The Corpse Clothes of the Green Bag [Complete] - 1

Prologue:

In the thirteenth year of Jian'an (208 AD), a torrential downpour fell on the night of a death row inmate north of Xuchang. Under the flickering light of an oil lamp, a gaunt, white-bearded old man handed a cloth bundle to the jailer, whispering, "This can save lives." The jailer quietly tucked the bundle into his robes.

1700 years later, a visitor to the Hua Tuo Temple in Pei County, Jiangsu Province, saw a couplet at the temple gate: "The physician opened the abdomen, truly opening a new path for the sage; who knew the jailer's incompetence would cause his last writings to be burned?

A scholar values integrity, how could he deign to serve a treacherous hero? It is a pity that the historian's biased pen has instead slandered him for eternity.

" This tells of how Hua Tuo, the legendary physician of the Three Kingdoms period, condensed his life's work into the *Qing Nang Jing* (The Green Bag Classic), which he entrusted to the jailer on his deathbed. The jailer dared not accept it, and Hua Tuo, in desperation, burned it, causing the medical classic to be lost to this day, a truly lamentable loss.

Time has passed, and the world has changed; this matter has long been lost to the dust of time.

Chapter One: It was

late autumn of 1975. At the foot of Nanshan Mountain in Wuyuan, Jiangxi Province, a group of villagers gathered under a tall old locust tree, all looking up at a notice pasted on the trunk.

The notice read: "According to the instructions of the County Revolutionary Committee, all graves located on the way to Linggu Cave must be moved within fifteen days. Graves that have not been moved by then will be considered unclaimed graves and will be leveled by the town's Revolutionary Committee, which will organize militia members to do so. Revolutionary masses are encouraged to cooperate." It was signed by the Nanshan Town Revolutionary Committee of Wuyuan County, with a bright red seal below.

Han Sheng squeezed through the crowd and hurried home.

Zhu Han Sheng was twenty years old this year. He usually apprenticed with his father, a barefoot doctor, doing chores such as collecting herbs in the mountains and preparing medicines. Although he was introverted, he was honest and kind, and the elders in the village all liked him.

His home was a three-room thatched house at the east end of the village. Some medicinal herbs like ginseng and bupleurum grew in front of the door, and a large yellow dog lay lazily on the threshold.

"Dad, people from town have posted a notice that the ancestral graves need to be moved by a certain date!" Hansheng shouted before even entering the yard.

"Oh," came a reply from inside.

His father was the village's barefoot doctor; his medical skills were average, but his ethics were excellent. People from the surrounding villages all came to him for treatment, and for common ailments, they didn't go to the town clinic.

The room was dimly lit. His father sat in a chair, pounding herbs in a medicine vat with a stone pestle, the air filled with the earthy smell of plant roots.

"Dad, why do they want to move all the graves in front of Linggu Cave?" Hansheng asked his father.

His father shook his head.

"Our Zhu family's ancestral graves have been buried there for generations, haven't they?" Hansheng said wistfully.

“Yes, it’s been so long, we can only take care of things up to our great-grandfather’s generation. Let me see, tomorrow is the Gengxu day, auspicious for breaking ground and moving the grave, let’s go tomorrow at Chenshi (7-9 AM).” The father said, calculating with his fingers.

Hansheng’s mother had passed away long ago, and his father had raised him single-handedly, barely making ends meet with a little bit of ancestral medical knowledge. In the old days, traditional Chinese medicine often involved some feng shui, and the father had even chosen burial sites for others before, but he was criticized during the Cultural Revolution for being feudal superstition, and from then on, the father never mentioned it again.

“I hope there’s something in the old grave.” Hansheng muttered to himself.

“Our family is poor, what else could there be in the old grave but a bunch of bones? Don’t think nonsense, it’s disrespectful to our ancestors.” The father glared at him.

That night, Hansheng tossed and turned in bed, the thought of digging up the old grave was exciting.

At dawn, the sparrows chirped incessantly in the courtyard. Han Sheng started a fire early and cooked some sweet potato porridge. Life was hard, but he still added an extra handful of rice to the pot; today was different from usual.

After breakfast, he and his father set off, carrying hoes, shovels, umbrellas, and several cloth bags.

Wuyuan is one of the six counties of the ancient Huizhou prefecture and the hometown of Zhu Xi, the famous Neo-Confucian philosopher of the Southern Song Dynasty. As far as the eye could see, pine and bamboo groves stretched endlessly, concealing the white walls, gray tiles, and upturned eaves of the Huizhou-style Ming and Qing dynasty buildings. Wisps of smoke rose from the chimneys, creating a scene as tranquil as a pastoral landscape painting

. After climbing a hill, looking back southwest, they saw the 24 ancient giant fir trees (symbolizing the 24 acts of filial piety) that Zhu Xi had planted himself when he returned to his hometown to sweep his ancestors' graves. Now over 800 years old, they still stand silently on Wengong Mountain.

"Keep up, it's almost seven o'clock, don't be late," his father urged from ahead.

Han Sheng reluctantly turned and followed. No wonder some say Wuyuan is the most beautiful countryside in China; it's absolutely true.

Ahead was a lush green bamboo forest. Passing through the bamboo forest, one would reach the famous Linggu Cave. The mountains in this area are all limestone, and the abundant rainfall in Jiangnan has eroded many caves. Linggu Cave is the largest of them, and it is said that no one has ever been able to reach the bottom. Just standing at the entrance, one can feel a chilling wind. Children dare not approach, as legend has it that the dark entrance will suck them in.

Scattered graves could already be seen in the bamboo forest, some tombstones leaning precariously, overturned by the bamboo shoots that roamed the ground. The Zhu family's ancestral graves were still ahead, not far from the entrance of Linggu Cave.

"Caw caw." Two crows perched on the overgrown graves, looking this way. "We

're here. This is your great-grandfather's grave," his father said, putting down the hoe he was carrying. The tombstone there was also leaning.

Hansheng shouted, shooing away the two dark crows.

"Hansheng, remember, when you pry open the coffin lid, hold your breath. There's a corpse's aura inside a sealed coffin; inhaling it will make you sick," his father said, raising his hoe.

"Does corpse aura have a color?" Hansheng asked.

"Yes, but most people can't see it," his father replied.

"What colors are they?" Hansheng pressed, intrigued.

"Well, it's usually light gray, but there's also black, like thick smoke, very eerie. The most terrifying is red corpse aura; once you touch it, there's no saving you," his father said.

Hearing this, Hansheng felt a sudden chill of fear.

The bamboo forest was shrouded in mist, and swarms of mosquitoes fluttered their wings, watching the two hot-blooded humans intently. Hansheng couldn't help but shudder. These mosquitoes bite silently; the bites aren't big, but they're incredibly itchy—you feel like you want to tear the flesh off.

The father dug the soil with a hoe, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. Hansheng handed him a towel, grabbed the hoe, and got to work. Being young and strong, he was much faster.

The father sat down to the side, lit a cigarette, and the smoke filled the air, causing the mosquitoes to retreat into the bamboo grove.

Hansheng dug with all his might, piling up a high mound of earth around him. Just then, he suddenly felt something strange. With a "thud," the hoe sank, and with a twist of his wrist, he pulled out a dark brown wooden plank.

"Black smoke! Get out of the way!" a loud shout came from behind. The father leaped down, grabbing Hansheng and pushing him up. Hansheng

looked back and saw his father sway a few times, pulling a pill from his pocket and putting it in his mouth. It turned out his father had been prepared.

Hansheng hid outside the circle, carefully examining the pit, but he couldn't see anything.

The father continued clearing away the loose soil, then forcefully pried open the coffin lid, jumped up, and gasped for breath.

"Dad, I can't see any black mist," Hansheng said, helping his father up.

"Of course not, you haven't learned the art of observing qi, so naturally you can't see it," the father replied.

Hansheng stood on tiptoe and peered into the pit.

"Wait until the corpse qi dissipates before going down," the father said, lighting another cigarette.

"Dad, why is there black mist coming from Great-Grandpa's coffin?" Hansheng asked, puzzled.

Father sighed and said, "Your great-grandfather was also a doctor. He probably put toad datura powder in there to prevent grave robbers."

"Toad datura powder? This stuff can produce poisonous corpse gas?" Hansheng asked.

"This medicine only has an anesthetic effect. Once it combines with the putrefactive gases from a decomposing corpse, it produces a highly toxic black corpse gas," Father explained.

"Then how does the most potent red corpse gas come about?" Hansheng felt increasingly excited.

"Your father has practiced medicine all his life, and I've never encountered it before," Father said.

At that moment, a ray of sunlight slanted down, illuminating the pit.

Father jumped up, grabbed an umbrella, stood on the mound of earth, and opened the umbrella to block the sunlight.

"The bones of our ancestors can't withstand sunlight, Hansheng. The corpse gas has dissipated. Go down and collect your great-grandfather's bones," Father encouraged Hansheng.

Hansheng picked up a cloth bag, mustered his courage, and jumped into the pit.

A complete skeleton, yellowish-brown in color, lay in a very strange position, head down and back facing upwards. How could this be? This custom was unheard of in this area.

Han Sheng frowned, scanning the coffin. He found no burial goods, only some fine dust at the bottom, burying part of the bones. He muttered something, squatted down, and began collecting the bones. It was the first time in his life he had entered a coffin, and he felt flustered and uneasy.

He carefully placed the bones one by one into a cloth bag. The fascia between the bones had long since disappeared, so the joints were separate, making them easy to pick up. Finally, he picked up the skull and carefully stuffed it into the bag.

"Father, all done," Han Sheng called out.

Late autumn in Jiangnan was unpredictable; just moments before, the sun had shone, but now dark clouds covered the sky, and rain poured down.

"Han Sheng, it's past Chen Shi (7-9 AM), let's go back," his father said, shaking his head as he looked at the leaden sky.

"What about the other graves?" Han Sheng asked.

“Let’s find another auspicious day,” the father said, pulling Hansheng up by the hand.

The father and son returned the way they came, their clothes soaked through by the time they reached their house in the east of the village.

Under the large camphor tree in front of the thatched house stood several people, anxiously looking around. Upon seeing Hansheng and his son, they rushed forward.

“Dr. Zhu, my wife is about to give birth. Please come quickly,” the middle-aged man at the head of the group said anxiously.

“Alright, I’ll pack up and go,” the father said, going inside to fetch his medicine box.

“Hansheng, you might not be back today. At 7 PM, count the remains, then tie them tightly with a white cloth and place them in the niche in the west room. Remember to light three incense sticks,” the father instructed Hansheng as he slung his medicine box over his shoulder.

“I know, Dad, I’ll be back soon,” Hansheng replied, going into the west room and putting down his cloth bag. He knew that childbirth was different from treating illness; sometimes a woman would struggle for a day or two without giving birth, and his father would have to be there to watch over her. He knew he would have to eat alone again tonight.

As the lamps were lit that evening, Hansheng hastily ate a few mouthfuls of food. Looking at the clock, it was already seven o'clock, the hour of Xu (7-9 PM). He went to the alcove in the west room, took down the cloth bag, and began, following his father's instructions, to count the bones under the oil lamp.

Having followed his father in practicing medicine since childhood, Hansheng was no stranger to the human body. He knew that the human body had 204 bones, but he had heard that foreigners had 206, and that their fifth toe had one more bone than theirs, though his father had never seen it.

"175, 176, 177..." Hansheng muttered. Wait, where are they? He turned the bag over; it was empty, not a single bone was missing.

Which ones were missing? A total of 27 bones were missing. He thought for a moment, then decided to lay them out to see. Without further ado, Hansheng pieced together all the bones in the order they belonged to the human body. At the end of the hour of Xu, as the clock struck nine, the human skeleton was complete.

His great-grandfather's skeleton lay quietly on the floor of the west room, missing only his right hand…

Chapter Two.

Han Sheng looked out the window. The rain had stopped, and a few stars could be seen through the gaps in the clouds. Moonlight scattered, casting a hazy glow over the mountains.

The missing hand bone must still be buried in the dust at the bottom of the coffin. He blamed himself for being careless. Great-grandfather, it wasn't that he intended to disrespect his ancestors, but… No, he had to go and retrieve it.

With that thought, Han Sheng stood up, took out a flashlight and a cloth bag, and shouldered a shovel before heading out.

The villagers had already locked their doors. Since the village didn't have electricity yet, to save lamp oil, the villagers usually went to bed early after dinner.

The mountain path was rugged and uneven, the moonlight appearing and disappearing intermittently. From time to time, a "crackling" sound came from the bamboo forest. Han Sheng knew that was the sound of bamboo shoots growing. People who study medicine generally don't believe in ghosts and spirits, but walking alone in the dark bamboo forest still made Han Sheng feel uneasy. He truly began to regret his actions.

He shone his flashlight beam through the treetops and was horrified to see many crows perched on bamboo branches, their small, red, and malevolent eyes staring at him. He quickly walked a few steps, not daring to look back. Finally, he

was out of the bamboo forest. The grave he had dug during the day was still there, the mound of earth washed away by rain, leaving several small ditches.

Han Sheng tiptoed towards the pit. The moon had once again hidden behind thick clouds, and the world suddenly darkened.

The flashlight beam was weak; the batteries were old. His father always kept the old batteries by the fire pit to warm them up, trying to prolong their lifespan. He couldn't let it go out tonight. He

had to hurry. Without thinking, Han Sheng jumped into the coffin in the pit.

There was a little water in the coffin, mixed with dust to form a sticky mud. Han Sheng held a flashlight in one hand, while carefully digging through the mud with the other. On the bottom of the coffin, he found the end of a metacarpal bone. Finally, he found it, and his heart sank.

He gently pinched one end of the metacarpal bone and pulled out the entire finger bone. In the dim light, a hole the size of a fist was revealed.

A golden well! The soul of the burial site… He had heard his father say that in the past, wealthy people would spend a lot of money to hire feng shui masters to find a good burial site, but most of them would just choose an auspicious day for burial and be done with it. Only the most skilled feng shui masters knew the art of the golden well.

Han Sheng stared blankly at the vertical hole on the bottom of the coffin. A cool, damp smell emanated from the hole; that must be the earth's energy.

His father said that golden wells contained the things the deceased cherished in their life, such as jewelry. There was a golden well behind the head of Empress Dowager Cixi's coffin, filled with countless jewels.

His great-grandfather, a poor traveling healer, had a golden well inside his coffin. What could be inside?

Han Sheng felt a surge of excitement at the thought.

Night had fallen; the crows were probably asleep. The bamboo grove was eerily silent, save for the occasional flickering green light—will-o'-the-wisps, phosphorus from the decomposing corpses in the tomb, spontaneously combusting in the air.

Han Sheng dared not reach directly into the golden well. His flashlight was growing weaker, unable to illuminate the depth of the hole. He climbed out of the pit, walked to the edge of the bamboo grove, picked a bamboo branch, stripped off the leaves, and, gripping the long bamboo pole, returned to the pit.

Han Sheng carefully inserted the pole gently into the golden well, slowly lowering it until it was almost submerged. It seemed the hole was only about the width of a person. What to do? The flashlight was about to die. It was pitch black all around, deserted, and so quiet you could hear your own heartbeat.

The dark night sky parted, and moonlight shone through, illuminating the pit brightly and clearly.

Han Sheng's curiosity took over, and without hesitation, he turned off his flashlight and grabbed a shovel.

By the moonlight, shovelfuls of soil were thrown up, and in the silent forest, only Han Sheng's heavy breathing could be heard… He dug down into the well using the bamboo pole for nearly an hour, the pit growing larger and larger, but he found nothing. He didn't care if there was a gold ring, earrings, or bracelet; sighing, he gritted his teeth and continued digging. Suddenly, he heard a hollow, heavy sound as the shovel struck something different from the soil.

