Study medicine

After a night had passed, accompanied by faint, scattered sounds, Zhang Ling slowly opened his eyes. A soft humming lingered in his ears—the morning birdsong outside the house, which at this moment seemed especially clear. A delicate fragrance still lingered in his mouth.

He stepped out the door, stretched his body, and threw a few punches without thinking. After breakfast, he continued to practice several sets of boxing techniques he had learned from the book given by the old man in the white robe—simple routines, mostly used to lay the foundation for novice martial artists.

After two hours of practice, Zhang Jingqian led Zhang Ling to a medicinal field. Although Zhang Ling knew little about herbal medicine, he could recognize quite a few herbs. The field was well organized, with peony root, magnolia bark, patchouli, white cardamom, and many other herbs, each planted according to their properties and uses.

In fact, Zhang Ling had visited before. After all, he came from a business family, and not knowing what businesses his family owned would only make him a laughingstock.

What puzzled him was why he was suddenly brought to the medicinal field. Glancing at Zhang Jingqian, he saw his brother bending over, tending to the herbs.

“Brother, why did you bring me here all of a sudden?”

Zhang Jingqian straightened up, looked at him, and replied, “I brought you here to teach you medicine.”

Zhang Ling said, “Shouldn’t you be teaching me martial arts? Why medicine all of a sudden? Besides, I don’t even like this.” As he spoke, he kicked a stone at his feet, clearly uninterested.

Zhang Jingqian didn’t answer right away, his expression unreadable as he leaned on his walking stick, lost in thought. Just as Zhang Ling was about to poke him, Zhang Jingqian suddenly looked up, his face stern: “This… You must learn it. If not, you’ll have trouble in the future.”

Startled by his brother’s sudden change of demeanor, Zhang Ling didn’t dare ask more. This was the first time he’d seen his brother so serious. He nodded slightly in agreement.

Then Zhang Jingqian led him through the medicinal field, teaching him to recognize each herb and explaining their uses in great detail. Zhang Ling discovered that once he heard something, he could remember it instantly. In that moment, he realized that the so-called photographic memory was no exaggeration; with enough mental strength, ordinary knowledge could be retained after hearing it just once.

It was not until dusk that Zhang Jingqian finally stopped. Zhang Ling had long since grown impatient, despite nearly memorizing everything. Still, he couldn’t help but sigh—it really was a tedious affair, and he could hardly believe how he’d managed to endure endless rote learning in the past.

In the following days, besides his usual martial training, Zhang Ling was forced to memorize herbal properties, medical theories, and sometimes entire prescriptions. Occasionally, he accompanied Zhang Jingqian to the clinic to observe and learn.

Seeing was believing. Because of Zhang Jingqian’s renowned reputation, many people came to seek medical attention—most with minor ailments, though there were the occasional strange cases. Yet Zhang Jingqian’s skill was remarkable; common illnesses were cured almost instantly with a few needles, earning him widespread praise as a “living saint.” Zhang Ling, meanwhile, stood by and took careful notes.

However, Zhang Jingqian’s excellence left other clinics in dire straits. Many people came directly to his door, especially after he declared that anyone wishing to learn medicine could come and observe. Instantly, everyone changed their tone and fawned over him. For several days, nearly every clinic in Luochuan County closed their doors, and all their practitioners flocked here, eager to learn from Zhang Jingqian.

Before the clinic even opened in the morning, a crowd was already waiting outside, just to secure a good spot.

Zhang Ling scoffed, “Is this really necessary?”

Hearing this, everyone glared at him as if he were their enemy, ready to cut him to pieces.

Zhang Jingqian stepped forward to defuse the tension. When the crowd learned Zhang Ling was his brother, they immediately changed their tune, showering him with flattery. The intention was obvious; Zhang Ling felt nothing but disdain. This was human nature—driven by self-interest, people cared only for their own benefit. He saw himself as no different.

Another busy, uneventful day passed. After everyone had left, Zhang Ling yawned wearily. Looking at Zhang Jingqian, he saw his brother still tidying the medicine cabinet, full of energy and not the least bit tired.

He asked, “Brother, aren’t you tired after such a long day?”

Zhang Jingqian finished cleaning up the clinic, smiled, and replied, “For me, this is all routine. If you’re tired, go back and rest.”

“Aren’t you coming home?”

Glancing at the medicine cabinet, Zhang Jingqian said, “These past days, I’ve used up a lot of herbs treating patients. I’ll send someone to restock our supplies.”

So Zhang Ling returned to the family estate alone, utterly exhausted. He fell into bed and was asleep in moments.

Tonight was different. For Zhang Ling, whether he would remain in Luochuan or venture forth into the world—this night’s dream would decide it, though even he did not understand the true purpose of the Eye of the Heart.

Unconsciously, as he lay in bed, his spirit grew hazy. Before his eyes, a white light grew ever brighter, piercing, and his consciousness returned to itself.

Suddenly, he saw a small child appear before him—a chubby-cheeked, adorable boy, looking no more than four or five years old, kneeling on the ground. Before him was a Go board, black and white stones placed in bowls on either side.

Zhang Ling was at a loss, his brow furrowed, and he asked, “Where is this?”

The child replied, “In your dream.”

“In my dream? It feels quite real.” As he spoke, Zhang Ling moved his arm by sheer will, and found his thoughts clear, his actions under complete control.

The child explained, “This is not an ordinary dream, because you have practiced the Eye of the Heart.”

After a pause, the child continued softly, “So it should be called a heart-dream.”

“Are we to play Go?” Zhang Ling glanced at the board.

The child nodded, gesturing for Zhang Ling to sit. “You go first.”

Looking at the stones before him, Zhang Ling knew the black stones moved first. He had learned to play Go years ago, but lost interest when he found no one to play with. Now he wondered if he still remembered how.

Without hesitation, he placed his first stone on the star point in the lower right corner—a move he used to favor.

At once, the child responded, placing a stone at the three-six point, the best position for an opening attack.

Zhang Ling quickly placed another stone at the star point in the lower center, but after so long, his skills were rusty, and all he remembered was the importance of star points.

A few moves later, he was already cornered, while the child remained calm and unhurried, each move precise and pressing, forcing Zhang Ling into defeat after just a handful of stones.