One of my ancestors was once a legendary physician of traditional medicine. Because he treated a powerful figure, our entire clan nearly faced extermination. From that day on, our forefather laid down a strict family rule: no descendant was ever allowed to practice medicine again.
Though the family stopped practicing, the medical knowledge itself was passed down to me.
In everyday life, whenever relatives or friends had minor ailments—headaches, fevers, nagging pains—I would take a look.
I never guaranteed results, and I never charged a fee.
At most, I would prescribe a formula or help with acupuncture.
Yet some illnesses that hospitals couldn't cure somehow showed signs of hope in my hands.
Privately, the relatives started calling me little doctor.
This was especially true on my wife's side of the family. Every time we met, they couldn't help praising me.
Because of that, my wife admired me deeply, and it made me feel quietly satisfied.
I once thought my life would continue peacefully like this, steady and uneventful, all the way to old age.
Until my wife introduced another patient, and everything changed.
——
Everyone had a sense of vanity—it was only a matter of degree.
My wife always hoped I would gain fame through my medical skills. We argued about it several times. Because of my insistence, she could only give in.
But behind my back, she kept bringing people to me for treatment anyway. Not relatives, but people like former classmates or current colleagues.
Their conditions were minor. I was confident I could handle them, and I didn't want to start another argument, so I treated them as a favor.
Afterward, I would always talk to my wife, asking her not to bring anyone except family again.
She agreed every time, but afterward, she went her own way, disregarding what I said.
Gradually, I noticed she began wearing extra jewelry—accessories she hadn't had before.
It turned out she had been charging them in secret.
When I found out, I flew into a rage. Only then did she repeatedly promise she would never bring another patient again.
But today, she asked once more. "Hubby, it's my boss's father. Please help me, okay?"
"I already bragged about you. If you don't help, I might lose my job. You wouldn't have the heart to let me lose my job, would you?"
"Hubby... darling..."
She grabbed my arm and shook it gently, acting spoiled.
"My salary alone is enough to support our little family," I said patiently. "Be good—we don't have to bow for a few grains of rice. Besides, with your ability, if this place won't keep you, another will."
"Hubby..." She looked up at me, and tears spilled from her eyes.
I hurriedly wiped them away.
She said nothing, just cried and looked at me. Her tears were her most lethal weapon. I couldn't defend against them.
"Fine," I sighed. "Just this once. Never again."
"I knew you were the best to me!" She rose on tiptoe and brushed a quick kiss against my lips.
I pulled her into my arms and rubbed her head indulgently. "I really don't know what to do with you. Let's go."
...
More than an hour later, my wife and I arrived at the Holland residence.
The moment I saw the portrait hanging in the Holland family's living room, I froze.
I never imagined such a coincidence could exist in this world.
My family had the same portrait.
It was our family's eternal pain.
My ancestor left that portrait behind as a warning to future generations—never practice medicine again.
The man in the painting was the very person who had caused my forefather to be imprisoned and eventually executed.
Even though I secretly treated people now, I would never treat anyone from this family.
Not for any illness.
This was my bottom line.
I had only known that my wife's boss had the surname Holland. I never imagined he was descended from that man.
"What's wrong?" my wife asked softly when she noticed I was dazed.
"I suddenly don't feel well," I said, grabbing her hand. "Let's go home."
