Chapter 55 Medicinal Diet Recipes
The Huo family's study was filled with a faint scent of sandalwood and old paper. Song Zhiyi sat at the mahogany desk, her back ramrod straight—not intentionally, but a habit formed from years of desk work, like a pine tree growing on a cliff, possessing its own inherent strength.
She spread out a sheet of plain white Xuan paper and used Old Master Huo's wolf-hair brush. As she dipped the brush in ink, she paused for a moment, her gaze falling on the century-old ginkgo tree outside the window. Golden leaves twirled and fell in the autumn wind, their movements serene, as if they knew the earth would eventually catch them.
Then she put pen to paper.
Her handwriting was not the delicate and graceful style often seen in women, but rather a clear and vigorous regular script, with strength in every stroke—this was what her mother required when teaching her to write: "Handwriting reflects the person; it should be steady, upright, and retain its strength."
The first line reads: "Stewed fish head with gastrodia elata".
She wrote down the ingredients: 15 grams of Gastrodia elata, 10 grams of Ligusticum chuanxiong, 6 grams of Angelica dahurica, one bighead carp head, and three slices of ginger. Instructions: Wash and soak the herbs for half an hour. Pan-fry the fish head until slightly golden. Place all ingredients in a stew pot, add an appropriate amount of water, and simmer over low heat for two hours. Drink the soup and eat the fish.
The second line reads: "Kudzu root and cinnamon twig porridge".
Take 30 grams of kudzu root, 10 grams of cinnamon twig, 100 grams of japonica rice, and five red dates. First, decoct the kudzu root and cinnamon twig to extract the juice, then add the japonica rice and red dates to cook porridge. Take it warm in the morning and evening.
The third line: "Daily Precautions".
She started a new line, and her handwriting tightened slightly:
1. Avoid looking down for extended periods. Get up and move your neck every 40 minutes of work.
Second, the pillow should not be too high when sleeping; the height of a fist is ideal. It is recommended to use a cervical spine health pillow.
3. Do not let the air conditioner vent blow directly on the back of your neck.
Fourth, you can do the "rice" character exercise every morning and evening: slowly write the character "rice" to exercise your cervical spine.
5. If headaches recur, try massaging the Fengchi acupoint (the depressions on both sides of the hairline at the back of the neck) for five minutes. If this is ineffective, then consider taking medication.
She wrote with focused concentration, the nib of her pen rustling across the paper like a silkworm munching on leaves. The study door was gently pushed open, and Mrs. Huo stood in the doorway, already dressed in home clothes, her hair neatly pulled back—after the pain subsided, she had regained her meticulous image as the Mrs. Huo.
His eyes were just filled with many complex emotions.
Song Zhiyi didn't look up. After writing the last line, she blew on the still-wet ink before putting down her pen.
"Auntie." She stood up and handed over the prescription. "This is a medicinal diet prescription and some precautions for you. You can eat the fish head stewed with gastrodia elata two to three times a week, and you can eat kudzu root porridge regularly. Please be sure to follow the precautions, especially avoid looking down for long periods of time and keep your neck warm."
Mrs. Huo took the paper. The ink smelled wonderful, and the characters were strong and powerful. She had practiced calligraphy when she was young, and it was clear that this style of writing could not have been achieved without ten years of dedicated practice—not the kind of superficial practice, but the kind of practice that required real dedication and focus.
"You..." Huo's mother's gaze shifted from the paper to Song Zhiyi's face, "These prescriptions, were they all taught to you by your mother?"
“Most of them are.” Song Zhiyi began to pack up her pen and ink. “Some of them are adjustments I’ve made in my clinical practice. For example, the proportions of kudzu root and cinnamon porridge: the traditional formula uses a large amount of kudzu root, but it may irritate people with a history of stomach problems, so I reduced the amount of kudzu root and increased the amount of red dates and japonica rice to protect the stomach.”
She spoke so naturally, as if she were discussing the weather.
Mrs. Huo held the paper in her hand, the edges of which trembled slightly between her fingertips: "Your mother... is a doctor?"
“A peacekeeping doctor.” Song Zhiyi washed her pen and hung it back on the pen holder. “She has worked in Africa and the Middle East. When I was a child, I often followed her to the field hospital. She treated people, and I helped by handing over instruments and learning to identify medicinal herbs.”
She paused, her voice very soft: "She said that medical skills should not have national boundaries or sectarianism. Knowledge that can alleviate pain should be passed on to those who need it."
The study fell silent. The sound of the wind outside the window became clearer, and ginkgo leaves drifted down one by one, like fragments of time.
Mrs. Huo looked at the woman in front of her. Song Zhiyi was dressed very simply today, in a beige knit sweater, dark trousers, and her hair was tied in a low ponytail, revealing her smooth forehead and her overly calm eyes.
There was no jewelry, no fancy clothes, and no deliberate attempt to appear gentle or ingratiating.
But it is this same woman who just used three silver needles to alleviate her chronic ailment of more than twenty years; it is this same woman who is now writing this medicinal diet prescription in neat handwriting, every word saying: I understand, I can, I will help you.