Han Sheng crouched down, brushed away the loose soil, and in the moonlight, a layer of white substance was revealed. He picked up a piece and examined it closely; it was white lime plaster, about two inches thick.

Han Sheng's spirits lifted; there must be something below!

He vigorously shoveled away the lime plaster, pushed it aside, and bent down to look again. Below was another coffin!

A grave beneath the coffin… He plopped down on the ground.

Since ancient times, choosing a burial site has been especially taboo, as it is considered extremely unlucky to have a coffin placed under a grave. Superstition holds that the resentment of the buried grave rises and becomes malevolent energy, not only ruining the feng shui but also incurring the wrath of the deceased's descendants, even bringing bloodshed.

However, my great-grandfather's grave was chosen with the guidance of a master, and even had a burial well. How could it be built on top of someone else's tomb?

My father had told me that coffins buried in the ground settle every year, some sinking a fraction of an inch, others a fraction, depending on the density of the soil. This place is in the mountains, the soil is extremely dense; if it were to naturally sink to a depth of two or three meters, wouldn't it take thousands of years? This means that my great-grandfather didn't discover the grave beneath him when choosing the site, and the burial well was merely for absorbing earth energy. This place must be a feng shui treasure land. That someone would choose the same burial site a thousand years later is truly a coincidence.

Han Sheng now had no doubt that this was an ancient tomb.

The coffin lid of the ancient tomb was a single, bluish-brown slab with fine grain, emitting a faint fragrance. Han Sheng recognized the scent; it was camphor wood, containing camphor oil that repels insects and prevents moths. With such a lid, the old camphor tree must be over a thousand years old.

Han Sheng cleared away the covering soil and lime plaster, finally managing to open the lid. He first clasped his hands and bowed three times to the ancient tomb, performing a grand salute, then used a shovel to remove it.

Although the coffin lid was made of excellent wood, its age had caused some decay, and under the blows of the shovel, a crack suddenly appeared… A faint red aura of death escaped from the crack. Han Sheng couldn't see the aura; he only smelled a sweet scent, and then his body slowly went limp, collapsing onto the coffin lid, his face pressed against the crack.

Under the pale moonlight, following the red corpse aura, dozens of thin white threads crawled out from the cracks, coiling around Han Sheng's face. These mycelium-like things burrowed into Han Sheng's nostrils... In ancient times, feng shui masters were most afraid of corpse aura when relocating graves. If inhaled carelessly, it could cause illness or even death. People mostly misunderstood it as ghostly possession, but in reality, it was because ordinary people couldn't see corpse aura with the naked eye. Of course, some mediocre feng shui masters themselves couldn't see it either. The most malevolent of all corpse auras was the red one, but it was extremely rare. Contact with this aura was fatal, and there was no cure.

In this world, there is always an antidote within a few feet of any poisonous substance; this is the principle of mutual generation and restraint. The nemesis of this highly toxic red corpse aura was the white mycelium, called "white mycelium," a fungus that parasitizes decaying corpses. This substance has a very peculiar growth pattern; it needs a sealed and temperature-controlled environment to develop slowly and remain dormant, but it grows rapidly when exposed to air.

Han Sheng inhaled the red corpse's fumes and should have been beyond saving. However, by chance, the "White Tortoise" grew outwards from a crack upon contact with air, landing right on Han Sheng's face. It then entered his nostrils, neutralizing the deadly red corpse's fumes – a stroke of luck indeed.

Han Sheng slowly awoke, completely unaware that he had just narrowly escaped death. "How did I manage to doze off?" he muttered to himself.

Chapter Three:

The moonlight was hazy. Han Sheng felt a slight itch in his nasal cavity and carelessly wiped it a few times, breaking the mycelium of the White Tortoise. He didn't notice the long, fine threads that had drifted down.

Looking up at the sky, he saw thick clouds drifting in from the northwest. He needed to hurry, he thought.

Han Sheng gripped the shovel and inserted the shovel head into the crack in the coffin lid he had just dug out. He pressed down hard, and with a creaking sound, the decaying coffin lid couldn't withstand the prying force and shattered. He cleared away the broken planks and shone his flashlight into the dark coffin.

A humanoid object covered in white hair lay silently inside… Han Sheng was startled. How could this thousand-year-old corpse be covered in white hair? He looked closer and his heart skipped a beat—the white hair was actually growing! Fine, spiderweb-like hairs were growing towards the gap in the lid.

Han Sheng glanced at the corner of the coffin and saw a rectangular wooden box, about thirty centimeters long, covered in fine dust.

Han Sheng's heart pounded. He carefully reached out with his shovel and gently scooped up the wooden box. When he pulled back the shovel and grabbed the box, he found that the white mycelium had almost completely covered the coffin. He didn't have time to examine the box closely and quickly climbed back into the pit.

Under the moonlight, the white, drooping creatures swayed and emerged from the coffin, continuing their ascent. Han Sheng was shocked. He put down the wooden box, grabbed the shovel, and frantically filled the pit with soil, covering the white creatures.

When raindrops began to fall from the night sky, the grave pit was completely filled, leaving no trace of the ancient tomb. Han Sheng wiped the sweat from his face and finally breathed a sigh of relief.

It was pitch black all around, so dark you couldn't see your hand in front of your face. Han Sheng switched on his flashlight; the filament glowed red, then went out—the battery had finally run out.

The rain intensified, the bamboo leaves rustling loudly in the bamboo grove. Han Sheng put the wooden box into a cloth bag containing the 27 recovered hand bones. He slung the bag over his shoulder, picked up the shovel, and groped his way back in the dark.

Under the rain and mist, the will-o'-the-wisps in the bamboo forest had disappeared, and the crows had probably closed their eyes and gone to sleep. Han Sheng could only feel his way forward step by step, occasionally bumping into thick bamboo stalks, scattering a large pile of raindrops.

An hour or two later, Han Sheng finally stumbled back home.

The big yellow dog, Benben, didn't wag its tail and come up to him as usual. Instead, it seemed to be sniffing the air with fear, letting out a low howl, its body trembling as it backed away, shrinking into a corner of the main room.

Han Sheng was intrigued and paid no attention to Benben's strange expression. He went straight into the west room, where his father had indeed not returned.

He put down the cloth bag, lit the oil lamp, and without even taking off his soaking wet clothes, eagerly took out the wooden box from the cloth bag and examined it closely under the lamplight.

The dust on the wooden box had been washed away by the rain, revealing the dark reddish-brown wood color. It was a sandalwood box. The wooden box was heavy, without hinges or locks; it was a sliding box with a sealing wax seal along the edges of the sliding groove, serving to prevent moisture and maintain a tight seal. Han Sheng tried to pull it out but couldn't, so he got up and went to the kitchen to find a small, sharp knife. Under the lamplight, he painstakingly scraped away the sealing wax bit by bit.

After scraping for a long time, he finally got it clean. Han Sheng suppressed his wildly beating heart, sat up straight, took a deep breath, and then carefully and slowly pulled out the sliding lid… Inside the box was a white linen bundle, which looked rather rough. On the bundle was a yellowed piece of paper with black and yellow writing on it. Han Sheng carefully picked up the paper and examined it closely under the oil lamp. It turned out to be a letter, written in clerical script, with a vigorous and ancient style. The letter read: "In the autumn of the thirteenth year of Jian'an, the Prime Minister executed Fu in Xuchang. Fu entrusted a copy of the *Qing Nang Jing* and a Yin-Yang ruler to me in prison, saying, 'Whoever obtains this scripture can save lives.'" I am a native of Nanshan, Wuyuan, Huizhou Prefecture, Wu Province. I hereby instruct my descendants to bury this scripture with them. If this scripture ever sees the light of day, whoever obtains it must practice medicine to help the world. Its origin must never be revealed, nor should parents or children speak of it. Remember this well, and do not fail my trust. Late winter of the seventh year of the Huangchu era of the Wei Dynasty.

Han Sheng grew increasingly alarmed as he read, cold sweat dripping from his cheeks.

From a young age, he had heard his father say that the *Qing Nang Jing* was traditionally attributed to Hua Tuo, a legendary physician from the Three Kingdoms period. Hua Tuo, imprisoned by Cao Cao in the Wei capital of Xuchang, knew his days were numbered and wrote down his life's medical knowledge in the *Qing Nang Jing*, entrusting it to the jailer in the hope that it would be passed down to future generations. However, the jailer refused to accept it, and in desperation, Hua Tuo burned his painstaking work. Sadly, the life's work of this legendary physician was lost forever. Hua Tuo's given name was simply "Fu".

Could it be that the *Qing Nang Jing*

, written over 1700 years ago, still exists? Under the oil lamp, Han Sheng's trembling hands slowly unwrapped the bundle… The cloth bundle opened layer by layer, revealing a dozen or so scattered, yellowed pieces of paper. At the bottom of the box lay a blue ruler. The papers were thick and rough, covered on both sides with tiny characters. The top piece of paper began with three hastily written characters in clerical script: "Qing Nang Jing".

"Is this the *Qing Nang Jing*?"

Han Sheng was initially puzzled, but after a moment's thought, he understood. Papermaking appeared during the Western Han Dynasty, using yellow hemp paper. Although the paper of the *Qing Nang Jing* before him was yellow, it wasn't made from jute; it was likely bark fiber paper improved by Cai Lun during the Eastern Han Dynasty. At the end of the Eastern Han Dynasty, warlords carved up the land, and people were displaced, making paper a scarce commodity. Hua Tuo, imprisoned, could only scrape together a few pieces of paper, writing this scripture in tiny characters to save money. It was impossible for it to be bound in thread. These dozen or so rough, shabby pieces of paper must undoubtedly be Hua Tuo's own handwriting.

Han Sheng's spirits lifted. He looked down and read on. The following passage further convinced him that this was the *Qing Nang Jing*, lost for over 1700 years.

It stated: "The main ingredient of Mafeisan (anesthesia powder) is Datura flower, also known as Fengxia'er or Shanqiezi. It has a pungent, warm, and poisonous nature. Datura flowers are harvested in autumn and dried in the shade. " The prescription is one liter of medicine, along with four mace each of raw aconite, whole angelica, fragrant angelica, and chuanxiong, and one mace of stir-fried arisaema. Mix three mace with hot wine and drink. The patient will become intoxicated and unaware, then rupture the abdomen and back, removing any accumulations. If the accumulations are in the intestines or stomach, cut them off and wash them away, removing the diseased substances… Upon reading this, Han Sheng felt his blood rush to his head, tears welling in his eyes, overjoyed. This was a treasure trove of knowledge that renowned physicians and itinerant doctors had dreamed of for centuries!

He knew that the datura flower, also known as Datura stramonium, was widely distributed wild in China; he had no idea it had such a wonderful use.

Han Sheng continued reading, completely absorbed, until the rooster crowed three times, and dawn broke.

Just then, the big yellow dog, Benben, started barking softly. Someone in the yard stopped and shouted at the top of their lungs, "Dr. Zhu, the team has notified us that everyone is starting to relocate graves today!"

Han Sheng quickly put away the *Qing Nang Jing* (a classic

text on traditional Chinese medicine), placed it in its box, tucked the sandalwood box under the bedding, rubbed his eyes, and went outside. The man was in his thirties, of medium build, with a broad back and thick waist. Han Sheng recognized him; he was Zhu Biao, the team leader of Nanshan Village.

"My father went to deliver a baby. We'll wait for him to come back," Han Sheng told him.

"Okay, but your family needs to be more proactive. Don't fall behind the revolutionary masses," Zhu Biao said with a forced smile, and then walked away.

*Hmph, scoundrel* Han Sheng muttered to himself. Because of his family background, this team leader always picked on his father. His ancestors had been doctors in the countryside, but during the land reform, he somehow got classified as a rich peasant. He'd heard that his grandfather had once cured a Kuomintang county magistrate, which meant he was serving the reactionary class.

As dusk fell, his father still hadn't returned.

Should he tell his father that he had obtained the *Qing Nang Jing*? Han Sheng recalled the letter from the tomb's owner and decided to keep quiet for now. Since the owner had made demands when entrusting the scripture, he should abide by them, especially since it was from a thousand-year-old sage.

Han Sheng continued reading, oblivious to sleep and meals.

Chapter Four:

As darkness fell, Han Sheng lit an oil lamp, preparing to study late into the night.

The big yellow dog barked again, and hurried footsteps echoed in the yard.

Han Sheng quickly hid the scripture and went to greet the man. He saw a middle-aged man covered in sweat. He remembered that this was the family member of the woman who had come seeking medical help yesterday.

"Dr. Zhu asked me to come and pick up medicine," the man said breathlessly, holding a note—his father's prescription.

"What's wrong? Hasn't she given birth yet?" Han Sheng asked. "

It's troublesome. Even if she can't give birth, I dare not take her to the hospital. I'm afraid my wife can't endure the long mountain road." The man's face flushed red, and tears were about to fall.

"Okay, wait a moment, I'll go get the medicine." Han Sheng took the prescription, quickly prepared the medicine, and soon brought it out of the room.

"I'll go with you," Han Sheng said, worried about his father's health and wanting to help.

The two hurriedly left the house, leaving the big yellow dog to guard it.

The journey to the woman's home required walking seven or eight li of mountain road, but fortunately, the moon and stars were bright, and the mountain path was clearly visible, making the walk quick. The man explained the woman's condition along the way.

It was her second pregnancy; the day before yesterday, she had gone to deliver food to the fields at noon and fainted in a deserted graveyard in the mountains. She had been unconscious ever since, and her water had broken, showing symptoms resembling labor. Dr. Zhu arrived and tried many methods, but to no avail. The baby was already in the birth canal, but wouldn't emerge, causing great anxiety for the whole family.

In less than an hour, they had arrived at the farmhouse. The thatched house was surrounded by a dark bamboo grove. An oil lamp lit the interior, and shadowy figures occasionally flickered at the window.

Entering, Hansheng saw his father, his eyes dark-rimmed, leaning wearily against a bamboo chair, seemingly aged considerably overnight.

"Father," Hansheng stammered, a pang of sorrow gripping his heart.

"A ghost fetus," his father whispered.

"What?" Hansheng exclaimed in surprise.

"The woman in labor fainted in the graveyard. It must be that yin energy invaded her womb, causing nervous disorder and prolonged labor. If this continues, I'm afraid… Sigh, go and brew the medicine." His father sighed.

A ghost fetus? Hansheng went to the kitchen, pondering as he brewed the medicine.

The yin energy in this graveyard was powerful enough to suppress the midday yang energy and harm people. This was indeed strange. He had often heard his father talk about the effects of yin-related feng shui on human physiology, and now it seemed to have come true.

Looking at the bubbling bubbles in the medicine pot, would these ordinary herbs even be effective? Judging from his observations, even his father wasn't entirely sure.

Han Sheng smiled inwardly. The *Qing Nang Jing* contained a prescription specifically for treating "ghostly fetuses"—why not give it a try? With that thought, he closed his eyes, trying to recall the ingredients of the prescription.

The text said that evil spirits invading the fetus cause "ghostly illness," requiring the use of "half-heavenly river" as a guide. This refers to stagnant water collected from bamboo fences or hollow tree trunks, along with three live mole crickets (wings and feet removed), boiled in the water, and taken orally. One dose was said to cure it.

Han Sheng picked up a flashlight from the table, secretly found an empty bottle, and then, under the pretext of relieving himself, slipped out of the thatched hut and went to the bamboo grove behind the house.

