Xu Que, Ha Gang, and the others thought it must be a hallucination, and that if they asked him to look again, there would definitely be nothing there.
Hagang's son then brought his glasses close to the fist-sized hole again to look inside.
At this point, a story began to unfold inside:
"Long, long ago, on Yuntai Peak of Huayun Mountain, there lived a Taoist practitioner who led his two disciples in dedicated cultivation and alchemy."
To find the medicinal herbs, the old master would carry a basket and a hoe on his back every morning, walk out of the temple gate, and search for the herbs on every peak, ridge, gully, and slope until the sun set in the west.
One day, while he was digging for medicinal herbs in the mountains, two chubby babies with their hair tied in buns and wearing red bibs suddenly appeared.
These two innocent, lively, and bouncy children came and immediately helped him search for medicinal herbs. As the sun set, he had to go home, and the two adorable children skipped and hopped away into the dense forest. One day, two days, three days passed; these two children came and went as he pleased every day. As time went on, he couldn't help but wonder, whose children were these, so sensible and diligent? He had to find out.
One day, the two children came to help him dig for medicinal herbs again, and he asked, "Whose children are you? Where do you live?" "We are children from the mountains, we live right here in these mountains," the children replied. Then they ran around again, searching for medicinal herbs. "Right here in these mountains?" he wondered…
As the sun set and dusk approached, just as he shouldered his basket full of herbs, the two children waved and said, "See you another day!" They then skipped and laughed as they ran down the mountain. He followed closely, hiding behind a large rock, his eyes fixed on them. But the two children vanished into the misty haze in the blink of an eye; he hadn't seen them clearly.
Back at the temple, the old Taoist priest sat under the oil lamp, sorting through the medicinal herbs he had gathered with his two apprentices, pondering... If they were demons, he had never seen them harm anyone; if they were immortals, he had never seen them display any miraculous abilities. What were they really? He had to find out. So he thought and thought, and finally came up with a good idea.
He blurted out, "Do it this way! Do it this way!" Upon hearing this, his two apprentices asked with a smile, "Master, what should we do?" Hearing his apprentices' question, he realized his mistake and hurriedly covered it up by saying, "Nothing, nothing."
At midnight, the old Taoist priest quietly took out his sewing kit, pulled out a white thread, and threaded it with a needle. As soon as it was light, he shouldered his basket and went out. As always, the two children happily helped him search for medicinal herbs, but he kept a close eye on them, looking for a suitable opportunity to pin the prepared needle and thread to either of them.
As the two children bent over, carrying a large pile of herbs, he swiftly and deftly pinned the needle and thread he had been holding in his hand to one of the children's backs, then parted ways with the child and went home. The next morning, the old Taoist priest once again carried his basket and hoe and went out.
But instead of digging for herbs, he followed the path his two children usually took, slowly and carefully searching for the marks they had made. He searched and searched, and in a small patch of grass in a deep ditch, he could vaguely see a white line fluttering slightly in the wind among the lush green grass.
He walked a few steps forward excitedly, then looked down and, sure enough, it was himself. The needle and thread were attached to a small, robust blade of grass. But upon closer inspection, his heart sank; apart from a few unusual sprouts, there was nothing else. He thought, "Since the mark is here, I'll get to the bottom of this." So he picked up a hoe and began digging around the sprout. Sure enough, deep in the soil, he unearthed a very thick root.
He casually plucked it, and there it was—a large, slender, white Scutellaria baicalensis! He was about to happily put it in his basket when the Scutellaria baicalensis suddenly pointed to another small blade of grass nearby and said, "Not only me, but there's this too!" Hearing this, he dug around that blade of grass, and to his astonishment, he found a large ginseng root with all four limbs intact. He put the ginseng and Scutellaria baicalensis in his basket and headed back. On the way, he thought to himself, "Ginseng and Scutellaria baicalensis are both precious medicinal herbs, truly gifts from heaven. Why don't I carefully process them to help people in need?"
Back at the temple, he immediately set up a new stove, washed all the utensils, added the sacred jade liquid he had specially taken from the Jade Well, and then put the washed ginseng in the pot to cook.
The next day, as he was about to go out to dig for herbs again, he pressed the pot lid down with a stone and told his two apprentices, "This herb needs to be boiled for seven days and seven nights before the lid can be lifted. After I leave, just simmer it over a low flame." The two apprentices followed their master's instructions and began to simmer it over a low flame.
On the fifth day of stewing, the two discussed among themselves, "Master always teaches us as he makes medicine, afraid we won't remember it. But this time he wouldn't let us lift the lid." This conversation made them both feel something was amiss. The more they talked, the more suspicious they became, and the more they wanted to lift the lid to see. So, they lifted the lid, and what they saw surprised and delighted them. The ginseng, stewed for several days, looked exceptionally plump and white, floating in the pot, tender and delicate, with a rich aroma. They couldn't help but pick up a piece, taste it, and exclaimed, "There are such delicious things in the world! No wonder Master repeatedly told us not to touch them!"
And so they ate and stewed, finishing off the ginseng completely. But they still left the pot empty.
On the seventh day, the old Taoist priest only spent half a day digging for herbs before hurriedly returning. As soon as he entered the temple, he said to his two disciples, "The medicine is ready. Now we can prepare a whole bunch of good medicines that nourish the heart and mind and prolong life." As he spoke, he moved the stones, lifted the lid of the pot, and saw that there was no ginseng left, only some soup.
The old Taoist priest was puzzled. He looked up at his two disciples, who lowered their heads and remained silent. The old priest understood and said sternly, "Ah, so you two wretched creatures ate it!" With that, he picked up the fire poker and struck them on the head. Seeing that their master was truly angry, the two disciples took off running towards the temple gate. Seeing his disciples run away, the old Taoist priest thought, "Why did I have to get angry? If the medicine is gone, I can go up the mountain and look for it slowly. But my disciples have run away; where can I find it?" Thinking this, he quickly ran out of the temple gate, shouting, "You two, come back here!" He chased after them as he shouted. The two disciples saw their master chasing after them with the fire poker in his hand, and they ran faster and faster.
Seeing his disciples continue running, the old Taoist priest grew increasingly anxious, shouting, "You two, come back here! You two, come back here!" They ran ahead, chased after him, heading south, shouting as they went. Suddenly, a loud crash resounded, and the two disciples' bodies were slammed against the large rock face on the north side of the West Peak. The old Taoist priest cried out, his legs gave way, and he collapsed to the ground.
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