Mr. Wu

Professor Zheng jumped up in a hurry and rushed to the clinic by the residential complex to call a doctor.

When he returned with the doctor, he was astonished to see his young grandson already awake, sitting obediently in front of Mr. Wu. Mr. Wu, with a grave expression, was kneading, patting, and tapping the boy's head and body.

"Sir, do you know what's wrong with my grandson?" Professor Zheng, sharp-eyed, sensed something and asked excitedly.

Mr. Wu was silent for a long time before slowly explaining.

According to him, Zheng Qing was born with a deficiency in vital energy and blood, but his spirit was strong, causing an imbalance of yin and yang. The yin energy surged upward, triggering headaches. Originally, daily recitation and calligraphy practice helped consume Zheng Qing's mental energy, but reading and writing also drained his vital energy and blood even more. The two offset each other, so Zheng Qing's condition kept worsening.

"Is there a way to remedy it?"

"A congenital deficiency in vital energy and blood cannot be made up for with medicine or herbs acquired later in life."

"So there's another way?"

Mr. Wu remained silent.

"Please, sir, save him." Professor Zheng stood up, pulled Zheng Qing to his knees, and bowed deeply himself.

Mr. Wu let out a long sigh. "The tree wishes to be still, but the wind will not cease."

He helped Professor Zheng up and set three rules with him.

First, it must not be spoken of. Second, the method must not be passed on. Third, it is for the belly, not for the eyes.

The first rule, "it must not be spoken of," meant that Professor Zheng could not tell anyone about the treatment. Mr. Wu said gravely that some things lose their efficacy if spoken aloud.

The second rule, "the method must not be passed on," meant that the treatment involved secrets, and the Zheng family should not pry. Moreover, as Mr. Wu hinted, he belonged to a lineage of Daoist teachings. If Zheng Qing wanted to make up for his congenital deficiency, he would need to become Mr. Wu's disciple and abide by his sect's precepts.

The third rule, "it is for the belly, not for the eyes," meant that Mr. Wu was treating Zheng Qing simply because he had encountered him and wanted peace of mind, not to be disturbed by other patients. He sought inner satisfaction, not fame. If the treatment showed results and the Zheng family brought other patients to bother him, he would have to leave early.

After stating the three requirements, Mr. Wu fell silent.

Professor Zheng was still pondering, but Zheng Qing, heedless of anything else, had already knocked his head on the ground seven or eight times, calling out "Teacher" repeatedly.

Professor Zheng, caught between laughter and tears, pulled him up. Upon asking, he learned that Mr. Wu's massage had been very effective, and Zheng Qing seemed not to have felt such clarity in a long time. So, upon hearing that Mr. Wu had a way to treat his headaches, he immediately started kowtowing.

Thus, the old man could only nod with a wry smile and agree.

And so, in the midsummer of his eighth year, Zheng Qing became Mr. Wu's disciple.

Mr. Wu's knowledge was extremely broad—astronomy, geography, history, encyclopedic trivia. Whatever topic a customer at the bookstore brought up, he could always chat about it at length. If the customer was a charming young lady, Mr. Wu would not hold back his smiles, his glib tongue teasing the girl until she giggled uncontrollably.

Mr. Wu's hobbies were also wide-ranging. Playing instruments, singing, chess, calligraphy, painting, even various ball sports, and the tedious chores of the bookstore—it seemed that every aspect of life could spark his keen interest. So much so that Professor Zheng once remarked, "Mr. Wu is a true master."

Most importantly, Mr. Wu's skill in treating illness was indeed superb.

Ever since becoming his disciple, Zheng Qing's headaches never recurred, not even once.

This filled Professor Zheng and Zheng Qing's parents with immense gratitude. But because Mr. Wu insisted on no tuition fees, the Zheng family could only send gifts during festivals to express their thanks.

Mr. Wu's method of treatment was peculiar. He did not spend all day giving Zheng Qing acupuncture or massage, nor did he prepare mineral or herbal decoctions. Instead, he continued Professor Zheng's approach: practicing calligraphy!

Only, what Zheng Qing practiced was not the common three thousand Chinese characters from books, but a worn-out rune copybook.

The rune copybook had three hundred and twenty-four pages, each with four runes, totaling one thousand two hundred and ninety-six rune characters. Every rune character had an exceptionally complex structure, with frequent subtle variations in strokes, making it even harder for Zheng Qing to practice.

Mr. Wu seemed still unsatisfied. He specially found a fine, soft brush for Zheng Qing and demanded that he learn one rune character each day. Anyone who practices calligraphy knows that hard-tipped pens are easy to write with, but soft-tipped ones are difficult. This fine, soft brush reduced Zheng Qing's physical fatigue but multiplied his mental exhaustion several times over.

These rune characters were not something to be learned and then forgotten. Under Mr. Wu's orders, there was a dictation every day, a small test every five days, and a big test every ten days. Failure to recite meant a slap with the ruler; failure in the test meant another slap with the ruler.

Mr. Wu declared that if he could not pass the ten-day big test, there was no need to come back.

Zheng Qing, haunted by the torment of his headaches, felt a deep fear and naturally became serious about his calligraphy practice.

And so, time passed in a flash for over three years. By the time Zheng Qing was twelve, he had memorized all the rune characters in the copybook thoroughly. And his headaches had not recurred for three years.

Over those three-plus years, the longer Zheng Qing stayed by Mr. Wu's side, the more anomalies he noticed.

For instance, Mr. Wu never seemed to eat anything.

He cooked excellent meals, full of color, aroma, and flavor, but the food he made was always enjoyed by Zheng Qing and the bookstore's Yellow Flower Cat. Zheng Qing never once saw Mr. Wu eat.

Another example: the Yellow Flower Cat in the shop was also very strange. When Zheng Qing was ten, this cat appeared from nowhere, slipped into the bookstore, and scurried around, refusing to leave. Mr. Wu didn't drive it away, so the cat brazenly settled in. Over time, Zheng Qing always felt it had become a spirit. He had seen the cat more than once pull the key to the attic from a drawer, stand upright, and use its claws to unlock the door to get dried fish. And the cat never hid this behavior; instead, it often waved its paw at him in greeting.

Most importantly, once Zheng Qing saw Mr. Wu beckon to his teapot, and the teapot, a full ten meters away, wobbled and floated into his hand.

The more he knew, the more awed he became. Zheng Qing's attitude toward Mr. Wu grew increasingly respectful.

A young boy's heart is always filled with all kinds of fantasies. So these anomalies slowly settled in his mind, became familiar, and eventually he took them for granted, paying them no mind.

Until his twelfth birthday, when Mr. Wu said he wanted to give Zheng Qing a gift.

It was a foggy morning. Mr. Wu took Zheng Qing's hand and told him to hold tight. Zheng Qing nervously gripped Mr. Wu's large hand. They left the bookstore, walked a few steps, and entered the garden of the residential complex.

On either side of the garden path were holly trees over a meter tall, neatly trimmed by the gardeners. Following the path, they turned left and right, passed through a circular archway, and the surrounding mist seemed to vanish instantly.

He was still thinking that he had never seen that archway in the garden before, when Mr. Wu let go of his hand, clasped his fists, and greeted a gaunt old man walking toward them.

Zheng Qing looked around. Before him was a quiet, ancient little street.

At the entrance of the street stood a memorial archway supported by two bare stone pillars. On the plaque above, three bold characters were inscribed: "Huizi Market."