If you traveled back in time from the modern era,

lived through 2,500 years of history,

and then returned to the present day,

what would you do?

Brooks Morgan was in class.

Seated quietly in the last row of a senior Traditional Chinese Medicine diagnostic class at Jiyang University of TCM, he paid full attention to the lecture.

The scorching October sun made the air in the classroom stuffy. With over fifty students inside, the heat caused beads of sweat to form on many foreheads.

Brooks listened, feeling the oppressive warmth, and softly murmured to himself, “The southern wind blows, stirring even the thorns.”

A line from *Classic of Poetry: Southern Wind.*

The moment his words faded, an inexplicable southern breeze swept through the classroom!

In an instant, the entire room cooled down, the refreshing wind particularly soothing where Brooks sat in the back row.

“Huh?”

The students and their teacher, Marcus Archer, all glanced toward the windows in confusion. Where did that breeze come from?

Brooks remained poised, as if none of it had anything to do with him, and continued listening quietly.

Not long after, Marcus seemed to recall something. Standing at the podium, he looked around and smiled warmly.

“Do you all remember the *Binhumaijue* recitation I assigned during the first lecture a month ago? How’s everyone doing with it?”

At those words, the entire class visibly tensed. None of them had memorized it; they'd simply let it go in one ear and out the other.

“This forms the foundation for mastering pulse diagnosis. I’m sure you’ve all learned plenty of it. Let me pick someone to check.”

At that moment, everyone immediately lowered their heads, avoiding eye contact as if their lives depended on it. Their internal monologue screamed: “Don’t pick me, don’t pick me…”

“Well then—”

Marcus Archer's voice dragged out, making everyone’s hearts jump to their throats.

“How about that handsome fellow in the back row?”

His gaze turned sharp. Sitting in the last row all alone in college? Think he wouldn’t notice that it’s just a way to slack off?

Medicine saves lives—you think you can just wing it?

Every other student simultaneously turned their heads, their faces alight with schadenfreude, eager to see who the lucky chosen one was.

When their eyes landed on Brooks Morgan, their expressions froze.

Wait, isn’t this guy… not even from their class?

Me?

Brooks was momentarily stunned. He hadn’t expected to get picked out while merely sitting in to audit the class.

Still, he stood up with a pleasant smile. A flash of brilliance flickered in his eyes.

In his mind, a vast and opulent memory palace—like a monumental modern art museum—immediately came to life.

An identical figure of himself appeared and quickly strode toward the "Ming Dynasty" section. The walls were pristine white, the floor-to-ceiling windows gleamed in the light, and various sculptures were arranged with perfect precision.

The memory palace comprised nineteen distinct sections, each representing a different dynasty. Every section was filled to the brim with materials—bookshelves lined with ancient texts, artifacts, and even classic paintings and calligraphy.

In the Ming Dynasty section, Su Ye searched for "L," locating Li Shizhen. From his works, he pulled out *Bin Hu Mai Jue* and opened it.

Within an instant, every word from *Bin Hu Mai Jue* vividly materialized in his mind.

Though the whole process appeared lengthy, it actually lasted for less than a blink of an eye.

Professor Marcus Archer noticed the puzzled looks among the students and began to grow suspicious. "Which class are you from? What's your name? You seem... unfamiliar," he asked.

"Non-medical Master's and PhD first-year student—Brooks Morgan," Su Ye replied calmly.

Non-medical Master’s and PhD?

The students froze for a moment, and then their expressions turned hostile as they fixed their eyes on him.

In their minds, "Non-medical" was simply a shortcut—a group of opportunists who didn’t study medicine as undergraduates but jumped straight into postgraduate studies in Chinese medicine.

Yet they could still graduate with a doctorate in Chinese medicine! For a doctorate in Chinese medicine, fine, it's not a big deal—go ahead, study theories and make it look impressive.

But the infuriating part? These people can actually graduate and pass the medical practitioner exam to treat patients!

Why? Just five years of study, and they’re granted what others earn after ten years of hard work?

Five years? That’s the foundation they’ve mastered? What gives them the right to treat illnesses and save lives?

