Chapter 81

Zhou Zhishang and Sheng Jingyu exchanged a glance. The former gestured with a hand mottled by age, signaling her to come closer. Mu Qingxuan sat on a low stool by the sofa and placed her fingertips on the old man’s wrist. She pressed her three fingers together, applying varying degrees of pressure—floating, medium, and deep—to the *cun*, *guan*, and *chi* positions. The pulse was slow, failing to reach four beats per breath; it felt ephemeral, perceptible upon a light touch but blurring under firm pressure. The overall pulse was scattered and erratic, like a broken boat drifting in a storm, a clear sign of a constitution that had suffered grave damage and had yet to fully recover. "The pulse is much steadier than it was this morning, but the deficiency remains," Mu Qingxuan said, withdrawing her hand. "Professor Zhou, this is an illness born of overwork. You must take better care of yourself from now on."