He figured there must be bamboo stumps in the grove behind the house, and the cavities filled with rainwater would be a perfect example of "half-heavenly river." Mole crickets, scientifically known as *Morus alba*, were plentiful in the fields during summer and autumn; catching a few should be a piece of cake.

Sure enough, they hadn't gone far when, under the flashlight's beam, they found several bamboo stumps. Because they had been felled a long time ago, they were filled with yellowish-brown rainwater, and dozens of mosquito larvae were swimming in the water. Han Sheng filled a small bottle; that should be enough. Next, it was time to catch the stray dogs.

Han Sheng walked back and forth in the bamboo forest with his flashlight, but didn't see a single stray dog. Stray dogs don't chirp like crickets, so they couldn't be caught by sound; they had to find them by sight. Han Sheng continued deeper into the bamboo forest.

The forest paths were winding and secluded. Under the flashlight's beam, crickets, longhorn beetles, and other insects darted across the path, and occasionally, one or two toads would slowly crawl along, their eyes red.

Han Sheng unknowingly wandered further and further away, having already left the bamboo forest. Ahead lay a small, flat area where fireflies shimmered with green light. The distant mountains appeared hazy and indistinct under the moonlight. A wisp of white mist drifted in from somewhere, gradually spreading along the ground.

With a soft "whoosh," a small black dot swept overhead and flew into the mist—a mole cricket! Han Sheng knew that mole crickets had wings and could fly briefly, so he hurriedly gave chase.

The mole cricket landed, and Han Sheng pounced. The mist was indistinct, and wow! A crack appeared in the ground before him, and a large group of black mole crickets were constantly moving in and out of the crack… Han Sheng was overjoyed and crept closer to his prey. Just as he was about to strike, a sudden thought struck him; he sensed something was amiss. He stopped and looked around. He suddenly realized he was in a desolate graveyard.

Before him lay a new grave, the grass on its mound barely an inch long. A thin stone slab stood before it, faintly discernible in the moonlight, bearing the name of the deceased: "Tomb of Shen Caihua." There was no date, no name of any relatives who had erected a tombstone. Strangely, her husband's family had forbade her burial in the ancestral graveyard, choosing instead this desolate burial mound. According to local custom, this woman's death must have been suspicious.

Right, wasn't this the place where the woman had fainted in childbirth? That desolate graveyard, a place where yin energy invaded the mother's womb, creating a ghost fetus? Although Han Sheng had never treated a patient independently, he possessed some knowledge of general pathology. Typically, a pregnant woman's body is very vulnerable; various external pathogens can easily invade the mother's body, affecting the fetus. Graveyards are heavy with yin energy; pregnant women should completely avoid them.

For any poisonous substance, there is always something within a few feet that can counteract it. The woman in labor, suffering from the yin energy of the gravesite, ideally needed to find something nearby to counteract it. The essence of traditional Chinese medicine, spanning thousands of years, lies in the five elements' mutual generation and restraint, and the balance of yin and yang.

Han Sheng understood, realizing these dogs were precisely the counteracting force of that yin energy. The *Qing Nang Jing* was indeed accurate to the smallest detail.

Just then, from the cracks in the earth beside the grave, a wisp of black energy slowly seeped out, enveloping Han Sheng… Inside the thatched hut, Doctor Zhu paced back and forth. He had just fed the woman the prepared medicine and was now waiting to see the outcome. This young Han Sheng claimed to be relieving himself, threw away the medicine, and hadn't returned yet. It seemed this child lacked the qualities of a doctor; there was no one to carry on the family line.

Just then, a shout came from inside: "Doctor Zhu, come quickly!" It was the anxious voice of the woman's husband.

Dr. Zhu rushed into the inner room and was shocked to see the woman's naked lower body convulsing uncontrollably, with small bluish bruises appearing on her skin. Oh no! Those were ruptured subcutaneous capillaries. How could this be? He had never encountered anything like this before.

In a panic, Dr. Zhu drew his silver needles and simultaneously punctured four acupoints on the woman's body: Qihai, Xuehai, Jimen, and Yingu, twisting the needles forcefully. After a moment, the woman's convulsions gradually stopped, but the subcutaneous bleeding points continued to increase. Dr. Zhu broke out in a sweat.

Black, corpse-like energy enveloped Han Sheng, constantly drawing him in, but Han Sheng was completely unaware, focused only on catching the scattered, darting dogs. He moved swiftly, catching three or four, then tearing off their wings and thin feet, and tossing them into a glass bottle filled with half a day's worth of river water.

Unbeknownst to Han Sheng, while he was unconscious on the ancient tomb last night, dozens of white fungal filaments had burrowed into his body through his nostrils. These thousand-year-old white fungal filaments were the nemesis of the most poisonous red corpse energy in the world; ordinary black corpse energy was nothing to them. Han Sheng's body would likely never fear any corpse energy again.

Just then, Han Sheng seemed to hear a long, hoarse sigh. He stood there; it was a familiar voice. A gentle breeze rustled through the bamboo grove. Perhaps it was an illusion; in this desolate tomb at midnight, who would be there? He thought.

Han Sheng gripped the bottle in his hand and excitedly retraced his steps. Soon, he saw the three thatched huts.

The kitchen was empty; an empty medicine pot sat on the stove, presumably the medicine had already been prepared and taken inside. Han Sheng poured out the dregs from the pot, then poured the half-finished Tianhe water and the earth dog from his glass bottle into the pot, and put it on the stove to boil.

Han Sheng smugly entered the inner room, only to find it in chaos. The woman in labor had vomited up all the medicine she'd drunk, spilling it all over the bed.

"Han Sheng, quickly go and brew another pot!" Doctor Zhu, noticing Han Sheng, forgot to scold him and hurriedly ordered.

"Okay, I know," Han Sheng replied, returning to the kitchen to look at his medicine pot.

That graveyard was strange. Han Sheng stared at the mud dog in the pot, its body churning as the water warmed. Some reddish things floated to the surface—the corpses of mosquito larvae. Where had he heard that long sigh before? Could it have come from a crack in the grave? No, how could a dead person sigh? The deceased's name was Shen Caihua, but the voice was clearly a man's… "Han Sheng, is the medicine ready? Bring it here quickly!" His father's voice interrupted Han Sheng's reverie.

Han Sheng poured the medicine into a bowl and carefully carried it into the house.

The woman's lower body was covered in bleeding spots and bruises beneath her skin; she was on the verge of death. Her husband, crouching in a corner, held his head in his hands, sobbing incessantly.

Dr. Zhu pried open the woman's mouth, and Han Sheng gently blew on the medicine in the spoon to cool it before feeding her mouthful by mouthful. After finishing the bowl of medicine, Han Sheng returned to the kitchen and poured the leftover dregs from the medicine pot into the yard.

"The *Qing Nang Jing*," Han Sheng silently prayed, hoping it could save this dying woman.

A moment later, Dr. Zhu was astonished to find that the bruises on the woman's body were gradually fading… Han Sheng stood in the yard, gazing up at the night sky. The stars twinkled, the Milky Way was hazy, and a shooting star streaked across the horizon, leaving a long trail.

Perhaps the legendary physician Hua Tuo had also stood at the prison gate, watching the shooting star, lamenting his own unfulfilled ambitions with a heart full of sorrow and compassion.

"Wah…" came the first cry of a baby from inside the house.

The sound was like celestial music to Han Sheng's ears. He jumped up and rushed into the room like a gust of wind.

Seeing his father's relieved face and the husband's joyful tears, Han Sheng couldn't help but shed tears as well.

"It's a girl," his father said.

The new mother leaned against the headboard, holding her newborn with relief, unaware that she had just narrowly escaped death.

"Thank you, Dr. Zhu, you saved them, mother and daughter!" the man thanked him repeatedly, tears streaming down his face.

"That was close," his father said to Han Sheng as he sat down at the table, sipping tea.

Seeing his father's happiness, Han Sheng felt a surge of joy himself. "The *Qing Nang Jing*, you truly haven't let me down.

" "Han Sheng, what are you laughing at?" his father asked, looking at him with some surprise.

"Nothing, Dad, I suddenly realized that when a doctor saves a dying patient, he feels an indescribable joy," Han Sheng said sincerely.

"Yes, that's why it's called 'Hanging a gourd to save the world,' it's a pity you don't study diligently. Alas, I think our Zhu family's ancestral medical skills will end with my generation," the father sighed.

Not necessarily, perhaps the student will surpass the master, Han Sheng thought to himself.

That night, Dr. Zhu and his son stayed at the new mother's house. Dr. Zhu had been working tirelessly for two days and nights and was exhausted; he soon began snoring after going to bed.

Bright moonlight streamed in through the window, but Han Sheng lay awake, not feeling sleepy at all.

From now on, his fate would be changed by the *Qing Nang Jing*.

Chapter Five

. In the morning, the host family specially cooked white rice and slaughtered a chicken, insisting on inviting Dr. Zhu and his son to eat. Unable to refuse, the father and son had no choice but to eat before leaving.

Dr. Zhu finally took the mother's pulse and found it to be neither too strong nor too weak, but gentle and forceful. He nodded and told her it was nothing to worry about, and that she would be fine after a few days of rest.

The baby had just finished nursing in its mother's arms and was half-asleep with its eyes open.

Han Sheng looked at the child, feeling a sweet warmth in his heart; this was the first little life he had saved.

The baby opened its eyes, turned its head, and gave Han Sheng a strange smile… Han Sheng had already gotten up and left, so he didn't see it.

"I need to check the cemetery where the mother fainted," Dr. Zhu said to the man of the house during the meal.

After the meal, the man of the house led them to the cemetery. Sure enough, they passed through a bamboo path and soon arrived at the desolate graveyard that Han Sheng had visited the night before. Dr.

Zhu squinted and scanned the area for a moment, secretly alarmed.

"This place is a 'White Tiger Carrying a Corpse,' a very ominous location," Dr. Zhu said.

"Dad, what is 'White Tiger Carrying a Corpse'?" Han Sheng asked with great interest as his father began to talk about feng shui.

The father pointed to the surrounding terrain and said, "Look at the terrain here. The Azure Dragon in the east is jealous of its master, the White Tiger in the west is crouching and carrying a corpse in its mouth. The surroundings are low-lying, and the wind blows from all eight directions.

The area in front of the tomb is gradually becoming murky, and the

grass is filthy and smelly. It's an ominous place." Han Sheng pointed to Shen Caihua's new grave and asked his father, "Dad, look at this grave. It's strange. There's only a name on the tombstone. Isn't that suspicious?" The male head of the household, standing to the side, interjected, "This grave contains the remains of a woman who hanged herself. Her husband's family refused to let her be buried in the ancestral graveyard, so they hastily buried her here."

"Why couldn't she be buried in the ancestral graveyard?" Han Sheng asked.

The male head of the household sighed and told a tragic story.

Shen Caihua was a woman with a tragic fate. She was fair-skinned and beautiful, with two long, black braids. However, her husband was a cripple. It was said that he fell from a tree as a child and broke his testicles, making him unable to have children. But a year after their marriage, Shen Caihua became pregnant. Her husband's family tortured her severely, but she refused to reveal who her lover was, and they even broke both her legs.

"Then why didn't she go to town to sue them?" Han Sheng said angrily.

"It's useless. Shen Caihua has no one from her family, and her father-in-law is the director of the town's Revolutionary Committee. Where can she sue? She only had one rope left to hang herself, but it's a pity about the child in her womb." The man said regretfully.

"No wonder, Shen Caihua's resentment is hard to dispel." Dr. Zhu sighed.

Han Sheng asked, "What about that lover? Why doesn't he come forward? He should have the courage to take responsibility."

"We still don't know who that coward is." The man said disdainfully.

"Dad, is the yin energy Shen Caihua's?" Han Sheng looked at his father in confusion.

Dr. Zhu explained, "That's right. Shen Caihua's resentment is hard to dispel. First, the child in her womb died in the womb. What mother wouldn't be heartbroken for her own flesh and blood? Second, that heartless man never had the courage to stand up and take responsibility. I think she was heartbroken and despondent, which is why she wanted to die."

"My wife..." The man seemed to realize something and mumbled.

Dr. Zhu nodded and sighed, "Poor woman, why take your anger out on others?"

Han Sheng could still hear that long sigh echoing in his ears. It was him, that man… Han Sheng gazed at Shen Caihua's lonely grave. The deep crack in the soil was still there, but none of the stray dogs from last night were to be seen. He felt deeply grateful to this unfortunate woman. If he hadn't caught those dogs at her grave in time, the mother and her unborn child would certainly not have survived.

"Father, is it just superstition that the resentment of the dead can affect the living?" Han Sheng asked his father, puzzled.

The father hesitated for a moment, then said, “Traditional Chinese medicine emphasizes the balance of Yin and Yang. It means that the human body contains both Yin and Yang energies, which condense in the bones. Even after death, the bones can remain underground for many years. Yang energy is active during the day and dormant at night, while Yin energy is active at night and dormant during the day, changing with the time of day. Shen Caihua’s resentment was too great, causing a imbalance of Yin and Yang. The Yin energy escaped during the day, and it will soon be damaged by the sunlight, making it short-lived.”

Han Sheng nodded and then asked, “What harm does this ‘White Tiger Carrying Corpse’ site do to Shen Caihua?”

“It’s a cheap, sandy place. Soon the corpse’s energy will dissipate, and it will be eaten away by insects and rot away

. If there are any descendants, they may suffer misfortune or disobedience,” Doctor Zhu shook his head and sighed. “My wife fainted right there in front of Shen Caihua’s grave,” the man pointed, and Han Sheng looked in the direction of the crack in the ground.

“What is the purpose of the Yin energy invading the pregnant woman?” Han Sheng suddenly asked.

“To facilitate the pregnancy,” the father said.

Han Sheng's heart skipped a beat: "Could it be..." "

Shen Caihua was filled with resentment and couldn't bear to see her unborn child die. By sheer coincidence, a pregnant woman happened to pass by, and she was willing to dissipate all

her yin energy to ensure the pregnancy's survival. In traditional Chinese medicine, this is called a 'ghost fetus.' But don't worry, I've already expelled it with medicine," his father explained. "Oh," Han Sheng replied absentmindedly.

The Zhu father and son bid farewell to the man and took a shortcut over the mountain to return home.

The big yellow dog, seeing its master return from afar, happily wagged its tail and came out to greet him.

Han Sheng had already hidden the wooden box and collected his great-grandfather's remains before leaving last night. He told his father that he had counted the remains, and not a single one was missing. His father praised him.

"Yesterday, Zhu Biao announced that everyone in the village is going to relocate graves today. When should we go?" Han Sheng discussed.

"Hmm, today's auspicious day, let's go now," his father calculated.

Hansheng's mother passed away early and was buried next to his grandparents' joint grave. Every month on the fifteenth, Hansheng would go to the grave to sit, offer incense, and say words of remembrance.

Father and son prepared incense, candles, and paper money, and set off with their tools. The weather was clear, and their big yellow dog followed.

In the bamboo grove in front of Linggu Cave, the villagers were also digging graves. Swarms of mosquitoes surrounded them, waiting to bite. Autumn mosquitoes are very venomous; a bite would cause a large, swollen welt.

His father had specially carried a medicine box, just in case any villager was affected by the "corpse aura.

" "What if we encounter red corpse aura?" Hansheng asked.

His father shook his head.

Hansheng respectfully lit incense, burned paper money, and kowtowed before his mother's grave. The big yellow dog lay quietly to one side, and his father's eyes reddened.

"Dad, did you choose this burial site for our family?" Hansheng stood up.

