Xiao Zongting sat down in a chair, but his lips were still trembling, his face streaked with tears. This old man who had weathered life and death had yet to calm his emotions.
Duan Rong picked up the porcelain pot from the tea table, poured a cup of water, and held it out before Xiao Zongting.
With trembling hands, Xiao Zongting brought the teacup to his lips. After taking two sips in succession, his emotions slowly began to settle.
Seeing the worry on Duan Rong's face as he stood nearby, Xiao Zongting asked, "Who did you learn this acupuncture technique from?"
If Duan Rong had not acted in time just now, Xiao Baijiao might truly have been gone...
Duan Rong gave a soft sigh and slowly told the story he had prepared long ago, his voice low and grave.
"About when I was ten or so, a neighbor moved in near my home—an elderly widower with a somewhat stooped back."
"Seeing him living alone, with his hands and feet no longer nimble enough for work, I would sometimes pick wild fruit for him."
"Every now and then, I would also help him chop firewood, carry water, and do odd jobs."
"After we had gotten along like that for a few months, he began teaching me painting and acupuncture."
"He taught me for a little over a year. Then one day, the old man suddenly disappeared."
"I asked every neighbor nearby, but no one knew where he had gone."
"Six or seven years have passed now... and I have never seen him again..."
As Duan Rong narrated in that slow voice, Xiao Zongting's emotions finally settled completely. He let out a long breath of stale air, wiped away the remaining tears on his face, and said, "That old man must have