Hundred Herbs King. My reputation wasn't built on lucky guesses."
"But hypothetically?"
"Hypothetically," he said with obvious irritation, "I would acknowledge your... insight."
The husband looked terrified. "Please, doctors, my wife needs help. This isn't a game."
"Precisely why arrogant amateurs shouldn't interfere," Dr. Graves said coldly. "Medical practice requires experience, not youthful presumption."
I studied the unconscious woman. Her condition was deteriorating slightly, but not critically. Dr. Graves's proposed treatment would help, but it wouldn't be complete.
"I accept your wager," I said.
Dr. Wells grinned triumphantly. "Master, you'll put this pretender in his place."
"Indeed I will." Dr. Graves took the prepared medicine from his assistant. "Watch carefully, young man. This is how real medicine works."
He carefully administered the soup to the woman, tilting her head to help her swallow. His movements were precise and professional.
"Now we wait," Dr. Graves announced. "Six minutes. She'll be conscious and coherent."
The crowd watched expectantly. Dr. Wells looked smug, already anticipating my apology.
I checked my watch. The first minute passed slowly.
"Fifty years of experience," Dr. Graves said confidently. "That's what separates true physicians from mountain quacks."
The second minute passed. The woman remained unconscious.
"Sometimes the body needs time to process the medicine," Dr. Graves explained to the crowd. "Patience is essential in medical practice."
Third minute. Still nothing.
"Dr. Graves," the husband said nervously, "she looks the same."
"The medicine is working," Dr. Graves insisted. "Internal healing takes time."
Fourth minute. The woman's breathing remained shallow and irregular.
Dr. Wells was fidgeting now, his confidence wavering. "Master, perhaps—"
"Quiet," Dr. Graves snapped. "The treatment is proceeding normally."
Fifth minute. Sweat was beading on Dr. Graves's forehead.
"Any moment now," he muttered.
Sixth minute. The woman didn't stir.
The room was completely silent. Everyone stared at the unconscious patient.
"She should be awake," Dr. Graves said quietly.
"Your medicine helped stabilize her," I said calmly, "but it's incomplete."
"Impossible. My diagnosis was thorough."
"You identified the gastrointestinal inflammation correctly, but you underestimated its severity. The woman has a chronic digestive condition that amplified the allergic reaction."
Dr. Graves's eyes widened. "Chronic condition?"
"Gastritis, probably long-term. The allergen triggered a cascade reaction that requires stronger intervention."
"What kind of stronger intervention?"
"Increase the licorice root dosage by fifty percent. Add Five Flavors fruit extract. The combination will address both the acute reaction and the underlying digestive weakness."
Dr. Graves stared at me for a long moment. Then he turned to his assistant.
"Prepare the medicine as he described."
"Master?" Dr. Wells looked shocked.
"Do it now."
The assistant quickly modified the prescription. Within minutes, the enhanced medicine was ready.
Dr. Graves administered it to the woman, his hands slightly trembling.
"If this works," he said quietly, "I will want to know exactly where you learned such techniques."
Two minutes passed. The woman's breathing deepened.
Three minutes. Her eyelids fluttered.
Four minutes. She opened her eyes.
"Where... where am I?" she asked weakly.
"Thank God!" her husband cried, grasping her hand. "You're safe, darling. The doctor saved you."
The woman struggled to sit up, looking around the room in confusion.
"Dr. Graves," her husband said tearfully, "I can't thank you enough. Tell my wife to thank Dr. Graves for saving her life."