"I still have two older brothers back home, so my father doesn't need to worry about carrying on the family line."
Qin Sang tried his best to flatter him. "Daoist Priest, with such profound knowledge and exceptional medical skills, you must have been someone extraordinary in the past. What did you do before?"
"This humble Daoist has been a priest since childhood. However..."
Daoist Priest Jixin took a sip of tea, looked toward Mingyue, and said leisurely, "Your grandmaster—that is, my master—was once an imperial physician. He, too, was once high-spirited and full of ambition, but unexpectedly prescribed the wrong medicinal herb once and was nearly beheaded. Heartbroken and disheartened after being expelled from the palace, he entered the Daoist priesthood and took the Daoist name Yunyouzi. My Daoist name was given 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, you must deliberate carefully before writing prescriptions and administering medicines. Never be careless."
Mingyue swallowed the pastry in his mouth and said solemnly, "This disciple understands."
"So Daoist Priest comes from such a distinguished lineage!"
Full of admiration, Qin Sang refilled Jixin's tea. "Since Grandmaster served as an imperial physician and walked among the forbidden palace halls, 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 Master was an imperial physician, he heard many rumors saying that Immortal Masters once came and went from the palace, keeping company with the royal family and high nobility. Wealth, lust, fame, and profit blind the eyes. To this humble Daoist's mind, those so-called Immortal Masters could hardly escape human passions and desires either; they cannot be considered truly transcendent."
Qin Sang was taken aback.
His ingrained impression of immortal cultivators was of beings who drank morning dew, dined on mist and clouds, and secluded themselves among famous mountains, great rivers, and blessed grottos—where a single dream spanned a thousand years, untainted by worldly affairs, rarely appearing before ordinary mortals.
Yet he was mistaken!
Could it be that he had to go to the capital to try his luck?
As if seeing through Qin Sang's thoughts, Daoist Priest Jixin punctured his hopes: "Put away such wishful thinking. Master served as an imperial physician for over thirty years, entering and leaving the imperial palace and princely mansions daily, yet he never saw an Immortal Master with his own eyes—only heard a few legends. Besides, if there really were immortal destinies to be found in the capital, wouldn't the imperial princes and royal scions fight tooth and nail over them? Would your turn ever come?"
...
Gazing up at the bright moon, listening to the master and disciple chanting scriptures, Qin Sang sat on his bed in silence for a long time before letting out a wry chuckle.
If immortal destiny were so easy to encounter, wouldn't everyone in this world be able to become an immortal? At any rate, he still had the Nether Scripture; there was still a glimmer of hope.
With this realization, Qin Sang set aside his unrealistic fantasies for the time being, focusing his mind on contemplating the Nether Scripture.
Before he knew it, winter had arrived. The old Daoist took in several refugee families, bringing much liveliness to the temple.
Suddenly, the first snow fell upon the mountains.
The peaks turned white overnight. Qin Sang followed the master and disciple down the mountain to offer free medical consultations. Seeing the refugees frozen to death by the roadside, he could not help but feel pity. The old Daoist sighed. As a poor old Daoist with only a few old rooms in Qingyang Temple, how many homeless people could he shelter?
They could only do what little lay within their power.
Qin Sang squatted by a stone hollow tending the fire. In the pot was a full brew of cold-dispelling herbs simmering into medicinal soup to distribute to the refugees.
Tending the fire absentmindedly, Qin Sang constantly recited the Nether Scripture in his heart.
By now, he had memorized the Nether Scripture inside and out, deliberating over every line countless times. In the past few days, he had not altered a single word of his translation, feeling he had attained a deep enough understanding of the Nether Scripture. He planned to begin cultivation tonight!
The snow had not yet melted, and with a bright moon hanging high, the night was as clear as day.
The several families lodging at the temple were squeezed into the front rooms, while Qin Sang still lived alone, free from worry about being discovered.
He formed a hand seal and sat cross-legged, calming his mind into meditation according to the instructions in the Nether Scripture, attempting to cultivate.
