Baitou Village lay in a remote location, no more than a drop in the ocean across the magnificent territory of the Great Ren Dynasty.
As summer drew to an end, the sky darkened to deep blue. A young man returned from the fields with a hoe over his shoulder. He was seventeen or eighteen, with delicate features that gave him a feminine appearance. If not for his sun-darkened skin and tightly muscled, masculine build, many people would have mistaken him for a girl.
He entered a dilapidated small courtyard enclosed by yellow-earth walls. The courtyard was crude. Three old adobe rooms stood to the north, with firewood piled beneath the windows. On either side of the door, faded Spring Festival couplets still clung to the walls, and several characters could vaguely be made out: “Peace year after year.”
He leaned the hoe against the wall and began fussing with the Medicinal herbs laid out to dry in the courtyard.
His name was Li Qingshi. He was a farmer’s boy born and raised in Baitou Village. Orphaned at a young age, he had no family left but himself. Ten years earlier, he had taken an old, childless man who had returned to his hometown as his Master and learned medical skill from him. By now, he could diagnose and treat patients on his own, making him the village’s young physician.
He had only collected half the Medicinal herbs when a boy of fifteen or sixteen entered the courtyard. Seeing him, Li Qingshi called out, “Gouzi, you’re here.”
This was his best friend in the village, Li Gouzi by nickname. They had played together since childhood.
Li Gouzi stepped forward to help and said, “The medicine you prescribed for my mother last time is finished, so I came to have several more doses prepared.” After a pause, he added, “Is this minor stomachache really that hard to cure? She’s nearly finished twenty doses of medicine, but she still isn’t completely better.”
Li Qingshi said, “Haven’t you heard the saying? Illness comes like a landslide and leaves like silk being drawn out. Ten more doses should do the trick.”
Li Gouzi glanced at him, wondering why such a minor ailment would require twenty doses of medicine. Then he thought it over. Given their relationship, Brother Stone would never deceive him, even if he deceived everyone else. So he said no more.
What he did not know was that his mother’s stomach illness was nothing like the minor ailment he thought it was. In fact, it had already reached the terminal stage. In the words of Li Qingshi’s Master, apart from the two of them, there was no third person in this world capable of curing her.
Everyone within ten li of the village knew that Baitou Village had exceptionally favorable feng shui. Thus, the villagers never suffered serious illnesses. Whenever someone occasionally came down with a minor headache or fever, the village’s one old and one young folk physicians could cure it, so there was no need to seek medical treatment or medicine elsewhere.
Yet no one had ever noticed that the village’s feng shui had only improved after the folk physician, who was so old that he had just four or five teeth left, arrived.
Nor could they be blamed. Whenever someone sought treatment from that old and young master-and-disciple pair, they casually prescribed a formula, and the patient recovered as soon as the medicine took effect. If an illness was that easy to cure, how could it be serious?
Li Qingshi did not tell Li Gouzi the truth because he was afraid of making him worry. His Master was right: it was better for people to remain confused. There was no need to let them know what illness they had, because that would only make treatment more difficult.
Li Gouzi asked, “Are we still going to Qingshui City tomorrow?”
Li Qingshi said, “Of course. Why wouldn’t we go? We’ll look around tomorrow first. If there’s no problem, we’ll also scout out a place.”
Li Gouzi said, “You’re really planning to open a medical clinic in the city? I think you should think it over some more. You need twenty doses of medicine just to cure my mother’s minor stomachache. City people are precious. If you end up making someone worse, you won’t just have to pay compensation—you might even wind up in a Prison Cell.”
Li Qingshi laughed. “If I make them worse, I’ll just run away. It’s no big deal.”
After preparing the medicine, Li Qingshi saw Li Gouzi off and sauntered out of the house, humming a strange little tune he had learned from his Master: “My expression carefree, medicine box opened, movements light and free—you can’t learn it…”
That disrespectful old man of a Master was always humming strange little tunes and sometimes spouting unfamiliar new words. Li Qingshi had secretly asked around in Qingshui City, but even the experienced and knowledgeable storytellers had never heard of those songs or novel expressions. This made him feel even more certain that he had not misjudged the old man. He was absolutely an Expert with vast experience!
…
Night fell.
