Chen Jue walked while clearing the path with his firewood knife. Judging by the surrounding plants, this area was located in North China. Due to sparse human habitation, the mountain forest grew luxuriantly, lush and verdant in early May of the solar calendar. Low shrubs intertwined with vine plants, and clusters of dodder grass were tightly entangled.
Chen Jue stepped over what he could stride across, and used his knife to cut through what he couldn’t. The firewood knife in his hand resembled an oversized No. 12 scalpel, curved at the front with a 4-centimeter horizontal extension two-thirds of the way down. This design allowed it to chop wood vertically and cut through vines horizontally—quite practical.
Chen Jue quickly got the hang of it. Using the tip of the knife, he gathered a portion, rolled it into a ball, and tossed it into the basket on his back. This was a medicinal herb, not particularly valuable but useful.
When passing a ridge, he dug up a few roots of Yejiaoteng (Night-crossing Vine) from the shaded slope.
Both Tusizi (Dodder Seed) and Yejiaoteng were herbs for calming the nerves and aiding sleep.
If it were autumn or winter, Suanzaoren (Sour Date Seed) and Baiziren (Platycladus Seed) would be better, but the season wasn’t right now. He planned to search for any stored herbs when he returned home.
Post-war stress trauma was a psychological illness. Chen Jue wasn’t a psychologist, but he could prepare some calming medicine for Zhou Qingshan to drink.
With good sleep, a person would naturally feel refreshed.
He also intended to prepare a portion for himself, hoping to avoid nightmares at night.
Having lain in bed for three days, Chen Jue’s body was still somewhat weak, so he rested under a tree around noon.
It was unclear how many years this mountain range had existed, but it hadn’t been completely cleared by villagers for firewood. Not only were there many remaining tree species, but also numerous thick, towering trees that blocked out the sky.
Chen Jue leaned against a large, sturdy tree.
He placed the basket in front of him—it was already more than half-filled with medicinal herbs. In modern times, selling these to herb collectors could fetch about 100 yuan, but here, he wasn’t sure how many copper coins they’d be worth.
He had some idea of the prices. On the day the doctor was called, he’d heard the consultation fee demanded.
One hundred copper coins—that was just the consultation fee. Because she was pregnant, no medicine was prescribed, saving a sum of silver.
A doctor’s visit cost a hundred copper coins, roughly equivalent to a hundred yuan. This price was fair, considering the doctor had come from a neighboring village.
Money was easy to spend, but digging for herbs was hard work. Chen Jue instinctively wanted to support his waist—he felt that this morning of herb digging was more exhausting than standing through a full day of surgery.
Chen Jue took several gulps of warm water. The water pouch hung on the wall, made of material that looked quite good with insulating properties. Chen Jue had no other options, so he washed it thoroughly and used it.
He gnawed on the sorghum-corn-wild vegetable Wowo-tou (Steamed Corn Bun) Uncle Liu had made yesterday. Though it scratched his throat, it was still better than the porridge he’d cooked himself.
Chen Jue was hungry, so he swallowed it bite by bite.
While organizing his thoughts on the herbs’ next steps, the original owner had stored the herbs without selling them, waiting for Huo Lin to return. But now that Huo Lin wouldn’t be coming back, he had to sell them himself.
To whom? To the county town. On foot, it would take him two shichen—that was four hours one way, eight hours round trip, consuming an entire day.
Pingshan Village was surrounded by mountains on three sides, tightly enclosed.
The only road to the county town was blocked by a river, requiring a winding, circuitous route—very far. In the past, people had likely fled here to this secluded paradise to escape war.
Although the straight-line distance to the county town was only half an hour away, the actual journey took two hours.
Chen Jue gazed helplessly at the winding mountain path below. Everything had two sides—a secluded paradise offered breathtaking scenery and a refuge from the world, but it was also difficult to leave.
Poor roads meant no prosperity, which was likely why this village appeared so dilapidated and impoverished.
Their ancestors might have sought seclusion, but where could one truly hide in times of chaos?
Hadn’t they still been conscripted for military service?
When the enemy reached their doorstep, no one could escape unscathed—just as the lips are gone, the teeth feel the cold.
Chen Jue thought of Huo Lin, who had died in the war, and sighed inwardly on his behalf.
