Fan Zhongyan was sixty-one this year. As mentioned earlier, the blow of the failed reforms, coupled with the Song Dynasty's customary "travel assignments," had left him looking exceedingly gaunt. Though he was not quite reduced to skin and bones, he was not far from it. Not a single black strand remained amid his white hair; age spots had appeared, wrinkles crisscrossed his face, and his skin sagged without the slightest elasticity.
In history, Fan Zhongyan would die three years later, in the vibrant early summer...
Though it was rather rude to think of a man's death upon first meeting him, Wang Yan's cursory visual examination told him that Fan Zhongyan could live several more years. That was good news.
This was largely thanks to the broad learning of ancient scholar-officials. In their previous correspondence, Fan Zhongyan's descriptions of his physical condition had been basically accurate. Thus, the medicine Wang Yan had prescribed from afar had generally treated the right symptoms and produced results.
Looking at Fan Zhongyan's smiling face, still full of spirit, Wang Yan solemnly and respectfully bowed. "This student, Wang Yan, greets Lord Fan."
Fan Zhongyan waved a hand. "No need for such ceremony. Sit and speak."
Wang Yan cupped his hands again before taking a seat. "Lord Fan appears to be in good spirits. Has your health been well lately?"
"It is all thanks to your skilled hands, Wang Ziyan, that this old man's worn-out body can linger on for a few more days." Naturally understanding what Wang Yan meant, Fan Zhongyan obligingly extended both hands onto the table. "Since you are here, examine me properly. This old man does not fear death, but if I can live one more day and accomplish one more thing, that is always for the better. Besides, talent continues to emerge