sick seedlings
The cold of winter and the heat of summer, the harvest of autumn and the storage of winter—for cultivators, a hundred years is but a fleeting moment.
In the mortal world, within the borders of Huai Kingdom, everyone has recently been talking about a miraculous tale. In a secluded spot by the river south of the city lives an extraordinary physician. Legend has it that his medical skills are divine, possessing the ability to "bring the dead back to life and heal flesh and bone!"
One stone stirs up a thousand waves.
The news spread like wildfire, attracting people from all walks of life in Huai Kingdom, from high-ranking officials to ordinary citizens, all hoping to catch a glimpse of this divine doctor, as if a touch of his divine aura could cure all their ailments.
Those who are healthy and without pain would mostly scoff at this, dismissing it as mere nonsense spread by ignorant villagers. "Where in the world could such a miraculous doctor exist? How can the dead be brought back to life? Absurd!"
However, for those patients and their families who have been declared beyond help by renowned doctors and are struggling on their sickbeds, this faint rumor has become the only straw they can grasp in the darkness. They have to try, no matter what; what if…a miracle really happens?
"...Speaking of the Prime Minister's daughter, she has been a sickly child since birth, and medicine has never left her lips! Doctors in the capital have come and gone, but none of them have been able to cure the young lady's congenital weakness!"
In the teahouse, the storyteller spoke with great enthusiasm, and with a slap of his gavel, he attracted the attention of all the tea drinkers.
"The Prime Minister dotes on his daughter so much that he's afraid she'll break if he holds her in his hands and melt if he keeps her in his mouth! If one doctor can't cure her, then he'll invite ten! If ten still can't do it, then he'll invite a hundred! In this way, with the help of countless precious medicinal herbs and the careful care of famous doctors, our Prime Minister's daughter has managed to live to the age of sixteen, albeit with some stumbles and falls."
"At such a tender age, while other young ladies are enjoying the flowers and butterflies, composing poems and verses, what about our young lady? She can only linger on her sickbed day after day, her breath growing weak and feeble, and it seems... alas, she is about to pass away!"
"Clap!" The storyteller struck the gavel again, whetting everyone's appetite. "But what a coincidence! Right at this critical moment, the name of that miraculous doctor from the south of the city spread like wildfire into the high-walled Prime Minister's mansion! The Prime Minister's wife, doting on her daughter, disregarded all decorum and immediately made a decision to send her capable servant on horseback to the south of the city to bring this miraculous doctor back to the mansion to treat her young lady!"
"But guess what?" the storyteller drawled. "That legendary doctor has his own rules! He only sees patients for two hours a day, and if you're late, you're out! Every day, a long line of people waits in front of that little shabby courtyard in the south of the city, seeking his medical advice and medicine! When the doctor heard the servant's purpose, he simply shook his head and said, 'If you want to see a doctor, you must come in person. My clinic is full of patients, all waiting, and I simply don't have the time to visit them.'"
"Hey! When that servant saw that the divine physician wouldn't budge, he immediately tried to use the Prime Minister's name to intimidate him. But our divine physician was unmoved by either soft or hard tactics! He simply asked indifferently, 'Is the Prime Minister's daughter any more noble than others? How is she any different from the many patients queuing in front of my clinic?' This question stumped the servant! Our Prime Minister is renowned for his virtue and has always proclaimed himself 'loves the people like his own children.' If he truly loves the people like his own children, then in the eyes of a physician, aren't the Prime Minister's daughter and these commoners all the same in terms of life and death? Where is the distinction between high and low, noble and lowly?"
"Seeing that coercion and bribery had failed, the Prime Minister's wife went all out! She personally took her daughter, and after a bumpy ride in a carriage, they arrived in the south of the city. Guess what? The divine physician truly lived up to his name! After a few doses of medicine, the Prime Minister's daughter's sixteen-year-old ailment was actually... cured!"
"The Prime Minister's wife was overjoyed and wept! Grabbing the divine physician's hand, she insisted on rewarding him handsomely, asking, 'What does my benefactor desire? Tell me, it's none of your concern!' But our divine physician remained calm, simply saying, 'Madam, you haven't paid your consultation fee yet.' The Prime Minister's wife, in high spirits, immediately asked, 'How much is the consultation fee? Tell me, divine physician, it's none of your concern!' The divine physician raised his hand and pointed to a simple wooden sign standing in the corner of the courtyard, on which were clearly engraved two lines of text—'For the wealthy, one hundred taels of gold; for the common people, one coin.'"
"Look! The same ailment, yet different fees for different people—charging the rich to help the poor, a benevolent heart and skillful hands! This is the true spirit of a healer, the demeanor of a celestial being!" The storyteller stroked his goatee, shook his head, and continued, "The Prime Minister's wife readily paid a hundred taels of gold, and the matter should have been settled. However… after the Prime Minister's daughter recovered, seeing that the divine physician not only possessed miraculous medical skills but also had a handsome face and a refined, ethereal air, she actually… fell secretly in love and conceived the idea of finding a husband for him!"
Just as the story reached its climax, the storyteller abruptly stopped. He calmly picked up the rough porcelain teacup on the table, took a leisurely sip, and then, amidst the anxious urging of the tea drinkers, slowly began to speak: "To find out what happens next, listen—tomorrow!"
