"Many people study medicine out of a sense of obligation. My college classmate, Lin, was one of them. It wasn't entirely his choice; his family had a long tradition in the medical field. For three generations, his family had produced doctors, with his grandfather and father both being renowned figures in medicine. When he applied for college, all eight of his choices were medical schools," my friend began, sipping his tea slowly.
"There's no denying the power of genetics. Lin seemed born to be a doctor. He memorized the thick, difficult textbooks with ease. Our classmates often joked that he could recall every blood vessel in the human body but would frequently get lost on his way home.
He graduated with excellent grades and turned down the offer to stay on as a postgraduate student. We found it odd that he would refuse such a golden opportunity. But recently, while I was traveling out of town, I received a sudden call from him, urging me to come immediately as he had something important to discuss. So, after our graduation, we found ourselves sitting together again, naturally leading me to ask why he had declined the offer.
Rejecting the offer wasn't Lin's decision; it was his family's. His grandfather didn't support the idea of him pursuing further studies. Instead, he wanted Lin to join the hospital where he and Lin's father worked. Perhaps the old man was eager. Lin didn't oppose this because it was a path his grandfather had paved for him.
Unfortunately, before Lin could officially start working at the hospital, his grandfather suffered a sudden stroke and passed away.
His grandfather's death was a significant blow to the family. They weren't a large family; Lin was an only child, and his father was too. After the funeral, Lin's father handed him a box.
"Take this. Your grandfather always insisted it should be given to you," his father said, handing the box to Lin with great solemnity. Lin was surprised because he had always perceived his grandfather as strict and even a bit overbearing. He had believed that his grandfather was only concerned with the family's medical legacy, not with Lin's own well-being.
"This is your grandfather's cherished possession. Take good care of it. Even I wasn't deemed worthy to inherit it. Your grandfather always said you were born to be a doctor, and only in your hands would this item realize its full potential," his father explained, evoking a wave of sadness and nostalgia for Lin.
At this point, I couldn't help but ask Lin what was inside the box.
Lin said that his grandfather had instructed him not to open the box until he was utterly helpless with a patient.
Lin naturally grew into an excellent doctor, seemingly blessed with an extraordinarily smooth career. He often joked that perhaps his grandfather's spirit was watching over him. But soon enough, he encountered a patient that left him feeling utterly helpless.
"That patient came in just last week. When he walked into my office, I saw a rotund figure. They say clothes make the man, but even though this man was dressed in designer brands, I could sense his vulgarity and mediocrity. The most striking thing was the stench that accompanied him. He had a retinue of people with him; it felt more like a mafia negotiation than a medical consultation. Despite his well-dressed appearance, his suffering was evident. His face, bloated and indistinguishable, was marred by something beyond mere obesity," Lin recounted, his voice taking on a slightly lecturing tone.
"What puzzled me was that despite the cold winter, he wore only a thin undershirt beneath his coat, and I noticed his men carrying several similar sets of clothing.
When I inquired about his condition, he hesitated before asking everyone else to leave the room, leaving just the two of us.
I will never forget what he showed me when he removed his coat and shirt. It was the worst affliction I had ever seen," Lin's voice trembled, his Adam's apple bobbing as he spoke. Though subtle, I noticed it.
"His back was a mess, a grotesque sight. Imagine the worst beehive you've ever seen. His skin was highly ulcerated, and the density of the wounds prevented any proper healing. The wounds constantly tore at each other. It was amazing he was still alive. The smell of pus was overpowering, but as a doctor, I had to control my reaction and closely examine his back.
The wounds were unlike any I'd seen before. Each was a perfect circle, deeply indented and necrotic. As I observed, I saw something astonishing.
I watched as a fingerprint appeared on the uninfected skin near his collarbone. First, it was a slight indentation, growing deeper and darker, until the skin burst open, forming a new wound. Despite this process, he seemed entirely unaware," Lin continued, his voice shaking.
After examining him, I signaled for him to dress, as I couldn't bear to look any longer.
I asked when this had started. He painfully recounted that it had been nearly a month. Initially, he hadn't paid much attention because there was no pain, but soon his clothes were soaked with pus and blood, and his body reeked of decay. Only then did he seek medical help. I then understood why his men carried so many sets of clothing," Lin explained, looking at me intently.
"You know how surprised I was? I'm not a dermatologist, and I'm relatively new to the field. Why did he seek me out for such a severe condition?"
"I asked him, but he wouldn't say. I had no choice but to send him away while I considered my options. Watching him shuffle out, I remembered my grandfather's box, still lying quietly on my bedside table. Perhaps it was time to open it."
Lin walked into the room and returned with a box. It was a dark green, about the size of a palm. The box radiated a mysterious green glow, captivating me.
Lin slowly opened the box in front of me. The moment he did, I felt like I saw something translucent drift out.
Inside, we saw a scalpel. At first glance, it seemed ordinary, but the handle was gold, and the blade was... missing!
Lin carefully picked up the scalpel, puzzled by the absence of a blade. Suddenly, he gasped. It turned out the blade wasn't missing; it was so thin and transparent that it was nearly invisible. Lin had cut himself on its razor-sharp edge. Blood quickly flowed over the blade, revealing its shape. The blade was much longer than the handle, extending an inch longer than typical scalpels. While Lin bandaged his hand, I noticed something on the blood-stained blade—two lines of tiny text.
"With skill, save lives; with compassion, save souls."
"Is this the item your grandfather left for when you were out of options?" I asked. "Maybe your father knows its secrets."
"No, my father likely knows as much as we do. My grandfather was a renowned surgeon, but unlike other experts, he specialized in treating rare and peculiar ailments. Due to the patients' desire for privacy, my grandfather never gained widespread fame as a miracle doctor," Lin replied, revealing his grandfather's humility.