In a secluded spot east of Baitou Village stood a solitary small courtyard. Yellow-earth walls enclosed two thatched huts. In front of the huts grew an elm tree as thick as a sea bowl, and beneath it sat a large wooden tub.
Li Qingshi was covered in Bloodstain, his body marred by countless horrifying wounds. His head was especially gruesome, with the flesh at the back of his skull mangled and the skull itself smashed to pieces. Relying on his powerful will, he climbed into the wooden tub and slid into the pitch-black medicinal liquid of unknown composition.
This was one of his compulsory daily exercises: taking a beating.
Not far away stood a simple wooden table. An old man sat beside it drinking wine.
The old man’s chest and belly were bare. He was skinny as a rake, and the few short whiskers beneath his chin were yellow, sparse, and withered like frost-struck weeds.
He used a dish of oil-fried peanuts as a drinking snack. Humming a little tune, he pinched a peanut into his mouth, raised a white bowl, and took a sip of wine. He grimaced, revealing the few yellow teeth he had left.
He was Li Qingshi’s Master—the folk physician whose medical ability seemed utterly ordinary in the eyes of the villagers.
When Li Qingshi was eight, he was drawing water beside the village well when he saw a ragged, emaciated old man enter the village with a precious sword on his back.
No matter how one looked at him, the old man clearly resembled an undernourished country farmer who had spent most of his life laboring. Yet Li Qingshi, who loved listening to Jianghu stories, somehow felt that the man possessed an immortal bearing.
He ran over to speak with him. The old man said that he had left home when he was young, wandered the Jianghu all his life, and had now grown tired of it. He had returned to seal his sword and live in seclusion.
His weathered appearance made him seem even more like an Expert.
Thus, Li Qingshi, whose greatest thought in life was to master excellent martial arts, made his decision on the spot, bowed deeply, and took the old man as his Master. He then became the old man’s disciple.
The villagers all said he had been deceived. The old man was no Jianghu master at all, and they listed plenty of evidence.
For example, the old man, whose name was Liu Beidou, claimed that Baitou Village was his hometown, yet none of the oldest villagers recognized him.
For example, he had only four or five unreliable yellow teeth left, and air whistled through his speech. How could a master possibly look like that?
For example, he was a disrespectful old man. Whenever he saw a voluptuous woman, he would repeatedly rake his eyes over certain parts of her body. Where was the bearing of an Expert in that?
Actually, Li Qingshi had never seen Old Liu display even the slightest bit of martial arts over all these years. But he figured that anyone who possessed such unfathomable medical skill should know at least some martial arts… right?
With his skull smashed to pieces, he should have been certain to die by all ordinary reasoning. Yet after roughly half an hour, Li Qingshi, who had been in a semiconscious state, recovered.
He let out a long breath and said, “Old Liu, you said taking beatings every day would Reforge the Bone Constitution. It’s been ten years. When will it be finished? When can you start teaching me to cultivate martial arts?”
In the ten years since taking him as a disciple, the old man had mostly taught him medical skill. As for martial arts, he had taught him only two things: stance training and taking beatings.
The old man tossed a peanut into his mouth and chewed it noisily, replying impatiently, “You ask every day, every day. Didn’t I say it’s almost done? What’s the hurry?”
Li Qingshi glared at him. “My greatest thought in life is to learn martial arts. You know that. Can’t I even ask?”
When he had first become his disciple, he had properly called him Master. But after discovering that the old man possessed not the slightest bit of Elderly dignity, he gradually stopped observing formalities.
The old man ignored him and continued drinking happily.
Li Qingshi put on a fawning smile. “Old Liu, tell me the truth. Do you actually know martial arts or not? Don’t worry. Even if you don’t, just based on the medical skill you’ve taught me, I’ll support you in old age and see you through to the end!”
The old man pretended not to hear him, raised his wine bowl, and said, “Want a sip?”
Li Qingshi cursed, “Damn your grandfather! Can I drink in my current condition?”
The old man gave a sly chuckle.
About two hours later, Li Qingshi emerged from the medicinal tub. Every wound on his body had vanished strangely, and even the completely shattered back of his skull had been restored perfectly.
Beside the table, the withered old man was slightly drunk. With a pair of misty old eyes, he muttered, “I feel like dancing at a nightclub.”