Gathering Herbs

"I still have two elder brothers at home, so my father doesn't need to worry about carrying on the family line."

Qin Sang flattered him earnestly, "Daoist, with your vast knowledge and superb medical skills, your former status must have been extraordinary. What did you do before?"

"I've been a Daoist since childhood, but..."

Daoist Jixin took a sip of tea, gazing at Mingyue as he said unhurriedly, "Your grandmaster, my own master, was once an Imperial Physician. He was full of high spirits in his youth, but unfortunately, he once misused a single ingredient in a prescription, nearly earning himself the death penalty. After being expelled from the palace, he was disheartened, left the secular world to become a Daoist, and styled himself Yunyouzi. The Daoist name I bear was given to me by your grandmaster, and all my skills were learned from him. So you must remember: when you practice medicine on your own in the future, weigh every prescription and dosage carefully, and never be careless."

Mingyue swallowed the pastry in his mouth and said solemnly, "Disciple understands."

"So the Daoist comes from a prestigious lineage!"

Qin Sang's face was full of admiration as he refilled Daoist Jixin's tea. "The Grandmaster served as an Imperial Physician and walked the Forbidden Palace. He must have known many secrets. Did he ever see an immortal master with his own eyes?"

The old Daoist shook his head. "He never did. However, when my master was an Imperial Physician, he heard many rumors that immortal masters had once come and gone within the palace, befriending royalty and nobility. Wealth, lust, fame, and gain dazzle the eyes. In this old Daoist's opinion, those so-called immortal masters likely cannot escape the seven emotions and six desires either, and are hardly transcendent."

Qin Sang was stunned.

His ingrained impression of those who cultivated immortality was that they drank morning dew and dined on misty clouds, hid themselves away in famous mountains and great rivers, in caves of paradise and blessed lands, slept through a thousand years in a single dream, never touched by worldly affairs, and rarely appeared before ordinary people.

He had been wrong!

Should he go to the Capital City to try his luck?

Daoist Jixin seemed to see through Qin Sang's thoughts and deflated him, "Don't indulge in wishful thinking. My master served as an Imperial Physician for over thirty years, entering palaces and princely mansions every day, yet he never saw an immortal master with his own eyes—only heard a few legends. Besides, if there truly were immortal fortunes in the Capital City, wouldn't those princes and nobles be fighting tooth and nail over them? How could there be any left for you?"

Gazing up at the bright moon, listening to the master and disciple chanting scriptures from the next room, Qin Sang sat on his bed, silent for a long time, and finally let out a wry laugh.

If immortal fortunes were so easy to come by, wouldn't everyone in this world be able to become immortals? No matter what, he still had the Netherworld Scripture—a thread of hope remained.

With this realization, Qin Sang temporarily set aside his unrealistic fantasies and focused wholeheartedly on comprehending the Netherworld Scripture.

Before he knew it, winter had arrived. The old Daoist had taken in a few refugee families, and the Taoist temple had gained much more life.

Suddenly, the first snow of the season fell on the mountain.

The mountain ranges turned white overnight. Qin Sang followed the old Daoist and his disciple down the mountain to offer free medical consultations. Seeing the refugees frozen to death by the roadside, his heart ached with pity. The old Daoist sighed—what could a poor, penniless old Daoist like him do? The Qingyang Palace was just a few old rooms; how many homeless people could it shelter?

They could only do what little was within their power.

Qin Sang crouched by a stone hollow, tending the fire. In the large pot boiled a full batch of warming medicinal herbs. Once it was brewed into a decoction, it would be distributed to the refugees.

His mind elsewhere as he stoked the fire, Qin Sang silently recited the Netherworld Scripture over and over.

By now, he had memorized the Netherworld Scripture so thoroughly that he could recite it backward. He had pondered every sentence countless times, and for the past few days, he hadn't changed a single word of his interpretation. He felt he had already gained a deep enough understanding of the Netherworld Scripture. Tonight, he planned to begin cultivation!

The snow had not yet melted, the bright moon hung in the sky, and the night was as bright as day.

The families lodging in the Taoist temple were crowded into the front rooms, but Qin Sang still had his own space, so he didn't have to worry about being discovered.

