Chapter Five: Slap Therapy for Clearing Muddled Minds—A Folk Remedy

“Brother Zhang, Brother Zhang, you—!”
“Sorry! Sorry!”
“Sorry—!”
“Alas! Sorry—”
…
Zhang Qian’s wild behavior had startled them all. Ren Cong and his band of cloth-heads hurried to steady him, shaking him vigorously.

Dragged back from the chaos of his thoughts by the clamor, Zhang Qian looked around through tear-filled eyes. Suddenly, the alcohol surged up, and the world spun before him. Instinctively, he clutched his head in his hands and collapsed weakly to a crouch!

Today’s blows had come too many, too quickly, and with crushing weight—far beyond what his spirit could bear.

Back then, Zhang Qian had scored thirty points above the minimum admissions line, yet chose to apply to Shaanxi Normal University, partly because teacher-training majors offered tuition waivers, and partly because the university’s new campus was said to be near Zhongnan Mountain, in Chang’an University Town.

But upon arrival, he learned the meaning of “the mountain you see is farther than you think.” Chang’an University Town boasted of being backed by Zhongnan Mountain, but in reality, it took an hour and a half by car to get there! The only prominent landmark truly nearby was the famous Xiangji Temple, right at the edge of the university town—practically a stone’s throw away.

And now, Ren Cong had just told him that he was near Xiangji Temple—on the north side of a certain mountain!

Wasn’t this location identical to that of Chang’an University Town?

So, after all this, had he merely traveled through time, not space? Was he still in the same place, just centuries or even millennia earlier?

Have you ever seen how mischievous children torment insects?

They find a glass bottle—once used for cola or Sprite—smear a thin layer of fragrant oil around the mouth, fill two-thirds with cold water, and set it upright in the sun.

Soon, greedy insects, lured by the scent, crawl around the rim. One by one, they slip and tumble inside, struggling frantically in the cold water until they drown.

Right now, Zhang Qian felt like one of those unfortunate insects. Just because he’d glanced at his phone while walking, he’d stumbled into a heavenly trap set by some cosmic prankster.

And to climb out of that bottle, to fly free again, seemed utterly impossible!

“Ren Quan, what’s wrong with the master?”
“Ren Quan, hurry and check on Brother Zhang—what’s wrong with him?”
“Ren Quan…”

A chorus of anxious voices buzzed around Zhang Qian, though he still couldn’t understand a word. It was Ren Cong and his cloth-head followers, distressed by the sight of Zhang Qian clutching his head in agony, urging the physician who had earlier tended his wounds to help once more.

“It must be an attack of phlegm after great joy and sorrow—his senses are clouded by phlegm!” Ren Quan, the family retainer with a blue round cap, pressed his hand against Zhang Qian’s neck and spoke loudly in words Zhang Qian couldn’t comprehend.

“Great joy and sorrow? What sorrow could the master feel? Didn’t he kill all the wolves? If we planned to steal his wolf pelts, we’d have done it already—why wait until now?” grumbled a bearded cloth-head, casting a skeptical glance at Ren Quan’s medical skills.

“Haven’t you heard? The master lost his way before, and now our young lord has helped him find it!” Before Ren Quan could reply, a scar-faced man interjected with his own “reasonable” explanation.

“People get lost all the time—when have you ever seen someone go mad over it?” The bearded man, ever the contrarian, turned to the scar-faced man and retorted.

“It’s simple! The master is no ordinary man! Haven’t you noticed his attire is like nothing we’ve ever seen?” The scar-faced man tilted his head in satisfaction, adding an air of mystery.

At these words, everyone began nodding.

From their first glimpse of Zhang Qian, they’d noticed his strange clothing, but since they were strangers and their young lord hadn’t commented, they’d all kept silent.

Now that the scar-faced man had broken the unspoken agreement, everyone felt free to speculate in hushed tones, convinced that Master Zhang couldn’t understand a word.

“Stop calling him master—he said himself he’s not!”
“If he’s not, why is his hair so short?”
“If he is, where’s his robe? He’s only wearing an undergarment!”
“That’s no undergarment—have you ever seen such fine, smooth fabric used for an undergarment?”
“Even if he’s not a master, he’s certainly no ordinary man. Who else’s trousers could withstand a wolf’s full attack?”
“Didn’t he say just now it’s made of sailcloth, like what herdboys wear?”
“And you believed him? You’re more gullible than a pig—he was just being modest! Have you ever seen a boat’s sail made from fabric like that?”
“Hush, keep your voices down—Ren Quan said the master’s mind is clouded by phlegm! He can’t take any more shocks!”
“You’re one to talk—your voice is louder than anyone’s!”
…
“Enough, quiet!” The uproar was giving Ren Cong a headache. He waved his arm sharply, ordering silence. “Ren Quan, is there any way to treat the master?”