He felt somewhat guilty for taking Huo Lin’s water pouch and occupying his home.
But he needed to survive in this place.
Chen Jue continued to ponder the prospects of these medicinal herbs.
The county town was hard to reach, and the villagers likely wouldn’t buy them, as they weren’t in that trade.
From Uncle Liu’s account, he learned that many in the village recognized medicinal herbs, but few relied on them to support their families. In these times, food was the top priority, and most of their efforts went into growing crops.
As outsiders without land, Huo Lin’s family had no choice but to hunt in the mountains and gather herbs on the side, as the small plot they had cleared yielded little grain.
Selling to herbal shops was troublesome, and processing the herbs was even more so.
Many didn’t know how to handle traditional Chinese medicine properly, and poorly processed herbs fetched low prices at shops.
As for precious herbs like century-old ginseng or millennium lingzhi mushrooms—coveted by all—they grew in remote, inaccessible places, most of which were dangerous.
Zhou Qingshan’s father had fallen off a cliff while herb gathering and was carried back by Old Man Huo. Old Man Huo himself had been attacked by a bear, losing half his life, and hadn’t lived long after returning.
Ultimately, herb gathering was a difficult trade. The villagers understood this well—risking one’s life for herbs wasn’t worth it. It was better to diligently farm and secure a steady food supply.
But Chen Jue had no better way to make a living. He knew how to eat grains but not how to grow them; he could use advanced technology but not create it, let alone inventions like the Four Great Inventions.
He had once dreamed of leveraging his modern advantages to make a name for himself in this backward ancient era—to achieve greatness and leave a lasting legacy.
But all those grand ambitions were shattered by the pot of porridge he had clumsily cooked that morning.
That was reality.
Aspiring high but lacking skill.
All talk and no action.
Reality, like three towering mountains, blocked his path forward.
His only skill was medicine. Yet to earn money as a physician, he would need to practice at a major clinic. In ancient times, the process of becoming a licensed physician was extremely strict—aside from family traditions, it relied on masters taking on apprentices, who would need five to ten years before they could practice independently. Outsiders were rarely accepted.
Even itinerant physicians required official certification from the authorities. This applied to both female physicians and imperial physicians.
Given the scarcity of female physicians in ancient times—aside from those serving the palace—there was hardly any such profession. In folk settings, they were referred to as "three aunties and six grannies," including medical grannies, Daoist nuns, and midwives.
Midwives, however, weren’t classified as medical practitioners. They weren’t considered professional physicians—they could assist in childbirth but not diagnose or treat illnesses.
The medical profession was monopolized in ancient times.
The herbal medicine trade was much the same.
Just like pharmaceutical companies today, which are state-controlled and not something anyone can just set up, they are overseen by national regulatory bodies.
Hospitals are the same.
Although Dean Chen's hospital is privately owned, it has been gradually becoming more public over the years, especially after Huachen Pharmaceutical took a 30% stake.
Dean Chen holds 21%, Director Zhou holds 10%, and with his own 5%, they barely balance out Huachen Pharmaceutical.
From this shareholding ratio, it’s clear that the Huo family behind Huachen Pharmaceutical already held a significant stake in their hospital. As a result, the Huo family wielded considerable influence in every medical research meeting.
Many of the research topics he proposed, including his opinions, were mostly outright rejected by Huo Jilin.
Chen Jue chewed the crushed corn cake, forcing it down his throat.
The person he used to be was dead; there was no need to dwell on it anymore.
Nor should he think about those people who made him feel repulsed.
Chen Jue ate three corn, wild vegetable, and bean flour Wowo-tou (Steamed Corn Bun) in a row before the burning sensation in his stomach finally subsided.
He didn’t get up immediately, knowing that after digesting for a while, he would start vomiting.
Chen Jue blew on a handful of wild strawberries he had picked along the way and, as the nausea surged, placed them one by one into his mouth.
Leaning halfway against a sturdy tree trunk, he swallowed them slowly.
He had deliberately chosen unripe wild strawberries, which already smelled sour before biting into them. After biting, the sour and astringent taste intensified, effectively suppressing the feeling of nausea.
