Chapter Fifteen: Don't Judge by the Advertisement, Judge by the Results

Zhang Qian himself was startled by the patient's reaction. He had used medicated oil since childhood, and to him, it had only three main purposes: first, to relieve itching from insect bites; second, to invigorate himself when feeling drowsy; and third, as a deodorizer in the latrine. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that this oil could also work miracles in rousing someone from unconsciousness.

Yet, reflecting on how he had just treated the patient, Zhang Qian no longer found it so surprising. The patient was burning with fever and dehydrated, locked away in a stifling room with no fresh air. Upon entering, Zhang Qian had first ordered Ren Cong to poke holes in the window, then replenished the patient with electrolytes and water. With the potent stimulation of the medicated oil on the nerve endings, it followed naturally that the patient should regain consciousness.

"Don’t start crying just yet—there’s a lot left to do. This is only the first step!" He nudged the already tearful Ren Cong with the tip of his shoe and barked, "Those two pills just now are mainly to reduce the fever and relieve pain. They should take effect in about twenty minutes. Go and fetch the strongest liquor you can find, and also prepare a large bucket of saline solution with boiled water. If the medicine doesn’t bring down the fever enough, we’ll have to use physical methods to do so."

He spoke in modern Chinese, mentioning minutes, fever reduction, and physical cooling—words Ren Cong could not possibly understand. However, having witnessed his father being pulled back from death’s door by just two drops of Zhang Qian’s miraculous green medicine, the chubby youth had already come to regard him as a living immortal. He leapt to his feet and shouted toward the main hall, "Quick, the master says bring all the liquor in the manor! And salt—bring all the salt to dissolve in water!"

"Only the strongest—" Zhang Qian rolled his eyes in exasperation, hurried after him, and gave him a sharp slap on the back of the head. He corrected loudly, "Not so much! Just the strongest liquor, half a bucket is enough. And not so much saline, either—just fill half a bathing tub with hot water and dissolve the salt in it. Go yourself, and don’t get in my way here. Also, from now on, anyone entering must first rinse their mouth, wash their hands, and wash their face with saline!"

"Yes, yes!" At this point, even if Zhang Qian had ordered him to walk through fire or blades, Ren Cong would not have hesitated for an instant. He agreed at once and dashed out at full speed.

Worried that he might blunder in his rush, the family guard Ren Quan hurried after him. Lady Ren Yingying, the young mistress, quickly wiped away her tears, stepped to the doorway, dropped to her knees, and cried out in penance, "Master, I was blind and wrong to doubt you before. My guilt is beyond atonement. If you can save my father, I am yours to command!"

"First of all, I am not a master. As for the rest, let’s wait until your father is truly out of danger—" Zhang Qian frowned, responding offhandedly. Midway through, he realized she might not understand, so he shook his head and switched to the local vernacular, "Let’s discuss everything else after your father has truly been rescued. Also, have someone retrieve my clothes, belt, and shoes. That’s my only set—I need to keep them as a memento!"

"Master, rest assured! I’ll look for them at once!" Steward Ren Fu was beside himself with regret and hastened to agree. Had he known Zhang Qian was a true sage, he would never have instructed the maids to confiscate his belongings. Compared to the life of the estate’s master, those strangely made clothes and shoes—even if successfully copied—would bring negligible profit.

"Master, do you mean my father hasn’t truly awakened yet?" Lady Ren Yingying, however, was entirely fixated on the word "truly" in Zhang Qian’s reply. Her face turned pale as she lifted the curtain and anxiously called in.

"Stop lifting the curtain! You’ll bring in infection!" Zhang Qian was about to use scissors to cut away the cocoon-like bandages on Ren Qiong’s arm, but hearing the commotion, he quickly turned and scolded her.

Then, realizing that no one in this era understood the concept of germs, he frowned and explained further, "Your father is currently in a semi-comatose state—his groans are unconscious, he’s not aware of them, nor can he hear you. Whether we can save him depends first on bringing down his fever, and second, on whether the infection in his wound—that is, what you call evil energy—can be dissolved by medicine."