Word has it that the national medicine master who advocates for the non-medical Ph.D. program has agreed this will likely be the program’s final trial run.

Why? Because the quality of graduates from the past three tiers has steadily declined year by year.

If this batch doesn’t cut it, the specialty will be scrapped for good.

Every stare fixed on Brooks Morgan was a mix of hostility and sarcasm.

Not just towards him, but all non-medical Ph.D. students—this was the result of taking shortcuts without real capability.

Non-medical Ph.D.?

Marcus Archer was briefly stunned too. He didn’t expect a new student from such a background to show up in his class. No foundation in medicine—how could he understand anything here?

So the professor said, "Well... I suppose you haven’t read this book before. Just take a seat."

He intended to ease the tension, but his comment backfired, triggering a burst of laughter from everyone present.

“Hahahaha…”

“Professor, you’re savage with that one! Sure, you didn’t hit him physically, but wow, right in the ego!”

“Who knows, maybe he’s at least skimmed the book cover, huh?” Brooks Morgan chuckled lightly as he watched the crowd of students burst into laughter. So, they think they can poke fun at me? Well, let’s see how they handle a dose from this old monster with 2,500 years of experience.

He cleared his throat and started speaking in a clear voice:

“Shi Zhen says: In the Song dynasty, there were folks who fabricated pulse aphorisms, riddled with crudeness and errors for med students to memorize…”

“Floating pulse: felt stronger when lifting, weaker when pressing…”

“Deep pulse resembles the earth, with imagery of springs below. Represented by the trigram Kan, symbolic of winter…”

…

The classroom was filled with laughter, then suddenly—it froze.

“Uh… wait, for real?”

All eyes landed on Brooks Morgan, astonished.

He can actually recite it? And that smoothly?

Even Marcus Archer looked taken aback. He hadn’t expected that his own students couldn’t recite the material, yet this newly admitted grad student could do it without breaking a sweat.

Morgan continued without hesitation:

“The long pulse manifests within three parts. The first relates to spring and corresponds to the liver in humans. A long heart pulse signifies mental clarity and vitality. A long kidney pulse reveals deeply-rooted strength…”

“Stop!” Marcus finally interjected, intrigued. “Have you studied medicine before your non-medical research application?”

Morgan paused his recitation, contemplating briefly before responding, “Nope. I’ve just read a few books here and there.”

“Which ones?” Marcus pressed with growing interest, as all eyes returned to Morgan.

Without missing a beat, Morgan listed calmly,

“‘Huangdi Neijing,’ ‘Shennong Bencaojing,’ ‘Shanghan Zabing Lun,’ and ‘Qianjin Yaofang.’”Brooks Morgan grinned and rattled off nearly a dozen book titles, leaving his classmates dumbfounded.

"That's a few books?"

But Brooks was far from done. The list kept growing as he spoke effortlessly.

"‘Essential Prescriptions from the Golden Cabinet,’ ‘Complete Works of Jingyue,’ ‘Classified Canon,’ ‘Treatise on the Origins of Various Diseases,’ ‘The Golden Mirror of Medicine,’ ‘Five-Color Pulse Diagnosis,’ ‘Hidden Classics of Medicine’..."

In one breath, he rattled off over fifty titles.

The entire room was stunned, staring at him as if he’d just performed magic.

"Are you serious? Did you really read all those books, or are you spitting lines like you're rehearsing a rap?"

“Alright, alright, stop!” Marcus Archer quickly interrupted, frowning as he studied Brooks. “Are you claiming you’ve read all of these?”

“Read them all,” Brooks replied, nodding without hesitation.

Marcus’s expression darkened in an instant, his skepticism palpable. To him, lying was absolutely unbecoming of a medical practitioner.

“‘Five-Color Pulse Diagnosis’ has been lost for two thousand years. It was only archaeologically rediscovered last March, and even then, all we have is fragments of the text. Where exactly did you read it?”

His words dropped like a bomb, plunging the room into total silence.

And then, the laughter erupted. Louder than before.

“HAHAHAHAHA!”

“Oh, so that’s what this is—pure showing off!”

