The man stumbled through the doorway, his face pale with panic. His wife hung limp in his arms, her breathing shallow and labored.
"Please, somebody help her!" he gasped, looking around desperately.
The middle-aged woman behind the counter immediately sprang into action. "Bring her to the back room. Dr. Wells is here today."
Several customers gathered around as the man carried his wife toward a treatment area. I followed, curious about what had happened.
"What occurred?" asked a distinguished voice from the back room.
Dr. Marcus Wells emerged, adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses. He was a man in his fifties with graying hair and an air of professional confidence.
"She collapsed after lunch," the husband explained frantically. "We were eating at a restaurant, and suddenly she couldn't breathe properly."
Dr. Wells nodded gravely. "Place her on the examination table."
The woman was middle-aged, her face flushed red but her lips pale. Her breathing was irregular, and she seemed completely unresponsive.
"Step back, everyone," Dr. Wells commanded. "Give me room to work."
He checked her pulse, examined her eyes, and pressed his ear to her chest. The crowd watched in respectful silence.
"Classic case of allergic shock," Dr. Wells announced confidently. "Food allergy, most likely shellfish or nuts."
The husband nodded vigorously. "Yes, yes! She had prawns at lunch. She's never had problems before, but—"
"Allergies can develop suddenly," Dr. Wells interrupted. "The symptoms are unmistakable."
I frowned as I watched his examination. Something didn't seem right.
Dr. Wells moved to a cabinet filled with prepared medicines. "I'll give her a special soup to counteract the allergic reaction. She'll be awake within five minutes."
"Are you certain?" the husband asked anxiously.
"Absolutely. I've treated dozens of similar cases." Dr. Wells selected a bottle of dark liquid. "This remedy has never failed."
He poured the medicine into a small cup and carefully administered it to the unconscious woman. The crowd murmured approvingly.
"Now we wait," Dr. Wells said, checking his pocket watch. "Five minutes, no more."
I studied the woman's condition more carefully. Her pulse was weak, her breathing shallow, but there were other signs Dr. Wells had missed.
"She won't wake up," I said quietly.
The room fell silent. Everyone turned to stare at me.
"Excuse me?" Dr. Wells asked, his tone sharp.
"Your diagnosis is incomplete," I continued. "That medicine won't work."
Dr. Wells's face reddened with indignation. "Young man, I've been practicing medicine for over twenty years. Who are you to question my expertise?"
"Someone who can see what you missed."
The crowd began muttering among themselves. Several people looked offended by my audacity.
"This is outrageous," said an elderly man. "Dr. Wells is one of the most respected physicians in the city."
"He should show proper respect," added a woman wearing expensive jewelry.
Dr. Wells crossed his arms. "Please, enlighten us with your wisdom. What exactly did I miss?"
"The allergy affected more than just her respiratory system," I explained calmly. "It caused gastrointestinal chaos as well. Your remedy addresses only part of the problem."
"Ridiculous!" Dr. Wells scoffed. "Pure speculation from someone with no medical training."
"We'll see."
The husband looked back and forth between us nervously. "Should I take her to the hospital?"
"Absolutely not," Dr. Wells said firmly. "She'll be fine in a few minutes. Don't listen to this... this quack."
I remained silent, waiting.
Five minutes passed. The woman didn't stir.
Dr. Wells checked his watch again, frowning. "Sometimes these things take a bit longer."
Another five minutes. Still nothing.
The husband's anxiety was growing. "Doctor, maybe we should—"
"Patience," Dr. Wells insisted, but his confidence was wavering. "The medicine needs time to work."
I could see sweat beading on his forehead. The crowd was beginning to whisper among themselves.
"This is taking too long," someone muttered.
"Maybe the young man was right," another person suggested quietly.
Dr. Wells's face was growing redder by the minute. "There's nothing wrong with my diagnosis. Nothing!"
But the woman remained unconscious, her breathing becoming more labored.
"Dr. Wells," the shop owner said gently, "perhaps we should consider other options."
"Fine!" Dr. Wells snapped. "I'll get my master. Dr. Graves will confirm my diagnosis."
He stormed out of the room, leaving everyone in uncomfortable silence.
"Who is Dr. Graves?" I asked the shop owner.
"Dr. Leonard Graves, the Hundred Herbs King," she replied with reverence. "He's the most renowned traditional medicine practitioner in the entire province."
The crowd murmured in agreement. Even I had heard of this man's reputation during my mountain training.
Within minutes, Dr. Wells returned with an elderly man wearing traditional robes. Dr. Graves had white hair, kind eyes, and an aura of profound wisdom.
"What seems to be the problem?" Dr. Graves asked gently.
"Food allergy shock," Dr. Wells explained quickly. "I administered the standard remedy, but it's taking longer than expected."
Dr. Graves nodded and moved to examine the patient. His movements were careful and methodical, checking points that Dr. Wells had ignored.
He pressed specific spots on her abdomen, examined her tongue, and felt her pulse at multiple locations.
"Marcus," Dr. Graves said quietly, "you were partially correct about the allergy."
Dr. Wells looked relieved. "I knew it!"
"However," Dr. Graves continued, "you missed the secondary reaction. The allergen caused severe gastrointestinal inflammation. Your remedy addressed the respiratory symptoms but ignored the digestive crisis."
Dr. Wells's face went pale. "But... but the symptoms clearly indicated—"
"An incomplete diagnosis leads to incomplete treatment," Dr. Graves said firmly. "This woman needs a different approach entirely."
The crowd was staring at Dr. Wells with disappointment and confusion. His reputation was crumbling before their eyes.
Dr. Graves turned to his assistants. "Prepare a compound soup with dried ginger, white atractylodes, and licorice root. Add red dates and processed ginger."
"Yes, Master," they replied immediately.
As the correct medicine was being prepared, Dr. Graves's eyes swept the room and settled on me.
"Who is this kid?" he asked.