"You..." Mrs. Huo's voice was a little hoarse, "Why are you learning these things? Aren't you a diplomat?"
Song Zhiyi turned around and met her gaze frankly: "Auntie, have you ever seen war?"
Mrs. Huo was stunned.
“I’ve seen it,” Song Zhiyi said, her tone as calm as if she were recounting someone else’s story. “In those places, hospitals might be bombed, doctors might be killed, and medicine might be cut off. But the pain won’t disappear. You’ll find that the most basic medical knowledge—like how to stop bleeding, how to fix a fracture, how to relieve pain with acupuncture—can save a life.”
She walked to the window and looked at the ginkgo tree in the courtyard: "My mother said that her biggest regret was not how much suffering she endured, but that so many people could have been saved, but died because of poor medical conditions. So she taught me, saying: 'Zhiyi, the more you learn, the greater your chance of saving lives.'"
Sunlight streamed through the window lattice, casting interplay of light and shadow on her profile.
Standing there, Mrs. Huo's hand suddenly felt heavy with the Xuan paper in her hand. She recalled the despair she had felt during each headache attack over the past twenty years; the exhaustion from going to various hospitals and trying all sorts of expensive treatments with little effect; and the self-loathing she felt when she had to rely on large doses of painkillers to maintain her dignity.
The woman before me, in a war-torn place, was learning how to save people with the most rudimentary means.
Those hardships she had never experienced, or even imagined, shaped Song Zhiyi into someone who could alleviate her chronic illness with three acupuncture needles, write this professional medicinal diet prescription, and provide effective help when she was in the most pain.
"You..." Huo's mother began, but found herself at a loss for words.
Thank you? That's too light.
An apology? Too late.
Admitting you misjudged someone? That's too embarrassing to say.
Song Zhiyi seemed to sense her embarrassment and shook her head slightly: "Auntie, don't worry about it. I'm glad I could help you today. Please keep the medicinal diet recipe. Follow the prescription and cooperate with the regular treatment at the hospital. Your headache may be cured."
She picked up the acupuncture kit that was placed aside: "I'm going back now. I still have some work to do at the department."
"Wait a minute." Mrs. Huo finally found her voice. "Why don't you... have dinner before you leave?"
The words surprised even herself. This was the first time she had ever invited Song Zhiyi to stay for dinner.
Song Zhiyi was slightly taken aback, then politely shook her head: "Thank you, Auntie, but I really have something to do today. Maybe next time."
She didn't say "definitely next time," but only "maybe next time"—leaving room for maneuver and not making promises lightly.
Mrs. Huo nodded and did not insist on keeping him.
Song Zhiyi bowed and took her leave, walking out of the study. Her footsteps faded into the distance in the corridor, steady and rhythmic, just like her personality.
Mrs. Huo stood alone in the study, the Xuan paper in her hand fluttering slightly in the breeze outside the window. She lowered her head and looked at the prescription again.
The handwriting is clear and neat, the composition is rigorous, and even the precautions are written in great detail.
This is hardly what you call "knowing a little bit about things".
This clearly demonstrates profound skill.
She walked to the desk and saw the inkstone that Song Zhiyi had just used—the ink was evenly distributed, the brush washer was clean and hanging down, and even the paperweight had been put back in its original place. Everything was neatly arranged, as if no one had ever used it.
Just like her healing and saving lives: she came, did the work, solved the problem, and then left quietly.
Do not claim credit, do not boast, and do not leave a trace.
Mrs. Huo sat down at the desk, her fingers gently tracing the ink marks. The ink had dried, but the strength of the brushstrokes remained on the paper, sending a cool sensation through her fingertips.
Another ginkgo leaf fell outside the window, golden yellow, swirling in the sunset like a bird slowly taking flight.
She suddenly remembered many years ago, when Huo Yanli was still a child, he had a fever once, and she stayed by his bedside all night. At that time, she felt that a mother's greatest wish was nothing more than for her child to be healthy and safe.
As Huo Yanli grew up and the Huo family became increasingly prominent, her world became filled with social interactions, a desire for respectability, and class distinctions. She forgot how simple yet precious the wish for health and peace truly was.
Today, her daughter-in-law, whom she had always considered "unqualified," gave her a chance for health and safety in the simplest way.
Mother Huo carefully folded the medicinal diet recipe and put it into her pocket.
Then she stood up and walked to the window. In the courtyard, the driver was opening the car door for Song Zhiyi. Before getting into the car, Song Zhiyi glanced back at the old house, her gaze calm, as if she were looking at an ordinary scene.
The car drove out of the gate and disappeared into the twilight.
Mrs. Huo stood there, motionless for a long time.
The slight numbness from the acupuncture on the back of her neck reminded her that what happened today was not a dream.
And something hardened in my heart for too long is gradually loosening and melting in that slight tingling sensation.
Like a frozen river in early spring, I heard the distant, warm sound of flowing water.
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