"Yes, your grandfather found it himself. This place has a feng shui formation called 'Shrimp Whiskers and Crab Eyes.' Look, Grandpa's grave is a convex pit, rounded in the middle, like a crab's eye, protected by the Yin Sha of the Cicada's Nest. Your mother's grave is a concave pit, like a nest, as if a shrimp's whiskers are embracing it, protected by the Ming Sha of the Ox Horn. It's an auspicious site," his father said with a smile.

Hansheng looked carefully, and the terrain was indeed as his father described, convex and concave, quite peculiar.

"Dad, if it's an auspicious site, what good will it do for our family?" Hansheng had a strong interest in feng shui since childhood, but his father was always reluctant to talk about it.

"You will make a name for yourself in the future," his father said confidently.

"Sigh, what future can a mere farmer have?" Hansheng pouted.

"A crab eye is like a second-place scholar; you must not underestimate yourself," his father said seriously.

Hansheng was quite unconvinced.

"Are there any better feng shui sites here?" he asked.

The father looked around and said in a low voice, "There is a very auspicious burial site called 'Tai Chi Halo,' which is extraordinary and will produce an emperor."

"Where is it?" Han Sheng asked excitedly.

"Shh, keep your voice down, or someone will hear," the father warned, putting his index finger to his lips.

Dr. Zhu lit a cigarette, thinking that since his son was interested, he might as well say more.

"Hansheng, have you heard the story of Zhu Yuanzhang 'burying his mother alive'? During the Ming Dynasty, the founding emperor Zhu Yuanzhang and Chen Youliang were locked in a stalemate at Poyang Lake. Liu Bowen, in Jiangxi, saw a hill called Wolonggang, which he interpreted as resembling a reclining dragon, with a Taiji symbol on its forehead. Due to the needs of the war, he strongly urged Zhu Yuanzhang to quickly bury the deceased to swiftly overwhelm Chen Youliang. However, the Zhu family had no coffin to bury, causing Zhu Yuanzhang great distress. One day, his blind widowed mother heard her son sighing and, believing he was suffering defeat, advised him against fighting for power, territory, and cities, saying, 'Your Zhu family's ancestral graves lack imperial aura.' Zhu Yuanzhang told his mother that Chen Youliang's ancestral graves were auspicious, with two phoenixes facing the sun, destined to produce emperors, while their ancestral graves could not compete. Now, there is a..." The imperial tomb surpassed Chen Youliang's, but unfortunately, the Zhu family had no coffin to bury. Hearing this, the blind mother understood her son's thoughts and instructed him to prepare the burial site, promising that a direct ancestor of the Zhu family could be buried there the next day at dawn. Although Zhu Yuanzhang was skeptical, he followed his mother's instructions and dug the proper burial site. At dawn, the blind mother, supported by others, arrived, dressed neatly, and groped her way to the tomb. She stood upright, motionless, and passed away peacefully. Because

his mother was buried in her flesh, without the constraints of a coffin, her fortunes improved rapidly. Soon after, in the Battle of Poyang Lake, Zhu Yuanzhang completely defeated Chen Youliang, laying the foundation for his imperial rule. In reality, Chen Youliang's ancestors had performed good deeds for nine generations, while Zhu Yuanzhang's ancestors had been bullied for ten generations. If it weren't for the overwhelming influence of the "Tai Chi halo" (a concept in Chinese astrology) overshadowing the "Double Phoenix Facing the Sun" (another concept in Chinese astrology), Zhu Yuanzhang would not have become the founding emperor of the Ming Dynasty. "After saying this, Dr. Zhu stubbed out his cigarette."

Chapter Six.

"Wow, the Tai Chi halo is amazing!" Han Sheng exclaimed sincerely.

Dr. Zhu began digging in the soil while continuing to explain the origin of the Tai Chi halo.

There are five colors of soil in nature: chalky soil represents metal, blue soil represents wood, black soil represents water, red soil represents fire, and yellow soil represents earth. The Tai Chi halo is circular, about ten feet in diameter, and these five colors of soil naturally form within it, making it extremely rare. Moreover, the soil within the halo also contains five-colored soil eggs, commonly known as "soil eggs." These eggs are hollow, and sometimes contain insects resembling silkworms.

"Is there really such a strange place?" Han Sheng seemed skeptical.

"I'll take you there to broaden your horizons when I have time," his father promised.

Han Sheng took the hoe and replaced his father in digging.

"Someone has fainted!" A woman's cry came from the bamboo grove.

Dr. Zhu quickly grabbed his medicine box and ran into the bamboo grove, and Han Sheng dropped his hoe and followed to see what was happening.

Li Lao Er, from the north end of the village, collapsed in front of his family's ancestral grave. His wife, Li Er Shen, was screaming hoarsely beside him.

"Be careful, there's black smoke. Take Er Shen to the windward side," the father instructed.

Han Sheng pulled Li Er Shen to the windward side and saw his father open his medicine box, take out some pills, and hurriedly put them into Li Lao Er's mouth.

Han Sheng tilted his head back and forth, carefully observing, but still couldn't see the black corpse smoke.

"Squint your eyes, try to use the corner of your eye, a casual glance," the father told Han Sheng.

Han Sheng squinted as his father instructed, glancing back and forth, and finally saw a few faint wisps of black smoke dissipating in the grave pit once or twice.

"I see it!" he shouted happily.

The father smiled at Han Sheng, gently helped the slowly waking Li Lao Er up, and told him that there was some foul and poisonous gas in the grave, and that they should wait for the corpse smoke to dissipate before burying the bones.

Soon after noon, the remains of Hansheng's grandparents and mother were placed in cloth bags and the grave pit was filled. The big yellow dog ran ahead, and the father and son carried the ancestors' remains back home.

At dinner, the father gave some pointers on geomancy and feng shui. "This child isn't cut out for medicine, but he certainly has a knack for feng shui," he thought.

Late at night, Hansheng was still reading by lamplight in the west room, becoming increasingly astonished. The prescriptions recorded in the *Qing Nang Jing* were truly incredible, and some difficult illnesses could be cured with a single dose. Around midnight, Hansheng finally finished reading it, closed the book, and sighed deeply. He knew that he would truly be like Hua Tuo, practicing medicine and wandering the world. After putting away the wooden box containing the book, he yawned deeply, blew out the oil lamp, and drifted off to sleep.

In the morning, his father knocked loudly on the door of the west room.

"We're burying our ancestors' remains today, get up quickly," his father said through the doorway.

Hansheng rubbed his eyes and got up, still yawning.

At breakfast, Hansheng whispered to his father, "Dad, are you thinking of burying my great-grandfather and grandfather's remains at Taiji Halo?"

"Bah, what a ridiculous idea! Our family has been doctors for generations, only thinking of relieving people's suffering, nothing more. If we wanted wealth and glory, your great-grandfather would have been in Taiji Halo long ago," his father said sternly.

"I didn't mean that. Being a doctor for life is certainly carefree, but I just want to wander the world, practicing medicine and relieving people's suffering," Hansheng said earnestly.

“Sigh, I understand your thoughts, but learning medicine requires talent. Otherwise, you'll just be a quack and kill people. You're already twenty, yet you've accomplished nothing. I know you don't want to farm, and you've failed at medicine. I wanted to teach you the art of the Bluebird, but nobody believes in that these days. You need to have some skill,” his father admonished.

Han Sheng lowered his head and remained silent, thinking that if he didn't say anything now, his father would be surprised sooner or later.

After the meal, the father and son packed their belongings. Han Sheng carried the remains of their ancestors on his back and left the village, heading towards the depths of the southern mountains. The big yellow dog skipped and hopped ahead of them.

Wuyuan is located at the junction of Zhejiang, Anhui, and Jiangxi provinces, in a hilly area extending from Huangshan Mountain. The Wu River meanders from northwest to southeast. This area has been the dividing line between Wu and Chu since the Spring and Autumn and Warring States periods. Wuyuan, with its high mountains and distant waters, has historically been a haven for officials and gentry from the Central Plains seeking refuge from war and a retreat to nature. During the early 4th century (Jin Dynasty), the late 9th century (Tang Dynasty), and the 12th century (Southern Song Dynasty), three large-scale migrations from the Central Plains led to the formation of numerous villages scattered throughout the southern Anhui mountains. Nanshan Village is one such inconspicuous and remote village.

Walking along the northern foothills of Nanshan, Father stood on a high ridge, pointing northwest.

“Feng Shui, in ancient times called ‘geographical geomancy,’ involves observing celestial phenomena and examining mountains and rivers to find auspicious burial sites. The Song Dynasty Feng Shui master Lai Buyi once visited Nanshan and stayed at our Zhu family ancestor's home. One night, Lai Buyi and our ancestor drank under the moon and revealed a secret.” Father gazed into the distance, as if transported back to the Song Dynasty eight hundred years ago.

“What secret?” Hansheng pressed.

“The Tai Chi halo,” Father said deeply.

“Father, tell me quickly,” Hansheng urged.

"This was passed down from our ancestors. Back then, Lai Buyi said that, according to his observations, Huangshan has two dragon veins, one yang and one yin, each heading northwest and southeast. The yang dragon rushes straight to Poyang Lake in the northwest, while the yin dragon meanders southeast to this place, forming a hidden dragon. Huangshan is its ancestral mountain, Dazhang Mountain is its lesser ancestral mountain, and Nanshan is its ancestral mountain. This place overlooks Poyang Lake to the west, Baiyue Mountain to the north, the Yangtze River to the east, and Hubei and Hunan provinces to the south. Clouds gather and mist disperses, creating a magnificent aura. The dragon, sand, cave, and water are perfectly formed by nature. He traveled through dozens of prefectures and counties in Jiangnan and never saw such an excellent place in terms of feng shui. Lai Buyi, who had roamed the world all his life, was skilled at finding unusual burial sites. This time, in his search for a dragon vein and a burial site, he discovered a ten-thousand-year-old auspicious site—the Taiji Halo—at the mouth of the yin dragon vein. At that time, the moon was bright and the stars were shining. Taking advantage of his drunken mood, Lai Buyi led his ancestors to Nanshan at night to observe the burial site.

This place will surely produce an emperor, Lai Buyi said with absolute certainty," my father recounted.

"Could the place where Zhu Yuanzhang's mother was buried be that Yang Dragon?" Han Sheng speculated.

"That's right, it was that Yang Dragon, from which a great emperor of the Ming Dynasty emerged," his father replied.

"Could it be that both places have a Tai Chi halo?" Han Sheng asked疑惑地.

“Lai Buyi said this is a Yin-Yang double halo. I think Liu Bowen discovered the Yang halo, and this is the Yin halo. Lai Buyi once told our ancestors that the energy of the Yin halo of the hidden dragon far exceeds that of the Yin halo,” his father explained.

Han Sheng thought, there are truly too many mysteries in nature.

“Let’s go.” His father continued along the mountain path.

At a ravine on the south side of the mountain, his father stopped and put down the tools and items he was carrying.

“Let’s bury him here,” his father said.

“Here?” Han Sheng put down the cloth bag and looked around.

“This is the depression of the dragon’s spine, a place where the wind gathers and energy accumulates, a moderately auspicious place. Anyway, we don’t want to be rich and powerful. Just getting some dragon energy will ensure our descendants have enough to eat and wear,” his father said frankly.

“Where is the Tai Chi halo?” Han Sheng asked.

“I’ll take you to see it after the remains are buried,” his father said, and began to dig.

The weather was clear, golden sunlight bathed the mountains, and a purple haze hung in the air. The Wushui River meandered through the hills like a belt, and in the distance, the Hui-style farmhouses with their white walls, tiled roofs, and flowing streams created a tranquil scene.

Two hours passed, and the father and son, drenched in sweat, finally dug three graves. The father took three empty earthenware jars from his basket and, together with Hansheng, placed the remains of his great-grandfather, grandparents, and mother into the jars, sealed them, and then gently placed them in the three graves in order of seniority, with the oldest being in the east.

When burning paper money as an offering, Hansheng cried.

The father opened a bottle of liquor and poured it in front of the graves, his eyes also red. He said nothing, but shoveled the first handful of soil. It

was all over. A few dark clouds drifted in from the horizon, obscuring the sun, and the earth suddenly dimmed considerably.

"Let's go, child, it's time to take you to see the Tai Chi symbol," the father said.

The father led the way, with Hansheng carrying a basket on his back, the two walking along the southern ridge.

Suddenly, Hansheng's eyes lit up, and he froze, hardly believing his eyes… The hills before him, though varying in height, seemed to have the southern mountain as a central point, with the hills radiating outwards to the southeast and west, all bowing towards it. Looking back to the northern horizon, the majestic Huangshan Mountains descended in layers of verdant green like waves, shrouded in a purple haze, brimming with vitality.

"See that? Three sides bowing in reverence, eight directions paying tribute—this mountain range alone exudes imperial grandeur," the father remarked.

"But the southern end of the mountain is a flat plain, as if the mountain range is interrupted," Hansheng frowned.

“A dragon vein that travels a thousand miles, when it’s about to form a burial site, first gathers its energy and passes through a gorge, then suddenly rises up, preparing to form the burial site. This section of the dragon vein’s formation is called ‘Hidden Dragon Passing Through the Gorge.’ The place where we’re standing is the head of the hidden dragon,” the father explained.

“What about the Tai Chi halo?” Hansheng looked down at the ground.

“The Yang dragon’s burial site is above the eyebrows, and the Yin dragon’s burial site is below the lips. Follow me.” The father said and continued forward. The mountain path sloped down and became narrower and narrower. Finally, they crawled through a thicket of bushes and climbed down from the dragon’s head.

“Hey, isn’t this Linggu Cave?” Hansheng was surprised to find that they had reached the entrance of Linggu Cave.

The father smiled and nodded. Seeing that no one was around, he measured about three zhang (approximately 13 meters) from the cave entrance, then walked fifteen steps to the left. This place was covered with bushes. He beckoned to Hansheng, bent down, and crawled into the bushes.

Hansheng put down his basket and followed him in.

In the center of the bushes was a clearing about two meters square. The father used a hoe to remove some of the turf, exposing the soil underneath.

On the surface of the soil, five colored rings of earth—white, blue, black, red, and yellow—were visible, each layer a different color, varying in shade and intensity, dazzling and captivating, like a solar halo.

"It's truly beautiful," Han Sheng murmured.

His father continued digging with his hoe, pulling out a fist-sized blue earthen ball, which he handed to Han Sheng: "This is an earthen egg. Blue belongs to the wood element in the Five Elements theory, so it's called a wood egg."

Han Sheng took the wood egg, holding it in his palm. It wasn't heavy; it was indeed hollow.

His father covered the soil with the shoveled sod, tamping it down with his foot, saying, "So no one will find out."

Han Sheng touched the wood egg in his hand, a smile spreading across his face, because the *Qing Nang Jing* also mentioned these five-element earthen eggs.

Chapter Seven

: On the way home, he saw several patches of fresh soil scattered in the bamboo grove, left behind by the villagers after relocating their graves. Han Sheng glanced around; the Li family's ancestral graves had also been moved.

"Caw..." A strange cry came from above. Han Sheng looked up and saw a large, angry crow with red eyes staring intently at him. The crow had a tuft of white feathers on its head.

"The villagers have disturbed the crows these past few days, so they're very angry," his father explained.

"Crows have always kept company with graves. Now that there are no graves to keep them company, they're naturally listless," someone laughed loudly from the bamboo grove, speaking with a Lingnan accent.

Two people walked along the path in the woods. Dr. Zhu recognized the short, stout man in the Zhongshan suit; he was Meng Zhuqi, the director of the Revolutionary Committee of Nanshan Town.