He hadn’t felt tired administering medicine to the patient earlier, but explaining the patient’s condition to Ren Yingying left him sweating. Fortunately, the "quack" Sun Anzu, who possessed somewhat more medical knowledge than Ren Yingying, was present. Seeing Zhang Qian struggling with explanations, Sun Anzu stepped in to help: "Reducing the fever is what we call dispelling the evil heat. The wound from the arrow itself wasn’t serious, and the shaft was pulled out immediately. The problem was with the festering, the evil energy contaminating the blood. If we can dispel the evil heat, it means halting the advance of evil energy. But that is merely treating the symptoms. To truly cure him, we must use medicine to dissolve the evil, stop the pus, and bring down the swelling in his arm. Master, is my explanation correct?"

The last sentence was directed to Zhang Qian, with utmost respect. Zhang Qian, hearing this, felt that only half of it was correct, but couldn’t think of better words to correct him. He could only smile wryly and nod, "The imperial physician is right. Earlier, I was impatient and spoke rashly. Please forgive me!"

"Not at all, not at all!" Sun Anzu was so startled he waved his hands in denial. "You honor me too much, Master. My skills are a pale shadow of yours. To receive your instruction is a blessing I scarcely deserve—I would never dream of holding a grudge."

Physicians of this era were all somewhat connected to Daoism. His great-grandfather, Sun Simiao, was both a legendary healer and a renowned Taoist. Thus, to Sun Anzu, Zhang Qian’s ability to produce such refined elixirs—and to revive Ren Qiong from the brink with just two drops—marked him as a true Immortal.

And as everyone knew, the age of a true Immortal could not be judged by appearances. Many cultivators of legend who had lived for centuries could revert to the appearance of youths. Before him stood an Immortal Master with the power to restore the dead, bearing the youthful looks of a seventeen-year-old—surely one who had returned to youth. In that case, Sun Anzu saw no shame in considering himself the junior.

"I truly am not an Immortal Master, nor am I older than you!" Zhang Qian’s scalp prickled at being treated as a senior by a white-bearded old man. He hurriedly set down his scissors and raised his voice in protest.

"Yes, Master, I understand! On the path to the Dao, age matters not—the accomplished go first!" Sun Anzu blinked, then quickly filled in the gaps with his own interpretation.

According to Daoist lore, some prodigies were born with all their meridians open, could comprehend the Dao as teenagers, and ascend to immortality in broad daylight. Clearly, Master Zhang before him was one such prodigy.

"I’m not some accomplished one, either!" Zhang Qian stomped his foot in frustration, then shook his head helplessly. "Forget it—think what you like! I refuse to admit I’m an Immortal Master or some great sage. I just happened to arrive here, and it was just luck that I had a few pills with me!"

"I understand, Master. It was just luck, just luck!" Sun Anzu nodded solemnly.

If the Immortal Master refused to admit his identity, it must be because he wished to undergo tempering in the mortal world, to refine his Dao heart. As for the mention of only a few pills, that was a pre-emptive barrier to keep commoners from pestering him in the future. These medicines could only be bestowed upon the destined; for those without fate, even if they begged, he would have long since run out.

Once the mind has gone astray, nine oxen cannot pull it back. Sun Anzu was now in that state; no matter what Zhang Qian said, he could relate it all to Daoist mysteries.

‘You understand nothing! If you really did, you’d figure out how to send me back to the twenty-first century and I’d hand over all my cash and bank cards, passwords included!’ Seeing Sun Anzu’s expression, Zhang Qian knew the misunderstanding had only deepened, and cursed inwardly.

But he also knew that the more he tried to explain, the deeper the misunderstanding would become. So, he decided not to waste any more words, heaved a sigh, pointed outside, and loudly ordered Sun Anzu and Ren Yingying, "Enough—both of you come lend a hand. First, go wash your hands and faces with saline, and rinse your mouths. In a quarter of an hour—" He glanced at the groaning Ren Qiong, whose moaning was gradually subsiding, then continued, "—in a quarter of an hour, we’ll try to clean his wound again."

On the sickbed, a sheen of sweat had begun to form on Ren Qiong’s forehead, and his breathing was gradually becoming steadier.