“Well, now you’ve really blown it! Lost documentation and ancient pulse diagnostics? You’re so full of it you could fly a flag off a pole!”Everyone was staring at Brooks Morgan with ridicule, eagerly waiting to see him humiliated.

But all they got in return was an expression of calm indifference.

Lost, huh?

Brooks was slightly surprised.

This was written by Bian Que. He'd read it once and filed it away into his memory palace, never thinking about it again. Turns out, it had been lost to history long ago.

Feeling the mocking and doubtful gazes around him, Brooks’ lips curled into a faint smirk.

Time to show them what it really means to face a crushing defeat from two and a half millennia ago!

He dove into his memory palace and retrieved the exact content of *Five-Color Pulse Diagnosis*.

And then he started reciting, “The five colors interpret life and death…”

“The heart’s qi is red, the lung’s qi is white, the liver’s qi is blue, the stomach’s qi is yellow, and the kidney’s qi is black. Thus, the five organs’ qi…”

Huh?

The room went silent; the laughter disappeared instantly. The students stared at him, perplexed. What language was he even reciting?

At first, Marcus Archer didn’t think much of it, but the further Brooks went, the more shocked he became.

His eyes widened, nearly popping out of his head, his entire face frozen with disbelief.

How did this guy know the detailed content of *Five-Color Pulse Diagnosis*? Some parts matched the fragments from archaeological findings perfectly, but the amount of information was way beyond anything that had been recovered so far!

Marcus was stunned. He had always been closely following the research progress on *Five-Color Pulse Diagnosis*. Every single tiny discovery went straight to him from his contacts. Yet, what Brooks was reciting now seemed to completely overshadow all that incomplete progress. If the content he recited truly came from unearthed and organized materials, there was absolutely no way these students knew more than he did.

But… how did he know so much?

Could he be faking it?

Marcus Archer quickly cross-checked what Brooks Morgan recited against his own knowledge. To his shock, he found himself having sudden moments of clarity, as if enlightenment had struck him out of nowhere.

Stunned. Absolutely stunned.

The students in the class could sense something wasn’t right just by looking at Marcus Archer’s expression. Their eyes shifted to Brooks Morgan, filled with disbelief.

Could it be that he had really read *Five-Color Pulse Diagnosis*? And even memorized it?

Wasn’t it just recently excavated?

“Stop! Stop right there!”

Marcus Archer immediately interrupted, staring at Brooks in astonishment. “Where did you see this book? Have you read the full version?”

This question sent a ripple through the entire class.

Wait, he actually read it?!

“I have.”

Brooks smiled and nodded, offering no explanation for where he’d seen it.

“You’ve memorized the whole thing?” Marcus pressed on, his gaze laser-focused on him.

Brooks hesitated briefly but nodded again.

Well, since he’d already flaunted his skills, he decided he might as well take it further. After all, life’s too short to hold back—especially after enduring 2,500 years to make it back! If he was going to stand out, he wasn’t going to do it halfway.

A lost text had resurfaced!

Marcus Archer was overwhelmed with excitement, but he forced himself to calm down. This needed to wait—he couldn’t derail the lesson further."Alright, alright, take your seat. Let's continue the lesson, we can discuss more later!"

Then, looking at the rest of the class, Marcus Archer said, "Medicine is not far from humanity—it is humanity that distances itself from it. To truly understand medicine, one must constantly refine and improve. Take this opportunity to learn from our non-med school colleague here. Read more, study more."

Hearing this, the students all nodded, but their expressions showed little sincerity.

"So what if he's read a few books? Even if those books are lost classics, what difference does it make? Medicine has managed just fine without them for centuries."

"Learning traditional medicine isn't about reading—it's about mentorship and hands-on experience. You don't master it by flipping through books," they thought in unison. To them, Brooks Morgan was nothing more than a latecomer looking for shortcuts.

Brooks sensed the hostility around him but simply smiled faintly. It didn't bother him. He quietly returned to his seat and resumed listening to the lecture.

In his heart, however, he knew one thing for sure. After enduring 2,500 years, here he was, on the third day of his return to the modern world—and his extraordinary journey was just beginning.