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Translator: Silavin
Hansheng arrived at Feng’s Noodle Shop, where his Father had been waiting for a long time.
“Why did you play around for so long?” His Father asked.
Hansheng smiled without saying a word.
Father and Son hurriedly ate their noodles, then caught the return bus back to Nanshan Town.
In the evening, sitting in the courtyard, Hansheng stared at the stars in silence.
“What’s wrong, Hansheng? What are you thinking about?” his Father asked from beside him.
“What is Crying Blood Disease?” Hansheng suddenly asked.
His Father looked at him with strange eyes. He thought for a moment, and explained, “It’s said that in ancient times, there was an emperor in the Kingdom of Shu called Wang Di. Due to poor governance, he ultimately led the country to destruction. After his death, his soul turned into a Cuckoo, crying blood and wailing every night. He became known as the ‘Blood Crying Cuckoo.’ According to ancient medical books, there’s a rare disease among the common people, where the patient’s appearance changes. The beautiful become ugly, while the ugly become beautiful. Even their voices would change. Regardless of the changes, they all have one thing in common: their tears were all red, like blood. Ancient people believed this disease is caused by excessive longing for loved ones. Such strong emotions lead to depleted kidney water, and cause the fire in the liver to rise. The condition was just like Wang Di, so it’s called the Crying Blood Disease. Why are you asking about this?”
Hansheng explained, “I’m becoming more and more interested in Traditional Chinese Medicine, especially those difficult and complicated diseases that others can’t cure.”
His Father chuckled and said, “Nonsense. Which doctor doesn’t dream of finding methods to treat difficult and complicated diseases? But even until old age, it’s all still in vain. Being able to treat common diseases is already not bad. If you aspire to practise Traditional Chinese Medicine, you should start from the ground up with minor illnesses that show up everyday. Don’t aim too high.”
“Dad, for those with Crying Blood Disease, does it mean that the uglier they become, the more beautiful they originally were?” Hansheng seemed to have not been listening to his Father’s advice at all.
“Well, maybe,” his Father mumbled, thinking to himself, [This child’s head is always full of strange thoughts. There’s definitely no hope for him to become a doctor!]
That night, Hansheng lay in bed, experiencing insomnia for the first time. His mind kept pondering what Lan’er might have looked like before she fell ill. On the back of the second page of the Classic of the Black Satchel, there was a description of treating Crying Blood Disease.
The main ingredient was Plant Soot. In rural households, every Family had a wood-burning stove. When smoke passed through the stove’s upper region, it would form a layer of black dust. It could be scrapped to obtain Plant Soot. However, the Medicine Catalyst was the hard part. It was something called a ‘Thunder Striking Horse Riding Cloth’. A mix of Plant Soot with Slurry Water needed to be applied onto this cloth, then placed on the face at 1am to 3am. The patient should be cured by 9pm to 11pm. In other words, it would need to be placed on the patient’s face for less than twelve hours.
[The only thing is, the Classic doesn’t specify what exactly a Thunder Striking Horse Riding Cloth is… Just what on earth is a ‘Thunder Striking Horse Riding Cloth’?]
※※※
Hansheng woke up very early and went to the kitchen to light a fire and started cooking.
“You’re up so early. Didn’t sleep well?” His Father asked, noticing his Son’s slightly red eyes.
“I was thinking about the issue of Medicine Catalysts for Chinese herbs last night.”
“Now that you mention it, you should go to Dazhang Mountain today to collect some Liquorice Root. The house is almost out of Medicine Catalysts.”
“Dad, why do we need Medicine Catalysts?”
“Medicine Catalysts are meant to guide the medicine to the Meridians. We would be using certain herbs as guides to lead the medicinal efficacy of other herbs to the affected area or a certain Meridian.”
“Medicine Catalysts are so varied and strange,” Hansheng muttered to himself.
“Generally, Liquorice Root is used as a guide. It can harmonise with all sorts of medicines and is considered the king of all herbs. That’s why Traditional Chinese Medicine doctors throughout history have revered Liquorice Root as the ‘Elder of the Country’. To understand Medicine Catalysts well, you need to put in a lot of hard work. Alright, I’ll teach you more when we have the time,” his Father explained.
Hansheng shouldered his herb basket, took a small hoe, packed some dry food, and with a whistle, set off towards Dazhang Mountain with his big yellow dog, Dummy.
The sky was overcast, and he hoped it would not rain. The mountain paths would be slippery in the rain, and one could easily fall into the valley if not careful.
Liquorice Root, which was commonly used as a Medicine Catalyst, was from the Fabaceae Family. They should be harvested in spring and autumn. They would be cut into thick slices and dried for use. They mainly grow in semi-arid areas. In Jiangxi, with its abundant rainfall, it was usually found on steep, sunny slopes.
As they walked, the mountains grew higher and the forests grew denser. Sometimes, black spotted squirrels could be seen jumping on the branches.
Hansheng knew they had entered Dazhang Mountain.
