SU Jinsan was Tianjin’s top orthopedist in the early years of the Republic of China （1912-1939）. His reputation was such that expats who had broken limbs in horse riding accidents were among patients he saw at his modest clinic in Xiaobailou.
　　Of a tall and wiry build while in his 50s， the surgeon had powerful hands， piercing eyes and wore a coal black goatee. His deep， resonant， resounding voice could make even the best of Peking Opera performers envious.
　　When manipulating a patient’s bones his hands were as deft as a magician’s. A few well-chosen touches were sufficient to detect a wound and， before the patient had time to feel pain， reset a broken bone as if through sleight of hand. He would then apply antiseptic ointment， tape the splint in place and send the patient home. Any repeat visits to his office were purely to thank Dr. Su， with a bow of gratitude or presentation of a paean-inscribed plaque.
　　Extraordinarily talented people are often eccentrics， and Su was a true exemplar in this regard. He imposed the rule on every patient： rich or poor， acquaintance or newcomer， of first handing over seven silver coins before he would treat them. He brooked no exceptions. Some accused him of mammonism， suggesting that seven silver coins were all that he was worth. His moniker “Seven Coins” so came about. Local residents addressed him directly as Dr. Su but referred to him as “Seven Coins.” Eventually few even knew what his real name was.
　　Su was a keen mahjong player. When two friends called by one day， he invited Dr. Hua who ran a dental clinic on the same street to join them in a game. As they played， a rickshaw driver named Zhang Si charged in， lathered in sweat and supporting his left elbow with his right hand. He had clearly broken his arm. As all rickshaw drivers lived hand-to-mouth， none was likely to have a spare seven silver coins in their pocket. Zhang Si， groaning in agony， pleaded with Su to let him pay later. Su， unmoved， carried on playing mahjong.
　　One of his friends was perturbed， and pointed in the driver’s direction， but Su kept his eyes riveted on the tiles. He was resolved to live up to his “Seven Coins” title.
　　Finally soft-hearted Dr. Hua could bear it no longer. On the pretext of answering a call of nature， he left the room and sneaked out of the back door to a nook by the front gate， discreetly signaling Zhang Si to join him. He then gave the luckless rickshaw driver seven silver coins. Before Zhang could express his thanks Hua had retraced his steps through the back door and resumed his place at the table， as if nothing had happened. 　　Zhang Si rapidly followed， staggering into the room and slamming the seven silver coins on the table. As if activated by a switch， Su rose directly from his seat and faced the rickshaw driver， rolled up his sleeves and took hold of the injured limb. Zhang closed his eyes and gritted his teeth as Su pinched， pulled and manipulated his arm， bracing himself for the agonizing twist that would set the bone in place. Instead he heard the physician say， “There， it’s done.”After slathering on antiseptic and bandaging the splint， Su prescribed some medicine， which Zhang had no money to purchase. “All right， you can have it for free，” Su said， and resumed his game of mahjong.
　　The four friends played on till it was dark and their stomachs rumbled. As the three prepared to go home， Su asked Hua to stay for a moment. When they were alone， he picked up seven of the silver coins stacked at his end of the mahjong table and put them in Hua’s hand， telling the confused dentist， “There is something I must tell you. Don’t think I am heartless， I just cannot break my rules.”
　　Hua chewed over these words during the next three days， but remained flummoxed as to what Su actually meant. But whatever it might have been he truly admired the surgeon， and the way he did his job.