The man who had just spoken was a man in his fifties, dressed in a suit and tie, from out of town. He had a striking appearance, with sharp, upturned eyes, a hooked nose, and thick, downturned eyebrows. His voice was clear and resonant at high pitches, and low and guttural at low pitches, with a lingering echo at the end.

Dr. Zhu was greatly alarmed. This man's unusual appearance suggested he was someone important.

"You must be Dr. Zhu from Nanshan," said the short, stout Director Meng, a man of few words and little expression, his face always stern.

"He's the barefoot doctor of this village, his ancestral home is Nanshan Village," Director Meng whispered to the man.

"Barefoot doctor?" the man seemed puzzled.

"A quack doctor," Director Meng explained.

The man nodded, his eyes gleaming as he glanced at Dr. Zhu and fixed his gaze on Han Sheng's face.

"Wuyuan is truly a place of outstanding people and beautiful scenery, young man. Do you know the meaning of the character 'Wu'?" the man asked Han Sheng with a slight smile.

Han Sheng shook his head; he had never thought of that.

The man smiled again and said, "Wu means 'literary woman,' this place produces both literary and martial talents and beautiful women. I see you have an extraordinary bearing, young man. Given time, you will surely become a scholar who passes the imperial examinations with flying colors."

"Comrade, please excuse my rudeness. This is my son, Han Sheng," Dr. Zhu said, feeling a surge of goodwill towards the man praising his son.

"This is Mr. Wu Daoming, a famous Feng Shui master from Hong Kong, whom the county invited," Director Meng introduced with no small amount of pride.

"You flatter me. I'm just a humble scholar. Wuyuan is a place where true masters and hermits reside," the man said modestly.

"Director Meng, Mr. Wu, you must be busy. We'll take our leave first," Dr. Zhu said, bidding farewell and leaving with Han Sheng.

"Wait, young man, may I take a look at that earthen egg you're holding?" Wu Daoming suddenly said coldly from behind.

Han Sheng saw his father's body stiffen, and he slowly turned around, his face expressionless, but a hint of unease in his eyes. Han Sheng had never seen his father so serious.

He heard his father calmly say, "Mr. Wu, what earthen egg are you talking about?"

Wu Daoming chuckled and said, "Isn't that just a Tai Chi earthen egg in your hand, young man? Where did you get it? I'm willing to pay a high price to buy it."

"We don't know anything about earthen eggs. It's just a child's toy, and it's been around for many years," his father said calmly.

Wu Daoming stepped forward, stared at the earthen egg in Han Sheng's hand, and said softly, "Young man, tell me where this came from, and I'm willing to pay two hundred yuan."

Two hundred yuan! That's half a year's living expenses for him and his father! No, since his father wouldn't tell, he didn't want outsiders to know the location of the Taiji Halo, so he couldn't say either.

"I bought this at the market when I was a child," Han Sheng replied.

"Oh, is that so? Can I take a look?" Wu Daoming said.

Han Sheng reluctantly handed it over, and Wu Daoming grabbed it.

"Dr. Zhu, the soil around this egg is still damp, so it's definitely not an old thing. Am I right?" Wu Daoming teased.

"Master Wu, what's so special about this dirt egg? Why do you value it so much?" Director Meng said dismissively.

Wu Daoming laughed and said, "This isn't an ordinary dirt egg. This thing is called a Taiji Egg. It's bluish-green, a wood egg, and it's born from the Taiji Halo."

"Taiji Halo! We were just about to..." Director Meng's face changed drastically.

"Exactly, that's why I wanted to find out the origin of this egg," Wu Daoming interrupted with a wink.

Director Meng turned to Dr. Zhu and said sternly, "Where did you get this egg? Tell me quickly! Everything underground belongs to the state. You're not lying to the government, are you?"

The father's face flushed red, and Han Sheng saw the veins on his neck throbbing.

"I buried it in the ground," Han Sheng suddenly said.

"Why did you bury it?" Director Meng glared at Han Sheng.

"Grandpa bought it for me when I was little, when he took me to the market. Later, when I grew up, I didn't want to play with it anymore, so I buried it in front of Grandpa's grave. I dug it up again during this relocation. It's a keepsake from Grandpa; I won't sell it," Han Sheng said righteously, snatching the egg and turning to his father, "Dad, let's go."

Watching Dr. Zhu and his son leave calmly, Wu Daoming frowned.

"Don't worry, I'll make that barefoot doctor tell," Director Meng smiled grimly.

Back home, the father was sullen.

"Dad, that master from Hong Kong seems quite knowledgeable. I wonder what he's doing coming all this way to our little mountain village?" Hansheng asked his father.

His father thought for a moment, then solemnly warned, "This man is no ordinary person. Look at his unusual bone structure, clear voice, eyes that reach his temples, and a high, hooked nose—he must be a reclusive genius. However, a hooked nose is said to be man-eating, and eyebrows like a broom are destined for execution. This face is truly inauspicious. In short, be careful of him."

Hansheng advised, "Dad, we're just village doctors. We have nothing to do with them. They can't possibly harm us."

His father looked at Hansheng and sighed, "A couple of days ago, the town asked us to relocate the ancestral graves in front of Linggu Cave. Today, I saw Director Meng and this feng shui master. I think there's something fishy going on."

"You mean the relocation of the ancestral graves is related to them?" Hansheng guessed.

His father nodded.

"Then their intention is..." Hansheng seemed to understand something. "

The Tai Chi symbol. They're here for the Tai Chi symbol," his father affirmed.

"Don't worry, Father, I won't tell anyone," Hansheng said.

"What are they looking for Taiji Yun for?" his father muttered to himself.

That night, Hansheng tossed and turned in bed, unable to sleep, so he took out the blue ruler from the wooden box and played with it.

Hansheng recognized that this was no ordinary ruler, but a Dinglan ruler, also known as a Yin-Yang ruler, about thirty centimeters long, with ten squares engraved with the characters Ding, Hai, Wang, Ku, Yi, Guan, Si, Xing, Shi, and Cai. Each square was further divided into four smaller squares, also engraved with many smaller characters such as Fugui, Lixiang, and Guagua.

He had seen his father with a similar ruler before when rummaging through the bottom of a trunk. His father had told him that it was used to determine the auspiciousness of building tombs and ancestral tablets, and that it was superstition.

What interested Hansheng was the material of the ruler: dark blue, cool to the touch, and surprisingly heavy. When he was little, his grandfather told him that the rarest thing in the world was ebony, which is bluish-green and extremely heavy. It is formed after being buried underground or underwater for tens of thousands of years and is exceptionally precious.

He was certain that this ruler was made of ebony.

Chapter Eight

. Early in the morning, his father got up early to prepare porridge and called Hansheng to get up, saying that they were going to the Wuyuan County market to buy some Chinese medicinal herbs.

Hansheng jumped out of bed. He had always loved going to markets; the bustling markets always made him linger, especially the county market.

It was seventy li to the county town, and they had to catch a bus in Nanshan Town. So the father and son hurriedly ate a few mouthfuls and set off.

The late autumn morning was a bit chilly. The wild grass by the roadside was covered with dew, and the birds in the woods were chattering noisily. Hansheng recognized the black-feathered birds as a local myna.

There were many people going to the county town from Nanshan Town, and the father and son squeezed onto the bus.

The old bus, belching black smoke, bounced along the gravel road. It was full of farmers heading to the county market; the bus was crammed with strings of chili peppers, dried mountain vegetables, and sweet potato noodles. Two speckled chickens occasionally cackled, earning them a couple of slaps from their owners.

Some passengers recognized Dr. Zhu and greeted him respectfully. The passengers quieted down and smiled at Dr. Zhu and his son.

A Beijing 212 jeep sped past, horn blaring, leaving a cloud of dust in its wake.

Han Sheng recognized the jeep as carrying Director Meng and the Hong Kong master, Wu Daoming.

Two hours later, they finally arrived in the county town.

The market was located in the west of the town, bustling with people from afar—a true county market, incomparable to those in villages and towns.

"Go have some fun. We'll eat noodles at Feng's Noodle Shop at noon," his father said with a smile.

Han Sheng responded and then disappeared.

Dr. Zhu gave a wry smile. "Sigh, still just a child."

He turned and went to a Chinese herbal medicine stall near the market, greeting the stall owner. Dr. Zhu knew him, and they chatted casually. Before noon, he had already bought a basket full of Chinese herbs, including heat-clearing and blood-cooling herbs like Rehmannia glutinosa, Scrophularia ningpoensis, and Gynostemma pentaphyllum, as well as blood-tonifying herbs like Angelica sinensis and Paeonia lactiflora. Seeing that it was getting late, he said goodbye and left the market for Feng's noodle shop.

Dr. Zhu sat on a wooden bench outside Feng's noodle shop to rest, waiting for Hansheng.

After leaving his father, Hansheng wandered around aimlessly. Suddenly, he noticed a crowd gathered ahead. Approaching, he saw a little girl in a tattered blue floral jacket kneeling on the ground, behind her lying an elderly woman with gray hair, curled up in a ball, barely alive. The onlookers all sighed in pity.

A piece of paper lay flat on the ground in front of the little girl, on which was written in crooked handwriting: "Seeking medical help. My mother has a strange illness. If someone cures her, I will repay them with my own life."

"Little girl, what illness does your mother have?" someone in the crowd asked.

"Little girl, how old are you?" someone else asked.

The girl looked up, and a chorus of boos erupted from the crowd. The girl had prominent brow bones, deep-set eyes, small, beady eyes, a flat nose, a large mouth, and a face covered in freckles—she was incredibly ugly… Han Sheng was also startled at first sight, thinking that there could be such an ugly woman in the world. Just as he was pondering this, he heard the girl begin to speak.

"My name is Lan'er, I'm sixteen years old. My mother contracted this strange illness last December, and in less than a year, her condition has worsened. Her whole body feels like it's frozen solid, stiff and unable to move, curled up in a ball. We've been to the hospital, and they all said the illness is incurable and told us to prepare for the worst. Lan'er begs you gentlemen and elders, if there's even a glimmer of hope, I'm willing to do anything, even be your slave."

Han Sheng was startled again upon hearing this; the voice was hoarse, like a frog's croak, and his eardrums felt a sharp pain.

"Young lady, this disease seems to be called 'ALS'. Unless Hua Tuo is reborn or Bian Que is reincarnated, there's simply no cure. You should make your final arrangements as soon as possible," said the white-bearded old man selling dog-skin plasters nearby.

"Waaah..." Lan'er burst into tears upon hearing this, her tears falling onto the paper book, turning a pale red.

"Hemoptysis," Han Sheng blurted out.

"Eh, this young man actually knows about 'Hemoptysis'? This is an ancient incurable disease. Are you studying medicine?" the old man asked in surprise.

Han Sheng blushed and nodded.

"Unfortunately, no matter how skilled the doctors in the world are, they can hardly cure this disease," the old man sighed.

"It's curable," Han Sheng said softly, his voice so low that only he could hear it.

"What? You say it's curable?" the old man's ears were sharp.

Han Sheng hummed in agreement.

"Young man, stop talking nonsense. Do you even know how this illness started?" the old man said with a disdainful look.

Han Sheng shook his head: "I don't know."

"Hmph, you don't even know the cause, how can you treat it? Young people these days are so arrogant." the old man said angrily.

"Brother, can you cure my mother?" Lan'er looked at Han Sheng doubtfully.

Han Sheng looked at her with certainty.

"If you can cure my mother, I'm willing to marry you." Lan'er said firmly.

Han Sheng remembered the words in the wooden box letter: "Those who have mastered the scriptures should practice medicine to help the world." This mother and daughter were so pitiful. Since the *Qing Nang Jing* contained a remedy for "ice people," he should be like Hua Tuo in the past, saving people from danger.

Han Sheng looked around and said, "I need a pair of scissors, a water bowl, and a box of matches."

There were many enthusiastic people among the onlookers. In a short while, everything was ready. The news spread, and more people gathered around.

Han Sheng picked up the scissors and walked towards Lan'er's mother.

Lan'er stared in terror. Han Sheng ignored the questioning looks from the crowd, walked straight to Lan'er's mother, squatted down, grabbed her hair, and snipped off a lock.

He placed the hair in a porcelain bowl, lit it with a handful of matches, and the lock of hair instantly burned to ashes. Then, in full view of everyone, he took out the blue earthen egg from his pocket and smashed it on the ground. "

Please, there must be a silkworm inside," he prayed.

"There's a green worm!" the onlookers exclaimed in surprise.

Thank goodness, Han Sheng carefully picked up the green worm and held it in his palm. The silkworm was plump and very fat, with two small blue-green eyes, wriggling in his hand. The *Qing Nang Jing* records that the five-element earthen eggs contain silkworms of five colors: white, blue, black, red, and yellow, which absorb the essence of the earth and are extremely effective in medicine. By sheer coincidence, the first ailment treated by the wooden silkworm was "ice man," making it a perfect remedy.

One of the wonders of the *Qing Nang Jing* is that it only requires one main ingredient, and the guiding ingredient is extremely peculiar, even unbelievable. The formula for treating "ice man" uses the wooden silkworm as the main ingredient, and the guiding ingredient is "blood residue," which the text explains as the patient's hair.

The rest was simple. Han Sheng placed the wooden silkworm in a bowl, and the silkworm, upon seeing the blood residue ash, opened its mouth wide and began to eat… After a moment, the silkworm's belly swelled, and its skin turned even bluer. Finally, presumably full, it closed its mouth, shut its eyes, and went to sleep.

Han Sheng grabbed the silkworm, pried open Lan'er's mother's mouth with one hand, and

stuffed the silkworm into her mouth. Lan'er's mother's throat moved a few times, and she swallowed the silkworm.

Everyone was stunned, even the old man beside them stared intently. Lan'er knelt beside her mother's head, occasionally stroking her face.

Han Sheng was equally nervous. He didn't know what would happen next. From the perspective of the Five Elements, the "Ice Person's" symptoms should belong to Water, and Water at its extreme becomes ice. The silkworm eggs are green and belong to Wood. In the Five Elements, Water can generate Wood, and conversely, Wood also weakens Water. From the perspective of Traditional Chinese Medicine, this is much gentler than using Earth to forcibly restrain Water, and it also suits Lan'er's mother's frail constitution.

A moment later, someone called out softly. Everyone looked closely and found that wisps of white mist were rising from Lan'er's mother's face, hands, and clothes. The mist grew thicker and thicker, eventually forming a layer of frost on her skin and clothes.

Sunlight shone on Lan'er's mother, slowly evaporating the frost.

Lan'er's mother's curled-up body gradually relaxed, and Lan'er's tense expression also eased.

Lan'er's mother opened her eyes and slowly sat up… The people present cheered with emotion. Several women wiped away tears from their faces, and Lan'er rushed into her mother's arms.

"A miracle doctor! It really is a miracle doctor!" someone exclaimed.

Lan'er turned around, tears welling in her eyes, and bowed deeply to Han Sheng, repeatedly saying, "My benefactor, I, Lan'er, keep my word. My benefactor cured my mother, and I will repay you with my life."

Han Sheng blushed and said softly, "Next time at the market, it'll be here again, and I'll treat you." With that, he slipped out of the crowd and ran off like a wisp of smoke.

"Who is he?" Lan'er's mother asked.

Lan'er didn't answer, a few pale red tears streaming from her deep-set eyes.

The crowd slowly dispersed, and the news of the miracle doctor appearing in Wuyuan spread like wildfire, reaching most of the county that very night.

At dusk, in Wuyuan city, in an ancient, deep courtyard...

