Sinclair Apothecary has been passed down through generations of the Sinclair Family.
The medical clinic is not large, with only two traditional Chinese medicine physicians seeing patients. Apart from her, the other one is her grandfather, the owner of this clinic, who is already in his seventies. The neighbors affectionately call him Old Dr. Sinclair.
She learned medicine from her grandfather since childhood, and after graduation, she stayed at Sinclair Apothecary. Her reputation has spread through the neighbors in the alley, but almost all those willing to consult her are women.
"Let me check your pulse first." Claire Prescott said to her.
The female patient extended her hand and stared fixedly at Claire Prescott.
Perhaps because of her good looks, both her features and her demeanor are so pure and out of the ordinary, making her seem like someone unfit to be a traditional Chinese medicine doctor, leaving the patient with doubts about her medical skills.
Yet, she didn't voice her thoughts.
At this moment.
Claire Prescott asked, "Does it hurt even when your menstrual period is almost over?"
The girl replied, "Sometimes, yes."
"Let me see your tongue."
The girl obliged.
After examining her tongue, Claire Prescott asked her several questions in quick succession. The girl kept nodding, and Claire even accurately pinpointed when her period started, which seemed particularly magical.
In the end, Claire Prescott retrieved her hand and said gently, "You have spleen deficiency, stagnation of Qi forming blood stasis. Drinking Si Wu Tang won't help; the medication isn't right for your condition. In the future, when you're ill, see a doctor promptly, and don't blindly trust online suggestions to take medication."
The girl, feeling shy, responded, "Okay."
Claire Prescott wrote a prescription for her, "I've prescribed five doses for you; go to the counter and get the medicine."
The girl glanced down at the prescription.
She couldn't understand the names of the medicines written on it.
But the handwriting was exceptionally delicate and fresh, resembling exquisite calligraphy art, with each stroke brimming with tension, exuding a sense of historical depth.
This made her once again re-evaluate the female doctor standing in front of her.
"Dr. Prescott, can I add you as a contact?"
"Sure," Claire Prescott took out her phone, opened WeChat and let her scan it.
Still seemingly concerned, the girl hesitated for a moment and asked, "How long will it take to get better with the treatment?"
"If your period is still painful after taking the medicine, come see me again."
"Alright."
...
The female patient had just stepped out the door with the medicine when a man in a suit walked in.
Upon seeing him, Claire Prescott was momentarily stunned.
She had some impression of his appearance; he was the driver of Mr. Lowell last night.
Before she could speak and inquire, the man identified himself, "Miss Prescott, my surname is Cheney, and I am President Lowell's assistant. President Lowell invites you to come over for a visit."
The word "invite" made her heartbeat instantly fall out of rhythm.
Assistant Cheney's expression was wooden, his tone flat. Although he talked about inviting her, she always felt there was nothing good in it, yet not going left her feeling dissatisfied.
She hesitated for a while, using the excuse, "Sorry, I have several patients lined up behind, and I don't have the time to leave the clinic now."
"President Lowell said that if you refuse for any reason, he will personally come to see Old Dr. Sinclair and hand over the prescription you issued last night to Old Dr. Sinclair."
"..."
One mention after another of Old Dr. Sinclair felt like her weak spot was being grabbed, leaving her no room to resist.
Claire Prescott was suddenly overwhelmed by a sense of helplessness.
If her grandfather knew about such a disgraceful incident, she could imagine what expression he'd have when he looked at her.
She didn't expect Keane Lowell would use this method against her.
Yet…
Someone as distinguished as him would probably not allow himself to lose face in front of others. Last night, when she embarrassed and teased him like that, did it touch his fatal sore point?
After much internal conflict, she put down her work, said a brief word to Tiger at the counter, and followed Assistant Cheney out.
...
The car arrived at the Second Ring area, a location where every inch of land is worth its weight in gold, stopping at the entrance of The Jade Pavilion Hotel.
They took the elevator up to the tea lounge on the fourth floor.
Assistant Cheney opened a gridded private room door for her, "Miss Prescott, please come in."
Throughout, the assistant maintained a respectful attitude towards her, wearing a poker face without any expression, leaving her unable to guess President Lowell's mood.
Her heart was pounding as she wrestled with herself at the doorway before mustering the courage to walk in.
The private room had an elegant Chinese style, enveloped in the aroma of tea, with warm white lights illuminating the space in a serene and tranquil manner.
The man sat at the central position on a chair, wearing an abstinent ash-gray shirt and trousers, his gaze lightly cast on her.
Apart from him, there was also a tea artist preparing tea in the room.
"You're here." His voice was uniquely low and resonant, like chime jade.
It wasn't as frightening as she had imagined; his presence was more refined than last night.
Not seeing each other for over six years, she didn't know if he remembered her or what the consequences were after teasing him.
She feigned calmness as she walked toward him, standing across a table from him, her voice steady, "Did Mr. Lowell want to see me?"
"Sit down, I invite you to afternoon tea."
"Please get to the point, sir, I am busy and don't have time to accompany you for tea."
After her words fell, the room went silent.
The man's eyes were extraordinarily deep, as dark and bright as ink, silently exuding a subtle pressure.
He didn't say a single word, just held his position with her, seeming to imply she should realize something on her own.
Recalling "Old Dr. Sinclair," Claire Prescott had no choice but to obediently sit across from him.
The tea artist placed a cup of tea in front of her, introducing the assorted desserts before her.
Claire Prescott didn't take in a single word.
In such a serene environment, sitting across from someone who made her uneasy, being quietly observed, she felt tormented.
She casually grabbed a piece of dessert, put it in her mouth, after drinking a sip of tea, she looked at him, proactively breaking the ice, "I've had the dessert, drank the tea, can we now discuss business?"
Keane Lowell then signaled for the tea artist to leave.
Once the person had left, the room held only the two of them, a lone man and woman, making Claire Prescott's mind wander uncontrollably.
Keane Lowell rested his hand on the armrest, eyed her pure, quietly graceful face, "Come and check my pulse."
His commanding tone was like that of a master.
Claire Prescott patiently went half-way around the table toward him, crouched down in front of him, placing three fingers on his wrist.
The action wasn't gentle, pressing hard, with the force completely unlike last night, and wasn't a pulse check at all.
Keane Lowell looked down at the place where their skins touched, slightly frowning, his voice a bit deeper, "Reveal the pulse diagnosis and see if it matches the prescription you wrote last night, any relevance?"
"You must be mistaken, sir, I didn't write you any prescription last night."
Every word she spoke was remarkably earnest and clear, her voice consistently soft and gentle.
Her face was still as pure white, though more mature, with a calm presence growing more deeply settled, flowing with elegance, so clean that it makes one want to possess her.
But that core of tenacity, as she grew, became even stronger.
"Do you treat other patients like this too?"
"You are not a patient, sir."
"..."
Quick-witted tongue.
In contrast, it was as if his punch landed on soft cotton, feeling quite helpless towards her.
Claire Prescott continued, "Indeed, I was somewhat mischievous last night, but that was because you feigned headache first, sir. You only have some internal heat, no major physical issue, no need for medication."
Her eyes looked upon him, as though seeking his forgiveness, hoping he wouldn't hold it against her, imbued with a sense of earnestly seeking favor.
In truth, she was a stubbornly untamable character, leaving him with no way to handle her.
Keane Lowell withdrew his hand, his tone involuntarily softened, "You've grown up, still causes unease."