That afternoon, Li Xu went to the hospital ward to check on the elderly Zhang Lianquan, who was scheduled for surgery the next day.
Although the old man was in low spirits, his will to live was strong.
He gave a slight nod when he saw Li Xu enter.
"Sir, let me take your pulse."
Li Xu said gently, "We are now the Department of Integrated Traditional Chinese and Western Oncology. Our treatments, naturally, will focus on combining both approaches."
"Surgery is surgery; it cuts out or burns away the lesion. But the body's fundamental constitution must be supported by internal medicine. It's like fighting a war. The surgery is the charge on the front lines, while internal conditioning is the logistical support. You can only win the war if your supply lines are strong."
Zhang Lianquan's mind was still clear. He nodded repeatedly. "Yes, that makes sense. I'll be in your hands, Dr. Li."
As he spoke, he shakily extended a hand that was as thin as dry firewood.