Chen Jue leaned against the rough bark of the tree, watching ants in the grass nest moving the crumbs he had dropped while eating the Wowo-tou.
Once the ants had carried away all the crumbs he had dropped, Chen Jue stood up and continued searching for food.
Acorns contained tannic acid and were troublesome to process, so they weren’t within his consideration.
The edible plants at the front of the mountain had been mostly picked by the villagers. The half basket he had dug up consisted mostly of medicinal herbs, which couldn’t be turned into food anytime soon.
By the latter half of the day, Chen Jue had come to terms with reality. The meat, fish, and eggs he had talked about before coming up the mountain had only materialized in one form. He had found a nest of wild bird eggs in the grass, each smaller than a chicken egg. There were five of them, hardly enough to fill the gaps between his teeth.
Aside from that, there was nothing else. He couldn’t catch any wild birds at all.
As for staple foods like yams and potatoes, they were hard to find, and it wasn’t even certain whether potatoes were available at this time.
Potatoes, also known as sweet potatoes, were introduced from abroad, but not at the same time as regular sweet potatoes. He had seen sweet potato vines in the vegetable patch earlier but hadn’t spotted any potatoes.
That meant there were no potatoes.
In the end, Chen Jue had no choice but to settle for the next best option: finding food among medicinal herbs.
He gathered some wild kudzu roots halfway up the mountain but didn’t take too many. It wasn’t the right season. Although the roots were thick at this time, it was the flowering season, and it was best to leave them until autumn for harvesting, when their starch content would be highest.
Chen Jue noted the location of this small patch of wild kudzu roots, then shouldered his full basket and headed down the mountain.
The sun was already hanging over the mountaintop. He needed to return before sunset. Although he was only in the first range of mountains, he still had to hurry back. Being new here and unfamiliar with the depths of the mountains, it was better to be cautious.
As the sun completely sank below the mountain ridge, Chen Jue caught sight of the three small stone huts.
He breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of these three huts, feeling a sense of familiarity. However, this feeling vanished the moment he stepped into the courtyard, as a large rooster from the tree pounced into his basket.
It weighed a full ten pounds, and with such a fierce pounce, even though Chen Jue was tall, he was nearly spun around by it.
Chen Jue said angrily, "The sun has set, why aren't you going back to your nest? Are you in such a hurry to end up in the pot?"
He was just talking; the rooster, which had practically become a spirit, snatched a wild kudzu root from his basket and fluttered up to its nest in the tree, making it impossible for him to catch it.
As Chen Jue passed by the suspended chicken coop near the woodshed, he glanced at the hen sleeping curled up inside. This was a normal chicken—crowing at dawn and returning to its nest at dusk.
For dinner that evening, Chen Jue boiled two pheasant eggs and steamed two Wowo-tou (Steamed Corn Buns) over water.
He had given up trying to cook porridge.
By the time Chen Jue finished preparing the meal, a slender Waxing Crescent Moon had already appeared in the sky outside.
By the light of this crescent moon, Chen Jue sat on a stool at the doorway and ate his meal.
He couldn’t afford to light the oil lamp at the moment, so he simply didn’t.
Over the past three days, he had learned to chew slowly and swallow carefully—it helped keep the nausea at bay.
The two pheasant eggs carried their distinctive gamey flavor, but Chen Jue managed to swallow them down with the spicy pickled vegetables Uncle Liu had given him.
His stomach churned for a while, but in the end, hunger won out, forcing his body to absorb the meager nutrients without making him vomit again.
Once the meal had settled completely, Chen Jue rinsed his mouth with saltwater and washed up briefly in the basin fed by bamboo pipes. Salt was running low—in ancient times, salt was an expensive commodity, especially in the north, where the cost of transporting it from the south was prohibitively high.
After selling the medicinal herbs, he would still need to buy salt. There were too many things to buy.
Food, daily necessities, clothing.
For summer, autumn, winter—for himself, and for the child?
Now there was an extra child to consider—baby formula, diapers?
Xinhe, why did you have to take on so much?
Chen Jue closed his eyes and forced himself to sleep.
It started as a forced effort, but at some point, he truly drifted off—almost as soon as his eyes shut.
He was exhausted today. Or perhaps it was just the time when pregnant women become prone to drowsiness.
Author's Note:
None