Here is the English translation of the provided content: "See Qinghua scholars"

Author: Liu Guosheng, Tian Hongjiang
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2006-07-01
Features: Father was often away, and I felt emotionally distant from him. When Father occasionally came to Xi'an, he rarely had time to chat properly before leaving—I was too busy with my work, and he was preoccupied with his patients. As the Spring Festival approached, I wanted to take advantage of the holiday to sit down properly with Father and have a good talk. When I arrived home, it was already the afternoon of the last day of the twelfth lunar month, and Father was still working at his clinic. Pulling back the door curtain, the room was filled with a crowd of people, a pile of patients. Holding children, supporting the elderly, and rubbing their stomachs, Father was treating patients with acupuncture and prescribing medicine while offering comforting words. Perhaps due to the difference in professions, the moment I saw this scene, my heart grew restless: Being surrounded by so many patients all year round, day and night, who could bear it? But my parents were cheerful, like fish swimming in water, truly beyond cure.
On the first day of the Lunar New Year, before I even got out of bed, I heard someone knocking loudly on the door next door. After getting up, I learned that Father had been called out for a house call to Beijuan Village, about seven or eight miles away. Fortunately, the reunion dinner was already set, and Father returned, panting heavily with a layer of frost on his eyebrows and beard. He said he had seen a newborn baby boy who had fallen ill because the family, out of love for the child, had wrapped him too tightly, causing the illness. Before finishing a bowl of dumplings, two of Father’s students arrived one after the other, one accompanied by his beautiful new wife. Father had been practicing medicine for over forty years and had many unique and effective methods for treating common illnesses. Renowned physicians were reluctant to let their medical knowledge die out without successors, and Father was no exception. It was supposed to be passed down to my brothers and me, but things didn’t work out that way—I ended up in literature, and my younger brother became obsessed with seal carving. So Father treated his disciples like his own children: teaching them hand in hand, explaining one illness at a time, sharing his medical skills and ethics without reservation, and even sending them to medical school. His students were intelligent, eager to learn, and showed great promise, and Father’s joy was evident in his words.
Just as he had sent off his students, he welcomed a group of distant guests—a large delegation from Beijing and Chengyang—returning to their hometown to visit their elderly mother for the New Year. The old lady was ninety-three years old and had multiple life-threatening episodes that Father had saved her from. He had made house calls, almost daily when she was critically ill. No wonder her children and grandchildren were so grateful.
As we were talking, a patient came looking for Father. Mother tried to stop him outside, saying it was the New Year and they were on vacation, but Father insisted on letting him in. The day passed in waves of patients, and they stayed busy until the afternoon. By evening, the guests had left, and I finally pulled the blanket and sat on the bed with Father. The conversation shifted to the old lady. Father said that when he visited her before the New Year, she was drowsy, unable to open her eyes, and her heartbeat was almost inaudible. He discovered that the problem was a gas leak and had moved the stove outside. I said, “Don’t just focus on the patients and neglect yourself. You should see the patients, but not overwork yourself—after all, you’re over sixty, and you have coronary heart disease. You can’t compare to when you were the hospital director.” Father replied, “Good kid, seeing patients is a joy, a pleasure for me. It’s tiring, but my heart feels light. You see, I sometimes get impatient with my children and grandchildren, but never with my patients.”
As we talked, I noticed Father had fallen silent. The sound of his snoring grew louder as he fell asleep. Gazing at his sparse white hair and swollen, weary face, I remained speechless for a long time. Outside the window, I realized the snow had begun to fall, covering the ground in a white blanket. P3-4