This house is a typical Hui-style ancient residence, with three courtyards, white walls and green tiles, horse-head gables, high eaves and flying ridges, and winding paths and corridors inside. The wood carvings on the doorframes are particularly exquisite, one side depicting fishing, woodcutting, farming, and reading, the other side depicting music, chess, calligraphy, and painting – clearly indicating that this house must have belonged to a scholarly family in its heyday.

The current owner is Huang Qianhui, the director of the county revolutionary committee, and also the brother-in-law of Meng Zhuqi from Nanshan Town.

In the main hall's reception room, incense smoke swirled, and three people sat in rosewood armchairs.

"So, the story of the miracle doctor is true, and not just a rumor spread by class enemies?" Director Huang Qianhui looked at his brother-in-law and exhaled a puff of smoke.

"It's true. Many people at the market saw it with their own eyes. The old woman's illness is said to be something like 'frostbite'," Meng Zhuqi said confidently.

Huang Qianhui turned his gaze to the person sitting on his right and said, "Master Wu, what do you think?" That person was none other than Wu Daoming, a Hong Kong feng shui master.

Wu Daoming smiled slightly and said, "Director Huang, as far as I know, 'Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis' is internationally known as 'Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis'. The motor nerve cells in the brainstem and spinal cord of patients are attacked for unknown reasons, leading to gradual muscle atrophy, weakness, and paralysis. The body is as if it's gradually being frozen, and patients generally die within two years. This disease is listed as one of the world's five major incurable diseases, and there is currently no precedent for a cure worldwide."

Huang Qianhui nodded and said, "Master Wu is right. However, our Chinese nation has a long history of five thousand years, and many extraordinary people have emerged in the folk tradition. It's hard to guarantee that there won't be a few miracle doctors among them, like you, Master, aren't you a leading figure in the field of Yin-Yang geomancy?"

"Director Huang, I've also been thinking about this. It's said that the young miracle doctor at the market cured that old woman with the ash from a green caterpillar and her hair. If this is true, there are hundreds of thousands of 'Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis' patients in the world, but just this one prescription, how many billions of US dollars would it be worth? The business opportunities here are limitless," Wu Daoming said.

Director Huang waved his hand, stood up, and paced back and forth, saying meaningfully, "Let's not talk about money. Even if it's just the Chinese nation contributing to the working people of the world, its impact is immense. As far as I know, some of the older generation of revolutionaries in the Central Committee suffered from this disease. If we can cure it, we can ensure that the revolutionary regime will never change its color. That's the greatest contribution."

"Brother-in-law, that's what I was thinking too," Meng Zhuqi said, his expression somewhat excited.

"Alright, you secretly investigate the matter of the miracle doctor. The key is to determine its authenticity. If it's fake, then those who spread rumors must be arrested and reported to me immediately. Also, the search for the dragon's lair must be expedited, and you must keep it a secret."

"Yes," Meng Zhuqi and Wu Daoming replied.

Chapter Nine

Han Sheng arrived at Feng's noodle shop, where his father had been waiting for a long time.

"Why did you take so long?" his father asked.

Han Sheng smiled but didn't say anything.

The father and son quickly ate their noodles and then caught the return bus back to Nanshan Village.

Sitting in the courtyard that evening, Hansheng gazed at the stars in silence.

"What's wrong, Hansheng? What are you thinking about?" his father asked, sitting beside him.

"What is hemoptysis?" Hansheng suddenly asked.

His father gave him a strange look, thought for a moment, and said, "In ancient times, there was an emperor in the Shu Kingdom named Wangdi. Due to mismanagement, his country was destroyed, and his spirit transformed into a cuckoo, crying blood every night. Therefore, the cuckoo's blood-crying cry symbolizes longing for home, worry for the country and its people, and a sorrowful and resentful heart.

According to medical books, there was a rare disease in ancient times that afflicted people with it. Those with this disease would experience changes in appearance; handsome men would become ugly, and ugly men would become beautiful. Even their voices would change, but no matter the changes, they would all have one thing in common: their tears would be red, like blood..." " Yes. In ancient times, people believed that this disease was caused by excessive longing for loved ones, leading to depletion of kidney essence and rising liver fire, just like the Emperor Wangdi, hence the name 'Weeping Blood Syndrome.' Why are you asking this?"

Han Sheng said, "I'm becoming more and more interested in traditional Chinese medicine, mainly those difficult and complicated diseases that others can't cure."

His father chuckled and laughed, "Nonsense, which doctor doesn't dream of finding a solution to difficult and complicated diseases, but even when they get old, they still can't find one. It's good enough if they can cure some common diseases. If you really want to learn traditional Chinese medicine, you have to be down-to-earth and start from scratch, from everyday minor illnesses."

"Dad, does someone with Weeping Blood Syndrome actually look more handsome than others?" Han Sheng seemed not to be listening to his father's teachings at all.

"Hmm, maybe so." His father mumbled, thinking to himself, "I don't know what this child is thinking. He definitely has no hope of becoming a doctor."

That night, Han Sheng lay in bed and suffered from insomnia for the first time, his mind constantly replaying Lan'er's appearance before she fell ill. On the back of page two of the *Qing Nang Jing*, there is a description of treating hemoptysis. The main medicine is *Bai Cao Shuang* (百草霜), which is simple. It's found on the outside of the stove in every rural household, along the path where smoke comes out of the fire. A layer of black frost often forms there, which can be scraped off. However, the key ingredient is hard to find, called "Lightning-Struck Riding Cloth" (雷击骑骑布). *Bai Cao Shuang* is mixed with ground water and applied to this cloth. It's applied to the face at 1-3 AM and the condition should improve by 9-11 PM, which is less than twelve hours. But the text doesn't explain what this cloth actually is.

What exactly is "Lightning-Struck Riding Cloth"...? Han Sheng got up very early and went to the kitchen to cook.

"Why are you up so early? Didn't you sleep well?" his father asked, noticing Han Sheng's red eyes.

"I was thinking about the key ingredient for Chinese herbal medicine last night," Han Sheng said.

"Your words remind me. Go to Da Zhang Mountain today and gather some licorice root. We're almost out of key ingredients," his father instructed.

"Oh, why do we need a medicinal guide?" Han Sheng muttered to himself.

"A medicinal guide is used to guide the medicine to its proper channels. Certain herbs are used as guides to direct the medicinal power of other herbs to the affected area or a specific meridian; it acts as a guide," his father explained.

"Medicinal guides come in all sorts of varieties," Han Sheng said.

"Generally, licorice is used. It's the best at harmonizing all herbs, considered the king of all medicines. That's why traditional Chinese medicine practitioners have revered licorice as the 'elder statesman.' You have to put in a lot of hard work to truly understand it. Okay, I'll teach you another time," his father explained.

Han Sheng shouldered his medicine basket, picked up his small hoe, packed his provisions, gave a whistle, and set off with his big yellow dog.

The sky was overcast; hopefully, it wouldn't rain. The mountain paths were slippery in the rain, and one could easily fall into the valley.

Licorice, used as a medicinal guide, is a legume that must be harvested in spring and autumn, sliced into thick pieces, and dried before use. It mainly grows in semi-arid regions; in Jiangxi, where rainfall is abundant, it mainly grows on steep, sunny mountain slopes.

Han Sheng walked on, and gradually the mountains became higher and the forests denser. Occasionally, he could see one or two small black-spotted squirrels leaping on the branches. He knew that he had entered Dazhang Mountain. Dazhang Mountain, also known as "Santianzi Zhang," is located on the border of Anhui and Jiangxi provinces and belongs to the Huangshan Mountain range. The Qing Dynasty poet Wang Xun wrote: "On Qingfeng Ridge, my eyes are opened wide; before Leigu Peak, I count the nine provinces; it stretches for three hundred miles across Anhui and Raozhou, dividing the two sources of Wu and Chu."

Although Han Sheng had been here with his father before, the scenery was different each time. In autumn, the mountains were covered with red maple leaves, and waterfalls cascaded down the valleys like flying dragons spewing jade. In this secluded place, one could truly appreciate the beauty of nature.

After winding through several valleys, he suddenly felt hungry and thirsty. Han Sheng took out his dry rations, broke off a piece, and handed it to his big yellow dog, Benben, who happily took it in its mouth. Han Sheng sat on a blue stone, ate a few bites, and then his eyes were drawn to a patch of red and yellow plants on the steep hillside opposite him

. It was high-quality red licorice, numbering in the hundreds. He drank some cool, sweet spring water, then, along with Benben, circled around to the old pine tree on the opposite hilltop, intending to find a path down to pick the licorice.

Reaching the old pine tree, they discovered that the slope where the licorice grew was incredibly steep, with no way to climb down.

The clouds were thickening, the sky overcast; they had to gather the licorice before it rained.

"Benben, you wait here," Han Sheng instructed the big yellow dog, taking a rope from his medicine basket and securing it firmly to the pine trunk. He tied the other end to his waist, slung the basket and small hoe over his shoulder, and slowly slid down the steep rock face.

The rocks were jagged like wolf teeth. After sliding down about ten meters, a dark shadow suddenly flashed from a crevice, startling Han Sheng so much that he almost loosened his grip on the rope. Looking closely, he saw a huge, sandy-yellow mountain rat, baring its two rows of large, white teeth and glaring menacingly at him. Behind it, in a nest of pinkish-red rat pups, was a group of young rats. It turned out the mother rat had been disturbed.

People in northeastern Jiangxi province enjoy eating mountain rat meat, often hunting them around the time of the winter solstice. After gutting and drying them, they are considered a delicacy. The processed rat jerky is golden in color and is called "Golden Bamboo Rat Jerky." Because of this, adult mountain rats harbor a deep fear and hostility towards humans, generally avoiding them.

Han Sheng had never seen such a large rat before; he guessed it was probably as old as himself. He smiled amicably at the startled mother rat and then carefully continued sliding down.

They had slid down about forty meters and could see the meadow, but then they sensed something was wrong. Looking up, they saw the mother mouse frantically gnawing at the rope hanging in front of her nest… Han Sheng was terrified. He shouted and yelled below, trying to scare the mother mouse away, but she ignored him and continued gnawing. The big yellow dog, Benben, heard the shouts and poked its head out from the rock, looking at Han Sheng with a puzzled expression.

Climbing back up was definitely too late; if the rope broke before they reached it, they would be smashed to pieces. Han Sheng looked down and saw that there were still more than ten meters to the flat area, so he quickly slid down, not thinking about anything else.

Just five or six meters from the bottom, the rope snapped, and Han Sheng plummeted heavily. Everything went black, and he lost consciousness.

Dark clouds gathered, and the rain finally began.

The cold rain fell on Han Sheng's face. He slowly awoke, but before he could open his eyes, a sharp pain shot through his right leg, and he lost consciousness again.

"A desolate inn, a boat moored on the shore; a bright moon, a gentle breeze, an ancient ferry crossing. No wild geese come, the clouds are darkening; a single tree, verdant and full of autumn's beauty." The sound of poetry suddenly echoed in his ears, seemingly distant. Han Sheng slowly awoke.

He was in a simple mud-brick and thatched house, the roof thatched, the walls whitewashed and adorned with a few paintings and calligraphy. There were simple tables and chairs, and he was lying on an old-fashioned wooden bed.

"You're awake." A lean man with a short, graying beard entered Han Sheng's line of sight. The man appeared to be in his fifties or sixties.

"Where is this? Who are you?" Han Sheng asked, trying to get up.

"Don't move, your right leg is broken," the man said, speaking in perfect Northern dialect.

Sure enough, a sharp pain shot through his right leg, radiating numbness down to his buttocks.

"I remember falling down the mountain, how did I get here?" Han Sheng was confused.

The man gently sat down on the edge of the bed, tucked the blanket around Han Sheng, and said, "My surname is Wei, I'm the forest ranger here. You can call me Wu Chu Shan Ren. This ravine is called 'Wolong Valley.' You fell down the mountain, then tumbled from the mountainside to the valley floor. Luckily, you're alive; it looks like you only injured your leg. Once the weather gets better, I'll go and call your family to come and take you away."

Han Sheng looked at the old man speaking a foreign dialect with suspicion and asked, "Aren't you a local?"

The old man smiled gently and said, "I'm a rightist from Beijing, sent down to Jiangxi. I've been a forest ranger in Dazhang Mountain for many years. I like it here; every day I'm alone surrounded by green mountains, reciting poetry and painting, completely free."

Oh, I see, Han Sheng felt relieved.

"Young man, what's your name, and where do you live?" Wu Chushan asked.

"My name is Hansheng, and I live in Nanshan Village, Wuyuan," Hansheng replied.

"I see you're carrying a medicine basket; perhaps your family practices medicine?"

"My father is the village's barefoot doctor, and sometimes I help him gather herbs in the mountains," Hansheng explained.

"So, you know medicine too?" Wu Chushan asked.

"Just a little bit," Hansheng tried to sound polite.

"The child is quite modest," Wu Chushan smiled.

"Uncle Shanren, what did you do before, and why did you become a rightist?" Hansheng asked.

"It's a long story. I used to be a professor at Peking University, teaching and researching classical Chinese," Wu Chushan sighed.

"You're a great scholar; do you know what a 'riding horse' cloth is?" Hansheng humbly inquired.

Wu Chushan looked at Han Sheng in surprise, and after a long while, he actually laughed out loud: "Why are you asking this, you little kid?"

"I'm just asking, do you even know?" Han Sheng insisted.

"Of course I know," Wu Chushan replied.

Chapter Ten

"The ancients considered 'riding cloth' to be the most filthy thing in the world, also called 'monthly belt,' but it's not called that now," Wu Chushan said.

"What is it called now?" Han Sheng pressed, hoping that this thing would be easy to get his hands on.

"Menstrual belt," Wu Chushan said seriously.

"What! Menstrual belt..." Han Sheng was shocked, and then his face turned crimson. This was really too embarrassing.

So riding cloth was actually menstrual belt, something that every woman had. Alas, why didn't the *Qing Nang Jing* explain it clearly? It seems that Hua Tuo really was... "Then what about 'lightning-struck riding cloth'? What's that all about?" Han Sheng asked after recovering his senses.

Wu Chushan's expression changed upon hearing this, and his gaze fixed on Han Sheng.

"How do you know about this 'lightning-struck riding cloth'?" he asked.

Han Sheng felt a chill and could only say, "There's a medicine that needs it as a catalyst."

After a while, Wu Chushan's expression gradually softened, and his tone became gentler.

He said, "In nature, when one cloud in the sky carries a positive charge and another carries a negative charge, lightning will be generated when the two clouds intersect. In the I Ching, positive and negative are actually yin and yang. The positive electricity in the sky attracts the yin objects on the ground, and the current is instantly connected. The resulting high heat burns the yin objects on the ground, and that's what a lightning strike is."

"Then what on the ground is a yin object?" Han Sheng felt that Wu Chushan's words were refreshing and quickly asked.

"Lightning strikes always target yin organisms," Wu Chushan replied.

"Women?" Han Sheng speculated.

Wu Chushan smiled, shook his head, and said, "No, some organisms accumulate a lot of yin substances over time, such as fox spirits and weasels among mammals, and pythons among reptiles. Buddhists and Taoists call them 'unclean,' and lightning often strikes these organisms."

"I understand now. In the plays, it's said that lightning strikes ancient trees or pagodas because these yin creatures are hidden inside, which attracts the lightning." Han Sheng suddenly realized.

"Indeed, you are a teachable child." Wu Chushan looked at Han Sheng with a smile.

Wu Chushan paused, then asked Han Sheng with a hint of confusion, "Why do you use such a strange medicinal ingredient?"