But how could this scalpel help? How could it possibly treat the patient's back? I asked Lin, but he remained silent.
I finally suggested leaving the scalpel in the box for now. The patient's condition was baffling, and why had he specifically sought out Lin? Lin agreed and asked if I would help investigate the patient with him. I laughed, saying he never sought my help for good things.
We soon discovered the man's identity; he was a local construction magnate, overseeing numerous projects. But he wasn't an honest businessman, often delaying wages and cutting corners. Despite his dubious character, he claimed to have no history of poisoning or back injuries, which left us stumped. Though his symptoms resembled those caused by a type of witchcraft known among the Miao people, the intensity suggested he should have died long ago.
"How about scaring him into telling us why he came to you?" I suggested.
Indeed, when we told the man he only had a few days to live, he panicked like a bug sprayed with insecticide, crying and confessing that he had heard Lin's grandfather possessed a scalpel that could cure any ailment.
Lin and I were puzzled. It seemed a former patient had told him, but no one had ever seen Lin's grandfather use the scalpel.
We returned to Lin's house to examine the scalpel again. I impulsively cut myself with it and noticed that the wound, though painful, healed almost instantly. The scar quickly disappeared, leaving only traces of blood.
Lin looked at me in disbelief. "Are you crazy?"
"Did your cut heal quickly too?" I asked.
Lin thought for a moment. "Could this scalpel rapidly heal wounds?"
"Yes, that's what the first part of the inscription means: 'With skill, save lives.'"
"But what about the second part: 'With compassion, save souls'?" Lin wondered.
"Let's focus on saving the man first," I said.
We arranged for the man to come to the hospital for surgery. With the miraculous scalpel, Lin planned to perform the surgery with just me assisting. It was more an experiment than a procedure.
However, the man's condition had worsened. His wounds were so severe that we could see through to his thick layer of fat and bones.
Lin requested permission for the surgery, but the hospital was reluctant, citing the high risk of death. The man threatened to sue the hospital and Lin for negligence if they didn't help him. The hospital finally agreed. Lin insisted I assist him alone, not wanting anyone else to know about the scalpel.
Anesthetizing the man was no easy task. I wondered if we should double the dosage. Lin used his grandfather's scalpel to cut around a new wound, and miraculously, the wound began to heal, expelling pus.
The scalpel's power amazed us. Encouraged, we carefully excised each wound, watching the skin and muscle heal rapidly. Finally, only the largest wound on his back remained, which had reached his spine. I still couldn't understand why the man felt no pain.
As the scalpel touched the wound, something unbelievable happened. The man suddenly sat up. The anesthesia shouldn't have worn off so quickly. We watched in horror as he slowly stepped off the operating table, the gown falling off, leaving him standing naked like a slaughtered pig.
"You cannot stop me!" he shrieked in a high-pitched, feminine voice. Strangely, his mouth didn't move.
"This beast must die!" the voice continued.
Lin was trembling, clearly out of his depth.
"Who are you?" I demanded.
"I said he must die. I won't let you ruin my plan!" the voice grew louder, threatening to bring others.
"Okay, we won't save him, but you need to tell us why," I tried to calm the entity.
The man remained still, his heart visibly swelling.
"I told you, he must die!" the entity's hatred was palpable. "Go find a worker named Agong. He knows everything. And stop saving scum like him. I can't resist the scalpel's power." With that, the voice fell silent.
Lin hesitantly touched the man, who showed no reaction. Lin then cut away the human face on the heart, which immediately dissolved into blood, leaving only a needle.
The incident was hushed up, a common practice for the hospital. The experts who had fled convinced themselves it was an illusion. After Lin filed his report, we sought out the worker named Agong.
We found him in a ramshackle workers' hut. He looked like a burnt-out piece of wood, dark and thin from malnutrition and exhaustion. His condition reminded me of how the weakest are naturally eliminated because they can't afford medical care.
When Agong heard our story, his first question was, "Is the fat man dead?" His bluntness stunned us. Lin awkwardly explained that the man was fine and recovering well. Agong sneered and slowly recounted the events.
The human face we saw on the heart belonged to a woman named Xiaofeng, Agong's fellow villager. Xiaofeng, her husband, and Agong had come to the city for work. Xiaofeng and her husband worked on the fat man's construction site while she did odd jobs. Though their life was tough, it was manageable until Xiaofeng's child fell gravely ill and needed medical fees. The fat man had withheld their wages, and when Xiaofeng's husband went to demand their pay, he was arrested for harassment. Desperate, Xiaofeng's husband doused himself in gasoline and threatened the fat man. But the fat man ignored him, and he accidentally caught fire and burned to death in front of the fat man. With no other options, Xiaofeng sought legal action, but it was futile. Her child died in the hospital corridor for lack of treatment. Driven mad by grief, Xiaofeng disappeared, her fate unknown. After telling his story, Agong scornfully dismissed us and returned to work.
Lin and I were speechless for a long time. Lin finally asked, "What does 'With compassion, save souls' mean?"
I didn't answer because I didn't know either.
After hearing this, I told my friend, "Maybe Lin's grandfather meant that saving souls really meant saving the doctor's own soul."
My friend looked enlightened and happily patted my shoulder, "Of course, I never thought of that. A doctor's compassion gives them a soul."
"What happened to Xiaofeng?" I asked, feeling sorry for the poor woman.
"We don't know. I still don't understand what she did to the fat man, but Lin's grandfather's scalpel is indeed miraculous and mysterious. Lin has since left the hospital. With his father's support, he has become a healer who often treats the needy for free."
"With compassion, save souls," I repeated.
"Exactly," my friend agreed.