He sat cross-legged in a meditation mudra, following the guidance of the Netherworld Scripture, calming his mind and trying to enter a state of concentration, attempting to cultivate.

The scripture was already clear in his mind, yet he sat motionless for hours without being able to make a breakthrough. Not only could he not calm his heart, but distracting thoughts kept surging up. He grew secretly anxious, trying to eliminate the stray thoughts, only to suddenly realize that this very urge was itself one of those distractions.

Dawn was about to break, and Qin Sang still couldn't reach the state described in the scripture—a heart as still as water, with the spirit hidden within the body. He had to go down the mountain for free consultations the next day, so he reluctantly stopped for now.

By day, he went down the mountain to offer free medical consultations; by night, he cultivated; in the mornings and evenings, he practiced his boxing. Qin Sang's days were monotonous yet fulfilling.

By now, he had come to realize that whether the Netherworld Scripture was a Martial Arts inner technique or an immortal cultivation method, it was definitely not so easy to practice. He would need to have enough patience.

Another day of free consultations over, Qin Sang was in his room pondering the Netherworld Scripture when he saw Mingyue running up, panting, carrying two bowls of porridge.

"Senior Brother, Master says the temple's medicinal herbs aren't enough. He's going up the mountain to gather herbs tomorrow, and he wants you to pack your things and go with him."

Qin Sang stopped and gazed at the distant mountains. The snow had stopped falling seven days ago, and today the sky was clear and cloudless. After today, the snow on the mountains should have all melted.

Going down the mountain for free consultations meant boiling several pots of medicinal decoctions every day. The herbs were being used up quickly—no wonder they needed to gather more.

There was no snow on the mountain, but there might be ice on the paths. Qin Sang didn't feel at ease letting the old Daoist go up the mountain alone to gather herbs, so he readily agreed, gulped down his porridge, and went back to his room to pack.

In truth, aside from the Ebony Sword and a few other things, he didn't have much in the way of belongings. Mingyue would prepare the tools for gathering herbs and the food. Qin Sang just tied up a set of cotton-padded clothes with cloth strips and brought a pair of thick cotton shoes—that was all his luggage.

The next day, before dawn, Qin Sang set out with the old Daoist.

Cuiming Mountain was still manageable—there was a path worn by people. But once they descended Cuiming Mountain and went deeper, it was pure wilderness and untamed forests. They had to follow animal trails, pushing through waist-high wild grass. Even in broad daylight, Qin Sang couldn't tell where they were; he could only follow the old Daoist step by step.

They climbed from the valley to the mountainside, then followed a narrow goat path along the cliff, turned a corner, descended the mountain, climbed another, and finally arrived at the foot of the legendary Huanghuang Mountain by noon.

Walking on this kind of terrain, Qin Sang slipped and fell several times, his heart in his throat the whole way. Yet the old Daoist was as steady as Mount Tai. Qin Sang couldn't help but wonder who was the young man here.

The schedule was tight—they had to return to the Taoist temple by tomorrow night—so as soon as they climbed Huanghuang Mountain, they began gathering herbs without a moment's rest.

Hearing the strange roars that came from the forest from time to time, Qin Sang's heart tightened. Don't tell me this young master will die in a tiger's jaws before he even finds immortality, he thought to himself. Walking along, he asked in a low voice, "Daoist, coming so deep into the mountains to gather herbs—aren't you afraid of being eaten by wolves or tigers?"

"I've run into mountain wolves before. I have some beast-repelling powder passed down from my master. It helps a little."

The old Daoist spoke lightly, using his herb hoe to part the weeds. "The herbs outside have long been picked clean. You have to go into the mountains. Besides, you have Martial Arts to protect yourself—what are you afraid of?"

Qin Sang, holding a wooden staff in his hand, couldn't help feeling uneasy. "Daoist, don't make fun of me. My crude skills aren't worth showing off."

The old Daoist chuckled. "I noticed that the boxing technique Mingyue learned from you seems incomplete, as if there's more to it. Is it incomplete?"

"Good eye, Daoist."

Qin Sang said, "This Tiger Subduing Dragon Fist was taught to me by Eldest Brother, the man who saved me. He only had time to teach me three stances. But this boxing technique is quite common. In a while, I'll go to an escort agency in the city to ask around and complete it."