Dazhang Mountain, also known as ‘Barrier of the Three Skies’, was located on the border of Anhui and Jiangxi provinces. It was part of the Huangshan Mountain Range. A Qing Dynasty poet, Wang Xun, wrote, ‘On the Qingfeng Ridge, one’s eyes are opened wide; Before the Leigu Peak, one counts the nine states; Coiled over three hundred kilometres of the ancient road, Huirao; Evenly dividing the Wu and Chu Dynasty.”
Although Hansheng had been here before with his Father, the scenery was always different. In the autumn, the whole mountain was dyed with red maple colour. Waterfalls clustered in the valleys like flying Dragons spitting out jade. In places rarely visited by people, one could truly appreciate the beauty of nature beyond the mundane world.
After passing several mountain valleys, Hansheng felt hungry and thirsty. He took out his dry food, broke off a piece for his dog, Dummy. As for the rest, he sat on a greenish stone to eat a few bites himself. A patch of red and yellow plants on the steep slope opposite caught his eye. They were high quality Red Licorice, and there were about several hundred of them.
After drinking some cool, sweet mountain spring water, he and Dummy circled around to the old Pine Tree at the top of the opposite mountain. He was looking for a way down to collect those herbs.
Arriving at the old Pine Tree, he realised that the slope where the Licorice grew was incredibly steep, with no path to climb down.
The clouds in the sky were getting thicker and darker. He had to collect the Licorice before it rains.
“Dummy, wait here,” Hansheng instructed the yellow dog. He took a rope from his herb basket, tied it securely to the trunk of the Pine Tree. He tied the other end around his waist.
With the basket and small hoe on his back, he slowly slid down the steep rocks.
The rocks were jagged like wolf teeth. Just as he had slid down about ten metres, a black shadow suddenly flashed from a crevice in the rock, startling Hansheng. It almost made him let go of the rope.
Looking closely, he saw it was a huge yellowish old Mountain Rat. It was menacingly baring its white large incisors at Hansheng. Behind it, in the rocks was a nest, with a group of flesh pink baby Mountain Rats.
[Ah. I’ve disturbed a Mother Mountain Rat…].
People in northeastern Jiangxi love to eat Mountain Rats. They often hunted them before the start of winter. After gutting and drying, the meat turns golden yellow. The dish also had a great name, ‘Golden Bamboo Mountain Rat Jerky.’ Because of this, adult Mountain Rats hold deep fear and hostility towards humans. They usually avoided them like the plague.
Hansheng had never seen such a huge Mountain Rat. He estimated it to be about as old as himself. He gave a friendly smile to the disturbed Mother Mountain Rat and continued downward.
He had slid down about forty metres in total and could already see the patch of Licorice when he felt something was wrong. Looking up, he saw the Mother rat frantically gnawing at the rope hanging in front of her nest…
Hansheng was horrified. He shouted loudly from below, trying to scare away the Mother Mountain Rat, but she paid no heed to him and continued gnawing.
Hearing his shouts, Dummy poked his head out from the rocks, looking at Hansheng in confusion.
There was no time to climb up. If the rope broke before he could reach the top, he would surely be smashed to pieces. Hansheng looked down – there were still more than ten metres to the flat ground. He quickly slid down, not thinking about anything else.
When he was about five or six metres from the bottom, the rope finally broke. Hansheng fell and everything went black. He had lost consciousness.
Dark clouds gathered, and heavy rain poured down. The cold raindrops fell on Hansheng’s face, and he slowly regained consciousness.
He felt a sharp pain in his right leg before passing out again.
After an unknown amount of time, Hansheng finally slowly woke up.
“A desolate inn by the shore, a boat is moored; Under the bright moon and cool breeze, at an ancient ferry. Flying geese fail to come as the clouds darken; A tree of emerald leaves, ten parts of autumn.” A voice reciting poetry suddenly sounded in his ears, seemingly from far away.
He was in a simple mud-brick thatched house, with a grass roof and whitewashed walls. A few calligraphy and painting scrolls hung on the walls, along with simple tables and chairs. He was lying on an old-fashioned wooden bed.
“You’re awake.” A thin man with a short grizzled beard under his chin came into Hansheng’s view. The man appeared to be in his fifties or sixties.
“Where is this? Who are you?” Hansheng asked, trying to sit up.
“Don’t move. Your right leg is broken,” the man said in standard northern Chinese.
Indeed, waves of sharp pain radiated from his right leg to his hip.
“I remember falling from the mountain. How did I get here?” Hansheng could not seem to understand what had happened.
The man gently sat on the edge of the bed, tucked in the blanket covering Hansheng, and explained, “My surname is Wei. I’m the forest keeper here. You can call me the Hermit of Wuchu Mountain. This mountain valley is called ‘Wolong Valley.’ You fell from the mountain and rolled down the slope to the bottom of the valley. Luckily, your life span is a long one. It also seems like you’ve only injured one leg. When the weather improves, I’ll go call your Family to come get you.”
Hansheng looked at this old man speaking in a non-local accent and asked, “You’re not from around here, are you?”
Silavin: BTW, just so you know, the diseases are in TCM medical records. This includes the Crying Blood Disease. Sure some of you would want it, huh? Well, I do too… D:
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