“It’s difficult, very difficult!” Ren Quan, who had stayed out of the argument, shook his head solemnly. “The secret formula calls for calcined cinnabar, which can relieve such phlegmatic conditions. But we have none at hand, nor is there any in the manor.”

“That’s easily fixed—buy some in the city, at once!” Ren Cong, clearly from a wealthy family, was unhesitant when it came to spending money.

Ren Quan thought for a moment, then shook his head again. “Young lord, the city gates will close soon. Even if we hurry, it’s too late to buy cinnabar in Chang’an tonight. If we wait until tomorrow, the master’s mind may be completely blocked by phlegm—then…”

“Enough talk! Ren Five, Ren Six, you two, go to the city and buy cinnabar at once!” Ren Cong, now genuinely anxious, didn’t wait for Ren Quan to finish, but decisively gave the order. “Once you have it, get Guo’s second son to help, and get the cinnabar out of the city at any cost! Ren Quan, whatever other medicinal herbs are needed, tell them too!”

“Yes!” The two cloth-heads patrolling the mountain path on horseback answered in unison. So, their names weren’t “Person Five” and “Person Six,” but Ren Five and Ren Six!

“Young lord, wait!” Ren Quan, unwilling to let his young master act rashly, frowned and called out, “Chang’an has just endured a great upheaval—hundreds beheaded and the crown prince deposed. Breaking curfew and scaling the walls at night…”

“I said, at any cost.” Ren Cong shot him a look and interrupted in a low voice. “Have you forgotten why we’re here in the mountains today? I’ve searched for a great teacher for years, meeting only frauds and madmen. Today, thanks to Daoist Li’s guidance, I finally meet a true sage. If I miss this chance, I’ll regret it for life!”

Ren Quan wanted to remind him that Daoist Li was a fraud, but, recalling the lengths his young master had gone to in search of a mentor, he sighed and swallowed his words.

Daoist Li of Baiyun Temple in Chang’an might well be a swindler, but his young master Ren Cong’s desire for a true teacher was as sincere as could be.

Ever since the age of eight, his young lord had been obsessed with strange tales and legends, longing to become, like those in stories, the disciple of a hidden sage—a sword immortal who could fly at will and take lives from a thousand miles away. Over the years, he’d suffered all manner of hardships and spent a fortune, yet remained undeterred.

Fortunately, the old master Ren Qiong was skilled in business, and in addition to the income from their estates, earned large profits from shops in the city. Otherwise, even a mountain of gold wouldn’t have sufficed for the young lord’s extravagance!

And today, having received a tip from a descendant of Li Chunfeng, that there might be a sage in Zhongnan Mountain, the young lord had immediately gathered his trusted retainers and charged into the mountains. At first, everyone saw it as a lark, humorously indulging his fancy—who knew they’d encounter “Master Zhang” at the very foot of the mountain!

Compared to the usual conmen the young master invited home, this phlegm-clouded Master Zhang lacked the air of a transcendent, and was far too young besides. Yet, as the scar-faced man and others had said, his clothing was like nothing any of them had ever seen or heard of in their lives.

Though Master Zhang modestly claimed his trousers were made from a boat’s sail, Ren Quan, a seasoned family retainer who’d traveled far and wide with the family’s caravans, had never seen any sail made of such material. What’s more, the stitching on those trousers was finer than anything any tailor could achieve! (Naturally, since they were made with a sewing machine.)

In fact, of everyone present, Ren Quan’s observation of Zhang Qian was the keenest—even more so than the young master’s, who was single-mindedly seeking a mentor. Otherwise, Zhang Qian wouldn’t have mistaken him for a “dead chicken!”

“Ren Quan, what other herbs are needed? Tell Ren Five at once!” When Ren Quan neither spoke nor acted for a long moment, Ren Cong’s young master’s temper flared. He frowned and pressed him in a low voice.

“Yes, young lord!” Ren Quan, in his blue round cap, snapped out of his reverie. “I did not mean to delay—I just recalled another remedy!”

He glanced quickly at Zhang Qian’s strange yet clean and smooth undergarment (shirt) and the rare material of his belt (imitation leather), steeled himself, and stepped forward to whisper in Ren Cong’s ear: “Young lord, cinnabar would work, but getting in and out of the city takes time and may invite trouble. I remember another folk cure for phlegm that may prove even more effective!”

“Why didn’t you say so earlier!” Ren Cong glared at him, urging him on in a low voice. “Hurry up! Brother Zhang is clearly no ordinary man. The usual conmen boast wildly, afraid I won’t believe them. Only Brother Zhang wishes I’d treat him as a commoner!”

“This remedy only works if you, young lord, administer it yourself,” Ren Quan said, glancing again at Zhang Qian, still clutching his head in despair, and lowering his voice further. “The prescription says, for phlegm-clouded senses in the early stages, a sharp slap to the face can work wonders. The master’s just fallen ill—if you act now, it may be just in time!”