The young girl remained composed, but the young Daoist couldn't help bursting into hearty laughter. Suddenly realizing the atmosphere had shifted, he hastily changed the subject:
"The tender leaves of the Dragon-scale Tamarisk from Greenwater Pond—oh, we call it the Willow of Three Springs here—were picked too late, by at least seven or eight days. And this bundle of Dragonflight Herb, commonly known as Maiden's Waist, was ground far too carelessly. Then there's this batch of Paper-piled Flower from the Yang family's shop—utterly outrageous! They promised three taels, yet it's short by a full qian!"
The young Daoist poured out complaints like beans tumbling from a bamboo tube, finding fault with nearly everything, as if harboring a personal grudge against the Yang family pharmacy. In the end, he delivered a sweeping judgment:
"The shopkeeper must've fed his conscience to the dogs. Still, these herbs on the table are sufficient for decocting medicine and saving lives. That, of course, is thanks to Miss Ning Yao's solid constitution—it has little to do with the Yang family's store, perhaps half a copper coin's worth at most."
He smacked his forehead, spread out a plain sheet of paper, and began writing as he spoke:
"Almost forgot. I'll write you another prescription. Decocting medicine is delicate work, Chen Ping'an—you must not be careless. This prescription not only heals wounds but also fortifies one's essence and foundation. It's a superior method favored by warriors to nourish strength through battle, ensuring they remain unshaken. The beauty lies in its gentle nature—non-invasive, albeit time-consuming. Just purchase more herbs. It's only a matter of silver.
I've clearly written when to use strong fire and when to simmer gently, even the precise hours for decoction—these all matter. For the next ten days, you'll need to endure some hardship. A man is meant to shoulder burdens—how else could he be called a true pillar of the world? Never shirk your duties, or you'll be looked down upon by the young lady."
As he uttered the phrase "pillar of the world," the young Daoist gave an almost imperceptible shake of the head.
The prescription itself fit on half a page, but the instructions for decoction took up two full sheets, written in neat, standard script—square and orderly.
Chen Ping'an, growing anxious, asked,"Daoist, will you not oversee this matter yourself? This is a matter of life and death. Wouldn't it be safer if you personally supervised?"
The Daoist replied with resignation,"I must leave the town. My sect within the Southern Ravine kingdom is holding a ceremony—I wish to witness it firsthand."
Chen Ping'an protested,"But Daoist, I can't read!"
The young Daoist paused, then chuckled,"That's all right. Miss Ning can read. Ask her about the details before preparing the medicine."
The girl nodded.
Just as Chen Ping'an opened his mouth again, the Daoist remembered something, drew a small jade seal from his sleeve, and gently exhaled onto its surface. Pressing it firmly onto the paper, he inspected the impression with satisfaction, tucked the seal back into his sleeve, and handed all three sheets to Chen Ping'an.
"Keep them safe. Books in this town are mostly privately held—it's hard to buy any. If you truly wish to learn to read, start with this prescription."
Turning to the girl with a smile, he said,"A drifting duckweed finally finds the sea. In life, partings are seldom final. Until we meet again, Miss Ning?"
The black-clad girl bowed solemnly,"Daoist Lu, until we meet again. I owe you a great debt—words cannot express my thanks. Should you ever require my aid, send a sword-letter to the Upside-down Mountain. Just remember to sign it with the name 'Lu Chen,' or the sword may not be allowed past the mountain gate."
The Daoist was visibly surprised upon hearing "Upside-down Mountain." He hesitated, but the girl gave a slight shake of the head. Understanding her intent, he refrained from prying. Some truths were better left unspoken—for the boy's sake.
As the Daoist stepped out, he grasped Chen Ping'an's arm:"Chen Ping'an, allow me a few final words."
Chen Ping'an placed the bundle on the bed, telling the girl it was new clothing, then followed the Daoist into the courtyard.
The Daoist lowered his voice:"Given your memory, I wager you've already memorized the first prescription. And with a scholar living right next door, your claim of illiteracy isn't the real reason you want me to leave, is it?"
Chen Ping'an replied,"With your abilities, I'm sure you already know the reason."
The Daoist chuckled dryly,"You're afraid you'll die, and no one will be left to look after the girl?"
Chen Ping'an nodded,"Since I opened the door, I must see it through."
The Daoist stood by the handcart, and with two fingers discreetly gestured—releasing the white-sheathed longsword that Scholar Qi Jingchun had sealed with the words "sword qi." It flew quietly into the room. The black-clad girl, not wishing to alarm Chen Ping'an, tacitly permitted this intrusion.
The Daoist pondered, idly tapping his lotus-crowned head with a finger as he thought. Finally, he spoke:
"Before coming here, a senior of mine once said—do things with reason, live with compassion. Since fate has brought us together, and my sect's doctrine differs from other orthodox paths, I'll follow the current rather than struggle against it. Though I can't give you the divination tube or the one hundred and eight sticks—it's a web of karma too tangled to cut—I can give you something else.
As for that private seal… it's too burdensome. If the town's barrier lifts, everything will be exposed—giving it to you would bring harm. What then? Shall I give you silver and copper coins instead? How vulgar! How tasteless! How could I…?"
Unexpectedly, Chen Ping'an declared with conviction,"Daoist Lu, money is no vulgar thing—it's meaningful!"
The Daoist smirked,"You didn't ask for the other two items, though you clearly knew they weren't trivial. Why?"
The boy replied slowly,"A porcelain bowl that can hold a full vat of water. A Daoist who burns talismans for the dead. A wounded, mysterious girl. A bag with twenty-eight gold coins disguised as copper. Old man Yao used to say our town was strange, but now I've seen it for myself. If I hadn't met those two outsiders, I wouldn't have opened the door today—I would've hidden from all of you."
The Daoist leaned against the cart and spoke gravely:"That outsider woman touched your forehead with a finger. It's a crude technique in martial circles, meant to forcibly open one's spiritual orifices. It's called 'pointing.' Methods vary, intentions differ. Think of your courtyard door—already fragile. She deliberately struck it with a hammer. Of course it opened—but your foundation is now damaged. What happens when the storms come and the door can't withstand them? That hammer-wielder has long gone—but what about the master of the house?"
Chen Ping'an hesitated,"I can endure hardship."
The Daoist looked at the straw-sandaled boy, clearly not joking, and let out a laugh of mixed anger and amusement:"That was only her first strike. Had your bones and blood been strong, you might've lived into your thirties or forties. But when she struck your chest with her palm—that was the real killer. Not only did it wound your core, it severed your path to longevity.
To be precise, you had a sliver of destiny left. Given the upheaval of heaven and earth, the great turning of fate, you might've stood a chance at ascending the Dao. It's like a surging flood—filled with dragons, serpents, and fish. The lucky ones seize greatness. Even the unluckiest might catch a small shrimp by sheer chance."
Chen Ping'an stood silently. No shock, no panic. He made no pretense of calm—he simply was.
The Daoist neither praised nor reproached him. He only sighed softly:
"Chen Ping'an, for someone so young to be so indifferent to life and death—that's no virtue. You think that if you can live, great. If not, and the heavens deny you, then so be it—you'll die, unafraid. Because, to you, death isn't really…"