The story was cut short at just the right moment, and immediately the teahouse was filled with complaints. The tea drinkers started shouting, trying to get the storyteller to finish the exciting tale that day.
But storytellers rely on this skill of creating suspense to make a living, so why would they easily ruin their livelihood? No matter how much the crowd complained, he just smiled and bowed, knowing he would still earn a standing ovation the next day.
The crowd argued endlessly, and the teahouse was bustling with noise. No one noticed that in the most inconspicuous corner of the teahouse, a man dressed in dark, close-fitting clothes, with an aura of restraint, silently and gently placed a whole, gleaming gold ingot on a wooden table covered with a thin layer of dust. Then, his figure flickered and disappeared from the crowd like a ghost.
South of the city, near the river.
The residence of the so-called "miracle doctor," which was rumored to be miraculous, was actually just a very simple farmhouse. The roof was thatched, the walls were mottled, and it looked like it could barely keep out the wind and rain.
It was midday, the sun blazing overhead. Today was not the day the legendary healer held his consultations, so the courtyard was unusually quiet, save for a slight breeze that brought a touch of coolness from the river. Inside, the legendary "miracle doctor" was alone, carefully turning over the herbs in a basket to dry.
He gently turned the herbs, but couldn't help coughing intermittently. His fingers, holding the herbs, were long, clean, and well-defined, but his skin was pale with the weariness of a long illness. He skillfully took out a plain white handkerchief and covered his mouth and nose. When the coughing subsided, the handkerchief was stained with specks of crimson, which he wiped away without a word and then casually put the handkerchief away.
It turns out that this miraculous doctor, who could "bring the dead back to life and heal flesh and bones," was himself a sickly man confined to his sickbed.
This afternoon tranquility did not last long.
"Clang—!!!"
With a loud crash, the already rickety and simple wooden door of the courtyard was violently kicked open from the outside! The hinges creaked under the strain, swayed back and forth a few times, and finally broke completely with a loud bang. The wooden door crashed heavily to the ground and shattered into several pieces.
The already dilapidated courtyard was now even more chaotic.
As soon as the wooden door collapsed, more than a dozen burly guards dressed in uniform filed in and instantly surrounded the seemingly frail "sickly" man who was still fiddling with herbs in the courtyard, their menacing aura palpable.
The man surrounded in the center had an air of illness about him, his face so pale it was almost transparent, as if a gust of wind could knock him over. Yet, faced with this sudden turn of events, he didn't even lift an eyelid, continuing to leisurely arrange the bitter-smelling herbs in his hands, as if these fierce-looking, burly men around him were nothing more than a few unsightly stone statues.
Outside the gate, three or five well-dressed servants escorted a young master in fine clothes, who swaggered into the courtyard.
The young master first glanced around the dilapidated thatched hut with disgust, his gaze finally settling on the sickly man who was facing away from him, intently drying herbs. His tone was full of contempt and disdain: "You, are you the 'miracle doctor' who's been rumored to be a miracle worker, but whose true identity is unknown?"
The man in the courtyard seemed not to hear, offering no response whatsoever, and continued to carefully tend to the herbs in his hands.
That was an extremely rare dogwood herb, known for its remarkable healing properties. He had carefully cultivated it for several years at the foot of the mountain before finally obtaining such a small amount; it was incredibly precious.
"I'm talking to you! Are you deaf?!" The young master in brocade robes had been pampered since childhood, and had never been treated so coldly before. He was instantly furious, and his face turned red.
He suddenly pointed at the sickly-looking man and shouted sternly at the surrounding servants, "What are you all standing there for?! Tie him up for me!!!"
"Yes, young master!" the servants responded in unison, and immediately pounced forward like wolves, wanting to take down this arrogant "sickly fellow" in one fell swoop.
However, this seemingly frail man, who appeared as if a gust of wind could knock him over, was surprisingly agile! He slightly shifted his body, his steps seemingly chaotic but actually precise, moving with the precision of a butterfly flitting among flowers, easily avoiding the grasping hands of the first few who rushed at him. He took two steps back, creating some distance, and finally raised his eyes. His gaze was calm and unwavering, yet carried a chilling coldness as he swept it over the crowd, slowly speaking: "Who dares to cause trouble here?"
"Who are you?" The young man in brocade robes seemed to have heard the biggest joke in the world. He arrogantly pointed his thumb at his own nose. "You don't even know who I am?"
"Listen up! I am the heir of the Marquis of Dingxi!" He smugly dusted off non-existent dust from his luxurious robes, adopting a condescending attitude. "If you know what's good for you, kneel down and beg for mercy right now. If I'm in a good mood, I might spare your dog's life!"
He waited patiently, anticipating how the country doctor would react with utter terror and obsequiousness upon hearing his distinguished identity.
However, after staring at that pale and calm face for a long time, he could not see any of the emotional changes he had expected, except for a very faint hint of mockery in those unfathomable eyes.
After a long silence, the sickly man finally spoke again, a cold smile curving his lips. His voice wasn't loud, but it reached everyone's ears clearly: "The heir of the Marquis of Dingxi?" He repeated it softly, then sneered, "What is he?"
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