Though the text was completely clear in his mind, after sitting dryly for several hours, he still could not cross the threshold. Not only could he not quiet his mind, but stray thoughts sprouted uncontrollably. Growing anxious, he tried to eliminate the distractions in his mind, only to suddenly realize that this very thought was itself a distraction.
Dawn was approaching, yet Qin Sang was still unable to reach the state described in the scripture—where the heart was still as water and the spirit was stored within the body. Since he had to go down the mountain for the free clinics tomorrow, he had no choice but to stop for now.
Down the mountain for free clinics by day, cultivating by night, and practicing his fist routines morning and evening, Qin Sang's days were monotonous yet fulfilling.
By this time, he had already realized that whether the Nether Scripture was a martial arts manual or an immortal cultivation chant, it would never be easy to master. He had to have sufficient patience.
Returning from another day of free consultations, Qin Sang was in his room contemplating the Nether Scripture when he saw Mingyue running up breathlessly, carrying two bowls of porridge.
"Senior Brother, Master says the herbs in the temple are running low. He's going up the mountain to gather herbs tomorrow, and told you to pack your bags and go with him."
Qin Sang paused and looked out toward the distant mountains. The snow had stopped seven days ago, and today was clear and cloudless. After today, the snow on the mountains should all have melted.
Providing free clinics down the mountain required boiling several pots of medicinal soup each day, which consumed herbs rapidly. No wonder he had to gather more.
Even if the snow was gone, there might still be ice on the paths. Qin Sang was also worried about letting the old Daoist go up the mountain to gather herbs alone, so he readily agreed. After wolfing down his porridge, he returned to his room to pack.
In truth, aside from things like the ebony sword, he had few possessions. Mingyue prepared the herb-gathering tools and provisions, while Qin Sang bundled a set of padded cotton clothes with strips of cloth and packed a pair of thick padded shoes—that was his entire luggage.
The next day, before dawn, Qin Sang set out with the old Daoist.
Mount Cuiming was manageable, with a path beaten out by foot traffic. Once off Mount Cuiming and venturing deeper, it became pure wilderness. One had to follow animal tracks through overgrown weeds that grew as high as a person. Even in broad daylight, Qin Sang could not tell where they were going and could only follow in the old Daoist's footsteps.
Climbing from the valley up to the mountainside, winding around along a narrow path on the cliff edge, descending and ascending again, it was not until midday that they arrived at the foot of the fabled Mount Huanghuang.
Walking on such roads, Qin Sang slipped several times, his heart pounding in fear, yet the old Daoist remained as steady as Mount Tai. Qin Sang could not help but wonder which of them was the young man.
Their schedule was tight, as they had to return to the temple by tomorrow evening, so as soon as they climbed Mount Huanghuang, they set about gathering herbs without stopping to catch their breath.
Hearing the eerie roars echoing from the mountain forest from time to time, Qin Sang's heart tightened. He muttered to himself, *Don't tell me I'll fail to find immortals and end up in a tiger's belly instead?* As they walked, he asked softly, "Daoist Priest, coming so deep into the mountains to gather herbs, aren't you afraid of being eaten by tigers and wolves?"
"I have encountered mountain wolves before, but this humble Daoist has beast-repelling powder passed down from my master, which helps a bit."
The old Daoist replied nonchalantly, poking through the wild grass with his herb hoe. "The herbs outside were picked clean long ago, so one must venture into the mountains. Besides, don't you have martial arts to protect yourself? What are you afraid of?"
Holding a wooden staff in his hand, Qin Sang could not help feeling a bit embarrassed. "Daoist Priest, don't tease me. My meager bit of shallow skill isn't anything to show off."
The old Daoist gave a chuckle. "The fist routine Mingyue's been learning from you seemed to leave something wanting. Is it incomplete?"
"You have sharp eyes, Daoist Priest," Qin Sang said. "This Tiger-Subduing Long Fist was taught to me by the big brother who saved my life. He only had time to teach me three stances. But this style is very common; in a while, when I go consult an escort agency in the city, I should be able to complete it."
Chapter 12