"It was passed down in my family," Han Sheng didn't want to tell him the true origin and purpose yet, so he asked again, "Is that 'lightning-struck riding cloth' a menstrual belt that has been struck by lightning?"

"Exactly." Wu Chushan replied.

"Do those animals also use menstrual belts?" Han Sheng couldn't help but laugh out loud.

"Why not?" Wu Chushanren countered.

"..." Han Sheng stared, dumbfounded.

Wu Chushanren laughed heartily as he walked out of the room, his voice ethereal as he recited poetry: "Those who have gone grow increasingly distant, those who remain grow increasingly close. Looking straight out of the city gate, all I see are mounds and graves. Ancient tombs are plowed into fields, pines and cypresses are felled for firewood. The white poplars are swept by mournful winds, their rustling sound enough to kill with sorrow!"

Han Sheng was unfamiliar with classical poetry, but the poem Wu Chushanren recited was quite pleasing to the ear, especially the line "ancient tombs are plowed into fields," which reminded him of that thousand-year-old tomb. How many untold secrets lay hidden beneath this vast Central Plains?

Seeing that it was already dark outside the window, Han Sheng felt a growing anxiety. His father was probably still sitting at the dinner table waiting for his return, and his big yellow dog, Benben, was perhaps still guarding the old pine tree.

He threw back the quilt and tried to move his right leg. A sharp pain shot through him; he tried to twist it with his hand, but the pain was excruciating. He knew his leg bone was broken. As the saying goes, "a broken leg takes a hundred and fifty minutes to heal," meaning it takes at least five months of rest to fully recover, but he didn't have that time. He racked his brains

, trying to recall the *Qing Nang Jing* (a classic text on traditional Chinese medicine), hoping to find a cure. "

Dust on the beams… plus the white sediment from a child's urine as a catalyst," he thought. He looked up at the rooftops; countless strands of dust hung from the old, worn thatched roofs—that was the dust on the beams. He figured he had enough. The "white sediment" was the white residue from urine left overnight, but what about a child? Han Sheng recalled his life over the past twenty years and finally confirmed that he was indeed a child.

"Dinner's ready! White rice and dried mountain rat meat. It smells good, doesn't it?" Wu Chushanren brought in the steaming food.

The aroma of rice mixed with the fat of the mountain rat meat was truly mouthwatering; Han Sheng couldn't help but swallow.

“My father doesn’t know I’m in trouble yet, so he wants to get home as soon as possible. I have a prescription here, and I’d like to trouble you to take it down for me,” Han Sheng said.

“Take it down? I don’t have any medicine here,” Wu Chushanren asked, puzzled.

Han Sheng pointed to the dust hanging from the roof and said, “This dust is called ‘beam soil,’ and it’s a good medicine for bone injuries. Please sweep it down.”

“Alright, but let’s eat first,” Wu Chushanren agreed.

Han Sheng had suffered an accident and was caught in the rain, and he was already starving. His appetite was whetted, so he took the bowl and chopsticks and started eating.

The dried mountain rat tasted absolutely amazing. Thinking of the mountain rat mother and her children hiding in the crevices of the rocks, Han Sheng felt a pang of pity.

“Do animals really have menstrual belts?” Han Sheng asked between bites. “

It seems you don’t believe me. I can take you to see, but it has to be on a rainy day,” Wu Chushanren said.

After dinner, Wu Chushan, as promised, swept all the dust off the roof, collected it on a piece of white paper, wrapped it up, and placed it on the table.

"Do you have a chamber pot?" Hansheng asked.

Wu Chushan took out a glass bottle and smiled, "I've already prepared one. I always relieve myself in nature. You need to rest early; we can talk tomorrow."

Wu Chushan set up a makeshift wooden bed in the adjacent kitchen, recited a few ancient poems, and then began to snore.

Hansheng urinated as much as he could into the glass bottle, hoping it would be enough.

In the valley at night, a light drizzle pattered on the branches and leaves, rustling and lulling one to sleep.

Dad, aren't you asleep yet? You must still be waiting for Hansheng… Silly boy, are you still foolishly waiting under the old pine tree…?

Chapter Eleven:

The night sky was overcast with continuous rain. The oil lamp in the thatched hut had already been trimmed several times. The food on the table had gone cold, but Hansheng hadn't returned.

All afternoon, Dr. Zhu felt uneasy, constantly worried that something bad was about to happen. He regretted letting Hansheng go to Dazhang Mountain alone to collect herbs that morning.

A sound came from the courtyard. Dr. Zhu was about to go out to greet the sound when his big yellow dog, Benben, rushed in like a whirlwind. Benben was covered in mud, its yellow fur soaked and clinging to its skin, whimpering softly, its eyes red as it stared at Dr. Zhu… Oh no, something must have happened to Hansheng!

Dr. Zhu hurriedly put on his rain boots, grabbed his flashlight, slung his medicine box over his shoulder, and rushed to Benben, saying, “Take me there quickly!”

Just then, he heard hurried footsteps and heard the flickering beam of a flashlight in the courtyard. Dr. Zhu stepped to the door.

“Dr. Zhu? Quick, the patient is dying!” the middle-aged man at the head of the group said urgently, followed by two other young men.

"This... which village are you from? Why didn't you take him to the hospital? I have something to do and I'm about to go out to look for him," Dr. Zhu said hurriedly.

"The patient is just ahead, it's a difficult labor, Dr. Zhu, please have mercy, it's two lives, mother and child!" the middle-aged man pleaded, his voice trembling with tears.

At this moment, should he save the son or the mother? If the son was injured and on the verge of death, every minute saved might give him a better chance of survival, but it was two lives, mother and child. "

Fine," Dr. Zhu stamped his foot. "Hansheng, you must hold on, your father will be there to save you soon.

" "Let's go, hurry up," Dr. Zhu urged the man to lead the way without thinking, turning to call Benben to follow. They wouldn't be able to find Hansheng on their way to Dazhang Mountain without the big yellow dog's guidance.

Benben took a couple of steps forward, then, sensing the wrong direction, immediately stopped and barked loudly, indicating the road to Dazhang Mountain.

Dr. Zhu understood the big yellow dog's meaning perfectly well. His heart was breaking, and with utter helplessness, he turned away from Benben and chased after the people who had come to deliver the baby. He planned to return with Benben to Dazhang Mountain after the delivery.

A Beijing 212 Jeep was parked at the village entrance. Having a car would make things much faster; in his panic, he hadn't considered why the family hadn't prepared a car to take the mother to the hospital.

The Jeep sped towards the county town.

Dr. Zhu, calming down, realized something was amiss and hurriedly asked, "Where are we going?"

"You'll know when we get there," the middle-aged man replied coldly.

"Aren't we going to save the mother?" Dr. Zhu grew increasingly suspicious.

No one in the car spoke, and the atmosphere inside suddenly became tense.

"I want to get out! My son is waiting for me to save his life!" Dr. Zhu shouted.

"Don't shout! We're giving you face; otherwise, we'd tie you up and gag you," the middle-aged man said viciously.

At this moment, Dr. Zhu knew he was in trouble. This was likely a group of kidnappers who had tried to kill and rob him, but he was a penniless barefoot doctor with nothing at home.

The jeep drove into Wuyuan County and finally stopped in front of a large, secluded mansion.

Dr. Zhu was led to the main hall's reception room, where tea was served, and then someone silently withdrew. Dr. Zhu glanced around and saw a standard portrait of Chairman Mao hanging on the wall, and some green plants in the corner. He recognized them as short-leaved clivia, a very precious variety.

"Haha, is it inconvenient to invite Dr. Zhu here so late at night?" Three people entered through the door.

Dr. Zhu recognized the leader as Huang Qianhui, the director of the Wuyuan County Revolutionary Committee, whom the villagers called "Emperor Qiansui."

"Director Huang?" Dr. Zhu was surprised. What was going on? Looking at the two behind him, one was Meng Zhuqi from Nanshan Town, and the other was Wu Daoming, the feng shui master from Hong Kong.

"Dr. Zhu, please sit down and have some tea," Huang Qianhui said, as he and the other two sat down in succession.

Dr. Zhu looked at the official from Wuyuan County, wondering what he wanted to discuss so late at night.

"Dr. Zhu," Director Huang said coldly, "some revolutionary masses have complained that you treat the poor and lower-middle peasants perfunctorily, but you're incredibly dedicated to treating landlords, rich peasants, counter-revolutionaries, bad elements, and rightists. Where is your stance? Are you trying to emulate your father and treat the puppet county magistrate?"

"In a doctor's eyes, everyone is my patient,

and I treat them all equally," Dr. Zhu said softly, but his words were sharp and insightful. "Comrade," Director Huang continued, "do you know the meaning of 'comrade'? It means shared aspirations. Can revolutionary masses and class enemies share a common aspiration? This is a matter of class stance. As a barefoot doctor, the medicine you use is a matter of life and death for revolutionary masses. Of course, I don't think you did it intentionally. Chairman Mao said, 'A good comrade is one who corrects his mistakes,' don't you think I'm right?" Director Huang said earnestly.

Dr. Zhu snorted.

Director Huang seemed unconcerned and continued, "I can consider not pursuing this matter. You can continue your discussion; I'll be right back." He then stood up and left.

Only Meng Zhuqi, Wu Daoming, and Dr. Zhu remained in the room, and the tense atmosphere seemed to ease somewhat.

"Dr. Zhu, it's very kind of Director Huang to take time out of his busy schedule to meet with you. If you just tell us where the 'Tai Chi Dizziness' is, the government will immediately send you back by car, and we'll even transfer you to the county hospital soon. You'll have an urban household registration and receive a government-subsidized food ration. How about that?" Meng Zhuqi's face was beaming.

So they were after the 'Tai Chi Dizziness'! Dr. Zhu finally understood.

"What 'Tai Chi Dizziness'? I've never heard of it. Is it a traditional Chinese medicine?" Dr. Zhu asked.

"Hehe, old sir, you may not know the name 'Tai Chi Dizziness,' but you should at least know where your son dug those earthen eggs, right?" Wu Daoming interjected.

His son… Hansheng was still in the Dazhang Mountains, his fate unknown, and he was trapped here. What was he to do? Beads of sweat appeared on Dr. Zhu's forehead.

Meng Zhuqi and Wu Daoming exchanged a knowing smile; there was hope.

"Alright, I'll go back now and find out what happened to my son before I tell you." Dr. Zhu stood up and walked towards the door.

Two burly men appeared outside, blocking his path.

Huang Qiansui, standing with his back to the courtyard, waved impatiently and said, "Find him a place to think things through."

The two men grabbed Dr. Zhu's arms and, without a word, dragged him into a small hut in the backyard, locking the door and standing guard.

In Nanshan Village, the big yellow dog, Benben, stood straight in the rain, waiting for Dr. Zhu's return.

Finally, it was disappointed. After a few mournful cries, it turned and ran towards Dazhang Mountain...

Chapter Twelve.

Han Sheng hadn't slept a wink all night. His legs were constantly throbbing with pain. Finally, dawn broke. He picked up the glass bottle and found a thick layer of white sediment at the bottom.

"Thirty-six peaks clear, snow melts and mist rises. The moon lingers for three nights, spring leads the four mountains. Distant grasses begin to show color, cold birds haven't changed their voices. On the highest stone of the Eastern Cliff, only I have inscribed my name." The sound of reciting poetry came from

next door again. Wu Chushanren woke up. "Young brother, did you sleep well last night?" Wu Chushanren entered the room.

Han Sheng shook his head and said, "I didn't sleep all night. Uncle Shanren, could you help me apply medicine and find a splint?"

"Of course," Wu Chushanren replied.

With the help of the mountain man, Han Sheng removed his pants and discovered that his entire right leg was swollen, bruised, and bluish-purple. He had a transverse fracture of the tibia and fibula in the middle of his lower leg, the shinbone. An examination revealed no open wound, so Han Sheng was relieved; such fractures could be fixed with a splint and plaster cast after reduction.

Under Han Sheng's guidance, the mountain man Wu Chu repositioned the leg bone. Then, to his surprise, he saw Han Sheng mix the white sediment from the glass bottle with some dust fibers, stir it, and apply it evenly to his leg.

"Traditional Chinese medicine is truly incredible," the mountain man exclaimed. He took a clean old bed sheet, tore it into strips, and helped wrap Han Sheng's right leg. He then went out and found two wooden boards, placed them on either side of his leg, and wrapped it tightly with layers of cloth.

Han Sheng looked gratefully at the mountain man, whose forehead was slightly sweaty, and said, "I don't know how to thank you enough."

The mountain man Wu Chu laughed and said, "We're both in the same boat, no need for thanks. Did you eat dried mountain rat this morning?"

Han Sheng nodded.

Han Sheng had previously treated several fracture patients with his father, and they would never recover in less than three months, plus the anti-inflammatory treatment and dressing changes were quite troublesome. This strange treatment method in the *Qing Nang Jing* was simply unbelievable, especially since it stated that only one application was needed, and it would heal in seven days.

A cool and pleasant sensation came from the fractured area of his lower leg; the medicine was taking effect.

Wu Chushanren brought in breakfast: porridge with a dish of pickled mountain peppers and dried mountain rats, which Han Sheng ate with relish.

"Don't you feel bored living alone in these mountains all year round?" Han Sheng asked.

The mountain man smiled faintly and said, "You grew up in the mountains and don't know the dangers of the outside world. That's good; you don't have so many desires. I'm tired of the hypocrisy and deceit in the capital, and I refuse to conform, so I hid in these Dazhang Mountains, living a simple and idyllic life."

"But what about your family? Do you have children?" Han Sheng asked with concern.

"Alas, it all happened..." The hermit sighed, lost in deep memories. After a long while, he told Hansheng a poignant and sorrowful story. "

I am a Manchu, raised in Beijing since childhood, orphaned at a young age. I once taught at Peking University, young and arrogant, pointing fingers at the nation's affairs and vehemently criticizing the ills of the time. In the 1957 movement, I was labeled a rightist and sent to a small village on the Wei River Plain in Guanzhong, Shaanxi.

My resentment was difficult to quell, and soon I fell ill from depression. My landlords were a simple, honest peasant couple with a daughter named Hexiang. A hardworking and straightforward farm girl, she wore two long braids and was quite beautiful. People from all around came to propose marriage, but Hexiang rejected them all.

She was very caring towards me, often sitting tenderly beside my sickbed. Being a man of principle, I naturally understood her meaning, but as a rightist, I couldn't burden this honest, hardworking peasant family." However, as time went by, feelings grew stronger, and I eventually couldn't control myself. Then, one day, He Xiang became pregnant.

I decided to marry her, return to the capital, sell our ancestral home, and settle down in Guanzhong to farm and spend my life with He Xiang. I still remember the morning before I left. He Xiang blushed and secretly slipped me a purse, then turned and ran away. When I opened it, I found a lock of her hair inside. I understood she was telling me of her unwavering commitment to me.

I quickly settled everything in the capital, and when I returned, Weinan was flooded, inundating Tongguan. The village and He Xiang's family were gone. I searched frantically along the way, scouring Guanzhong, until I finally fell ill and never recovered. More than a year later, I finally survived, but the government exiled me back to my hometown in Heilongjiang. Later, I returned to Guanzhong, but that village no longer existed. Heartbroken, I vowed to remain single for life. Even now, on every cold, full moon night, I take out my purse, look at that single strand of hair, and weep bitterly.

Wu Chushan wiped away his tears, ending this poignant and tragic story.

Han Sheng, at this moment, was also covered in tears.

