Slightly less efficient than doing it the normal way. But she is not so arrogant as to demand to skip the basics without demonstrating mastery.

Hohenheim approves of this mindset. 

They arrive in Kashgar before dawn. Old Ishvalan domes at impressive heights have become weathered ruins, replaced by more modern Xingese installments. The wagon rolls into a bustling market area and sets up for the day; Hohenheim sets up nearby and acquires linens, herbs, ink, and needles.

"People like to feel clean after healing," he explains. "The linens and herbs are useless alchemically, but they help make people calmer. It's the ink and needles that do the real work."

"What are the needles for?"

"They're a distance technique for more intricate work. I insert some into the subject's body and others into the ground at specific points in an array."

"More space to write?"

"Yes. The effect you saw me use earlier on Lin is impossible to reproduce without this method -- or seeing the Gate."

"You didn't draw an array for that."

"Yes. Seeing the Gate is what allowed me to forego the array."

"Is it possible to get there trivially? By attempting to transmute a hundred grams of lead from ninety-nine grams of iron, say."

"That transmutation will simply fail to work. Ironically it is an example of one that will fail gracefully."

"What is an example of one that would not?"

"Resurrection or immortality, because they require interacting with stuff that can only be found beyond the Gate. There is no array I know of that will simply take an alchemist beyond the Gate and return.

I haven't delved into this subject deeply. The being at Truth's gate is capricious, and I've never heard of it taking a fair price for passage."

"I see."

"We will have to stay here for a couple weeks if I am to make enough money to buy teaching supplies and food for the trip to Amestris."

"I have no other plans."

"I'll do my best to make the work educational. But I will have to send you on errands for food. And tonight, once we have a little money, for a room to stay in."

"I can manage that much."

They get to work. Hohenheim strains to shout over other alchemists selling cures and repairs. When he finds patients he negotiates a fee -- if they consent to their treatment being public they receive a discount and Hohenheim prepares his station with small crowds of onlookers. Privacy is a little more expensive. He doesn't have the facilities to really charge for it, but some maladies require a discreet place to be fixed properly.

He does well the first day. Occlus might catch comments on his hair and eyes and whispers about the Sage of the West (and about con-men who dye their hair).

She is sure enough of his veracity. And has little need to correct others' suspicions.

The next day is uneventful.

In two days, when they're tearing down at sunset, someone decides to be suspicious. Physically. He looks about to reach for the pouch at Hohenheim's side while Hohenheim smiles and tries to deescalate. 

Well, if he wants to be subtle...

She reaches out and twists at the would-be pickpocket's mind. "Forget your intention here and return home."

His eyes glaze over for a second. Then he shakes his head at her and glares angrily. "Who are you to tell me that?"

"Your elder and better." She flicks two fingers at him, and an invisible blow strikes his forehead, hard enough to make him stumble. "If you will not be civilized, leave."

"I'm not going to stand down from foreigners taking business from my mother's clinic. Your master's Sage of the West attire is shameful and disgusting and neither of you are welcome here."

Oh dear. "Maybe we could meet your mother and come to an arrangement?" He says weakly.