Han Sheng thought, this Wu Chushan, seemingly proud and aloof, was also a man of deep feeling; it was truly heartbreaking that he harbored such a poignant and sorrowful love story.

"Then why did you come to this Dazhang Mountain again?" Han Sheng asked.

"Seven or eight years ago, I decided to find a secluded place in the mountains with beautiful scenery and clear waters. I traveled south to Wuyuan, settled here, and spent the rest of my life here," Wu Chushan sighed.

Han Sheng remained silent. He realized that human affection could be so unwavering, even unto death. He had never imagined that Lan'er in the market would repay him with her life. It seemed somewhat similar to the love between him and Uncle Shanren. Thinking of this, a warm feeling welled up in his heart.

"How can I find the 'Lightning-Struck Riding Cloth'?" Han Sheng decided he had to heal Lan'er's face no matter what.

Wu Chushanren looked at Han Sheng and said, "Finding that thing is very dangerous. Are you treating someone important?"

Han Sheng blushed slightly and lowered his head, saying, "A girl."

Wu Chushanren nodded, "Oh, I understand. She must be a good girl. Well, tonight is a thunderstorm. If we're lucky, I can go and retrieve it for you."

"I'll go with you," Han Sheng said.

"Your leg is still weak; you need to rest in bed," Shanren shook his head.

"It's alright, just watch," Han Sheng said, moving his body to get out of bed, and surprisingly, he stood up on the ground, trembling.

Wu Chushan looked on in astonishment, puzzled that Han Sheng showed no sign of pain.

"Your family's secret recipe is truly amazing," he exclaimed.

Wu Chushan went outside and returned shortly with a wooden stick. Han Sheng tried walking a few steps with the stick, experiencing virtually no pain. It seemed the *Qing Nang Jing* was indeed a masterpiece, worthy of its reputation as a remarkable book.

"Uncle Shanren, why did you say searching for the 'Lightning-Struck Horse-Riding Cloth' was so dangerous?" Han Sheng asked.

Wu Chushan paused, then said, "You'll know tonight."

"Is there definitely going to be a thunderstorm tonight?" Han Sheng asked again, still worried.

"I've been in Dazhang Mountain for seven or eight years, I know the climate here like the back of my hand. Don't worry, there will definitely be a thunderstorm tonight, hopefully that thing will appear," Wu Chushanren said confidently.

"Is there anything else we need to prepare?" Han Sheng was still a little worried.

"Yes, I'll go prepare the hunting rifle and bullets now. You get some rest and make sure you're well-rested. We'll set off after dark," the man said, then went out to prepare.

Tonight, what kind of animal is that? Why do we need a hunting rifle...?

Chapter Thirteen

As evening fell, dark clouds gathered, and the wind carried the smell of rain.

As darkness fell, Wu Chushanren and Han Sheng set off, wearing raincoats. The man told Han Sheng that their destination wasn't far, just in the camphor forest in Wolong Valley.

Han Sheng walked with a wooden cane, not finding it too strenuous. After turning the corner at the foot of the mountain, a dark camphor forest stretched out before them. Dazhang Mountain is famous for its abundant wild camphor trees; even before entering the forest, a faint camphor scent could be smelled.

Passing through the dense woods, a huge, towering black shadow appeared before them—a thousand-year-old camphor tree.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, and moments later, a torrential downpour arrived as expected.

Wu Chushanren stopped and pulled Hansheng into a small shack nearby.

"Alright, let's wait here." The man took his double-barreled shotgun from his shoulder and carefully loaded two bullets.

"What are we waiting for?" Hansheng asked nervously.

"Lightning. When there's thunder and lightning, it will come out," the man replied.

"What is it?" Hansheng pressed.

Wu Chushan leaned his hunting rifle against the window of the shack and said in a low voice, "I told you yesterday that some creatures develop yin substances on their bodies over time, making them prone to being struck by lightning. Of course, they are usually very old; in superstitious terms, they've become spirits, like the White Snake, Green Snake, or the Weasel. When it thunders and lightning, pay attention to the top of this thousand-year-old camphor tree, and you'll find it..."

Just then, a dark shadow darted out from outside the shack and crashed into Han Sheng's arms, whimpering. Wu Chushan was startled and quickly reached for his gun.

Unexpectedly, Han Sheng chuckled and kept calling out, "Benben, you finally found me!"

Wu Chushan turned on his flashlight and saw that it was an excited big yellow dog.

"This is Benben," Han Sheng introduced.

A thunderclap boomed overhead, followed by a flash of lightning. Benben, terrified, hid his head in Hansheng's arms.

"Look!" Wu Chushan shouted urgently.

Hansheng shoved Benben aside and rushed to the window, peering up at the top of the old camphor tree in the darkness. Benben squeezed in after him, also looking in the same direction.

A moment later, another flash of lightning illuminated the top of the old camphor tree as bright as day. Hansheng clearly saw a huge black bat standing majestically on a branch, gazing up at the sky, its silver hairs fluttering in the wind. Its claws were raised high above a menstrual belt… Then, several more blinding flashes of lightning struck the white-haired old bat, but the creature deftly deflected them, the lightning flashing past the menstrual belt and striking several feet away with deafening explosions.

"The riding cloth is the most filthy thing in the world, capable of warding off lightning strikes. This old bat uses it as a talisman, which shows its spiritual power," the mountain man whispered. "

Bang! Bang!" The mountain man aimed and fired two shots. The bullets grazed the bat's claws, and startled by the sudden impact, the bat lost its grip, and the menstrual belt slipped from its grasp, drifting down towards the tree.

Another bolt of lightning, as bright as day, struck the bat. In the ensuing flash, the old bat instantly turned to ashes… darkness fell, and the thunder faded away.

Benben roared and darted off, returning a moment later with the menstrual belt in its mouth.

"This is the 'lightning-struck riding cloth' you wanted," Wu Chushanren breathed a sigh of relief.

Han Sheng held the menstrual belt in his palm. It was a type of cloth commonly used by women at the time, sewn together with dried bloodstains visible on it. It was

the medicinal ingredient specified in the *Qing Nang Jing*.

Inside the thatched cottage in Wolong Valley, Han Sheng was still thrilled by the harrowing scene he had witnessed in the camphor forest. The image of the white-haired old bat, struggling against nature with unwavering courage, lingered in his mind.

"We killed it," Han Sheng said, revealing the compassion of a healer.

Wu Chushan comforted him, "It was also to save lives. There are many intelligent animals in the world, and the older they get, the more sinister they become. Their methods of fighting against nature are incredibly diverse. This old bat, for example, was at least 100 years old. It even knew that menstrual pads used by human women could ward off lightning, so it stole them to use as a talisman. An ancient person once wrote a strange book that recorded many similar bizarre methods of warding off evil, but unfortunately, that book has long been lost."

"What's the name of that book?" Han Sheng asked with interest.

"The Corpse Clothes," Wu Chushan replied.

"That's a strange name," Han Sheng said.

Wu Chushanren stood up and said, "You must be hungry from all this commotion. Come, I'll go get some midnight snacks." He then went to the kitchen next door, where the sounds of pots and pans clattering filled the air.

Han Sheng, under the oil lamp, carefully examined the "lightning-struck riding cloth."

He had heard of this essential item for women, but had never seen it before. Rural women were always ashamed to talk about it, and it was often secretly dried in places where it couldn't be seen. The cloth in his hand was hand-sewn from old clothes; the black stains were undoubtedly menstrual blood, and it bore scorch marks from lightning strikes. That such a vile substance could cure a terminal illness like menstrual bleeding—traditional Chinese medicine truly had no limits!

Thinking that he had already memorized the treatments for over a hundred terminal illnesses in the *Qing Nang Jing*, Han Sheng wondered if he should leave the mountains and wander the world to practice medicine.

"Midnight snacks are here!" Wu Chushanren called out loudly.

Han Sheng looked up and, sure enough, it was dried rats again. In the corner, Benben was already wolfing down his food.

That night, the dark clouds gradually dispersed, the crescent moon hung like a hook, and the earth was cool and refreshing.

At dawn, Hansheng bid farewell to Wu Chushanren. The mountain man was somewhat reluctant to part, insisting on seeing him off to the foot of Dazhang Mountain. Hansheng turned back every few steps, urging the mountain man to visit Nanshan Village when he had time. Even after walking a long way, the mountain man was still standing under the big tree at the mountain pass.

Hansheng missed his father, so he leaned on his wooden cane, walking and resting along the way, heading straight for Nanshan Village. At noon, he could already see his own thatched house in the distance.

The big yellow dog ran off like a frolicker, and soon he heard it barking wildly at the door, as if something was wrong.

Hansheng entered the house, and the food on the table was still neatly arranged, but his father was nowhere to be seen.

Had he gone to the emergency room again? Hansheng waited until the sun set and the moon was high in the sky, but his father still hadn't returned.

Chapter Fourteen

. The next morning, Han Sheng groggily got up and went to the east room. His father still hadn't returned. Han Sheng sighed, heated up the last bit of leftover food, and ate it. Today was another market day in Wuyuan County, and he had to keep his promise to Lan'er to cure her bleeding syndrome and restore her original appearance.

Han Sheng found a bamboo stick. Because his fractured right leg prevented him from squatting, he could only sit on the ground. He carefully scraped off the black ash from the upper part of his jaw near the stove with the bamboo stick, caught it in paper, and soon scraped off all the usable ash. He gently wrapped the herbal ash and put it in his pocket along with the menstrual belt.

Then, Han Sheng, realizing no one was home, decided to hide the *Qing Nang Jing* in a safe place. After much deliberation, he couldn't find a truly ideal spot. Finally, his gaze fell upon the doghouse.

He had built Benben's kennel himself; a wooden plank roof covered with thick thatch, both rainproof and insulated, and aesthetically pleasing. He had an idea: he tucked the wooden box under the thatch, leaving no trace. With

everything prepared, he instructed Benben to guard the house and then, leaning on his cane, headed towards the county town.

Wuyuan County. Around noon, the market was mostly deserted. Lan'er and her mother had been waiting since early morning at the spot where they had met the young, miraculous doctor.

"Lan'er, will he come?" Lan'er's mother had mostly recovered, though she was still a little weak, her breath coming in short gasps.

Lan'er didn't answer. Would he come?

Thinking of her own ugly appearance, how people had mocked, sighed, or avoided her before, but never had anyone looked at her with such normal eyes as he had. At that moment, her heart, which had been cold and dead, melted. When the young man softly told her that he could cure her, she vaguely recalled her original appearance; she had once been a beautiful girl.

She was a posthumous child. Her mother said that her father was a handsome and learned man from the capital. Since the year the Wei River flooded in their hometown, destroying the village and killing everyone except her mother, she had barely survived. She had been swept downstream by the flood and rescued by a kind person, but had been ill for more than half a year. After giving birth to Lan'er, her mother took her back to her hometown, but there was nothing there but thick yellow mud with new grass growing on it.

Later, there were years of famine, and her mother took young Lan'er and fled from place to place, finally settling in a small village at the foot of Huangshan Mountain. The mother, struggling to raise her daughter alone, ate only coarse food and wild vegetables. Gradually, her limbs stiffened, and eventually her entire body hunched over, like a frozen corpse.

"Is Father still alive?" she asked her mother.

Her mother shook her head, tears streaming down her face.

Watching her mother die day by day, her heart was breaking. She was consumed by sorrow and grief, and her once beautiful appearance changed drastically, until she dared not even look in the mirror anymore. Suddenly,

a figure appeared in Lan'er's vision. The person, leaning on a wooden cane, limped towards her… "You've finally come." Tears, faint as blood, welled in Lan'er's sunken eyes.

"Girl, don't be sad. I've found the medicine to cure you." Beads of sweat glistened on Han Sheng's forehead.

"Benefactor…" Lan'er's mother trembled, about to kneel.

Han Sheng quickly stepped forward to support her, and the cane fell to the ground.

"Are you the one who cured the old woman's illness here last time?" two people approached and asked.

Han Sheng responded with a surprised sound, his gaze sweeping over the two crew-cut men in old Dacron military uniforms.

"That's right, please come with us." Without further ado, the two burly men grabbed Han Sheng's arms and headed towards the road.

"Who are you? Where are you taking me?" Han Sheng cried out.

Lan'er rushed forward, grabbing Han Sheng's clothes and shouting, "Why are you arresting him!"

"Ugly freak, get out of the way!" one of the men shoved Lan'er forcefully to the ground.

They watched as the two men helped Han Sheng into a jeep and sped away.

"Mother..." Lan'er cried out in despair, her tears a bright red.

Deep within the courtyard of that old house, Director Huang Qianhui was leisurely sipping Lushan Yunwu tea, listening to his brother-in-law Meng Zhuqi's report.

"That old bastard is very cunning, denying everything and refusing to reveal the true origin of the earthen eggs," Meng Zhuqi said bitterly.

“We need to keep working on him. Our Party’s policy has always been ‘leniency for those who confess, severity for those who resist.’ Have you sent anyone to search his house? Maybe we’ll find some clues,” Huang Qianhui said, sipping his tea.

“I’ll take some men right away,” Meng Zhuqi replied.

“Master Wu, what’s your opinion?” Huang Qianhui turned to ask Wu Daoming, who was sitting beside him.

Wu Daoming put down his teacup, cleared his throat, and then said unhurriedly, “According to my investigation over the past few days, the two true dragon veins originating from Huangshan originate from the central fold of Kunlun Mountain, historically known as the ‘Central Dragon.’ At the end of the Yuan Dynasty, the Taiji Yang Halo of the northwest Yang Dragon was indeed used by Zhu Yuanzhang. As for the hidden dragon vein in the southeast, it stopped in front of Linggu Cave in Nanshan Village and did not continue. It should have formed a burial site near the cave entrance. However, there is one thing I haven’t fully figured out yet: the entrance of Linggu Cave is actually the dragon’s mouth. According to the ancient method of locating burial sites, the dragon’s burial site should be in the center of the dragon’s forehead. However, Director Meng and I have searched there for a long time and found several auspicious sites, but we have not found the legendary Taiji Yin Halo.”

“Do you have any other methods?” Huang Qianhui asked, her tone slightly displeased.

“Only at the end of the year—this year is the Year of the Rabbit, next year is the Year of the Dragon—at midnight on the night of the transition between the Rabbit and Dragon years, the Dragon awakens, and the Taiji (

the trigram representing the Big Dipper) soars into the sky. At that moment, this extraordinary phenomenon can be seen in Nanshan,” Wu Daoming replied. “What extraordinary phenomenon?” Huang Qiansui asked eagerly, intrigued. “

A

five-colored halo,” Wu Daoming answered. “Oh, a five-colored halo? What kind of thing is that?” Huang Qiansui asked doubtfully.

“It’s a beam of light mixed with five colors: white, blue, black, red, and yellow. It emanates from the Taiji halo and soars straight towards the Dipper. It’s a rare sight indeed,” Wu Daoming explained. “Then I

must see it. But at the end of the year, doesn’t that mean I’ll have to wait several months?” Huang Qiansui looked rather anxious.

Someone hurriedly walked in and whispered a few words in Huang Qiansui’s ear.

“The divine healer has been found,” Huang Qiansui laughed heartily.

[Last edited by jay-chou2010 on 9-6 03:14]

URL 1:http://localhost:909/htmlBlog/15059.html

URL 2:/Blog.aspx?id=15059&aspx=1

Previous Page : The Corpse Clothes of the Green Bag [Complete] - 22

Next Page : The Corpse Clothes of the Green Bag [Complete] - 3

增加

comment Open a new window to view comments

Contact Information

The Corpse Clothes of the Green Bag [Complete] - 1

comment Open a new window to view comments