Chapter 12: Gathering Herbs

“I still have two elder brothers at home; my father needn't worry about continuing the family line.”

Qin Sang worked hard to please him. “Daoist Master, you possess such profound knowledge and superb medical skills. Your former identity must have been quite extraordinary. What did you originally do?”

“This poor Daoist has been a priest since childhood, but...”

Daoist Jixin took a sip of tea and looked up at the bright moon, saying leisurely, “Your Grandmaster—that is, my master—was once an imperial physician. He was once high-spirited and ambitious, but unexpectedly, he misapplied a single ingredient in a prescription and nearly faced execution. After being expelled from the palace, he became disheartened and entered the clergy, calling himself a Wandering Son. My Daoist name was given to me by your Grandmaster, and all my skills were learned from him. Therefore, you must remember: when you practice medicine on your own in the future, you must deliberate over every prescription and every dose. You must not be careless.”

Ming Yue swallowed the snack in her mouth and said solemnly, “Your disciple understands.”

“So the Daoist Master came from a prestigious lineage!”

Qin Sang’s face was full of admiration as he refilled Daoist Jixin’s tea. “Since your Grandmaster held the rank of imperial physician and walked within the Forbidden City, he must have known many secrets. Could it be that he saw an Immortal with his own eyes?”

The old Daoist shook his head. “Never. However, when my master was an imperial physician, he heard many rumors saying that Immortals used to come and go within the palace, maintaining friendships with the royalty and nobility. Wealth, beauty, fame, and fortune are blinding; in this poor Daoist's opinion, even the so-called Immortals likely cannot escape the seven emotions and six desires. They cannot be considered transcendent.”

Qin Sang was stunned.

His inherent impression of cultivators was that they drank morning dew, ate clouds and mist, and secluded themselves in famous mountains, great rivers, and blessed grotto-heavens—living through a thousand-year dream, untouched by worldly affairs, and rarely appearing before common people.

He was completely wrong!

Should he go to the capital to try his luck?

As if seeing through Qin Sang's thoughts, Daoist Jixin struck a blow: “Stop your wishful thinking. My master served as an imperial physician for over thirty years, entering and exiting palaces and princely manors daily, yet he never saw an Immortal with his own eyes; he only heard a few legends. Besides, if there truly were immortal destinies in the capital, wouldn't those princes and grandsons fight tooth and nail for them? Would there even be anything left for you?”

...

Gazing up at the bright moon and listening to the chanting of the master and disciple in his ears, Qin Sang sat on the bed in silence for a long time before finally letting out a self-deprecating laugh.

If immortal destinies were so easy to encounter, wouldn't everyone in this world become an immortal? Regardless, he still had the *Netherworld Sutra*; there was still a glimmer of hope.

With this realization, Qin Sang temporarily set aside his unrealistic delusions and focused on comprehending the *Netherworld Sutra*.

Unknowingly, winter had arrived. The old Daoist had taken in several households of refugees, adding much life to the Daoist temple.

The first snow of the season suddenly fell upon the mountains.

The mountains turned white overnight. Qin Sang followed the master and disciple down the mountain to provide free medical consultations. Seeing the refugees who had frozen to death by the roadside, he felt a pang of heartache. The old Daoist sighed, lamenting that he was but a poor, old Daoist, and with only a few old rooms in the Green Goat Temple, how many homeless people could he truly shelter?

They could only do what was within their power.

Qin Sang crouched by a stone hollow, tending a fire. A large pot filled with bitter herbs to ward off the cold simmered in the pot, to be distributed as medicinal soup to the refugees.

While tending the fire absentmindedly, Qin Sang constantly recited the *Netherworld Sutra* in his heart.

By now, he had memorized the *Netherworld Sutra* perfectly. He had deliberated over every single sentence countless times, and he hadn't changed a single word of the translation for several days. Feeling that he had understood the sutra deeply enough, he planned to begin his cultivation tonight!

The snow had not yet melted, and the bright moon hung in the sky, making the night as bright as day.

The few families staying at the temple were crowded into the front buildings, but Qin Sang still lived alone, so he didn't have to worry about being discovered.

He formed a hand seal and sat in a lotus position. Following the guidance of the *Netherworld Sutra*, he calmed his mind to enter a state of meditation, attempting to cultivate.

The scriptures were already etched into his mind, yet even after sitting for several hours, he could not achieve entry. Not only could he not quiet his mind, but his thoughts were instead becoming cluttered. He grew secretly anxious, trying to eliminate the distracting thoughts, only to suddenly realize that the very thought of eliminating them was itself a distraction.

As dawn approached, Qin Sang still could not reach the state described in the scriptures—a mind as still as water and spirit hidden within the body. Since he had to go down the mountain for medical consultations tomorrow, he had no choice but to stop for now.

Providing medical aid during the day, cultivating at night, and practicing boxing in the mornings and evenings—Qin Sang's life was both monotonous and fulfilling.

By this time, he had realized that whether the *Netherworld Sutra* was a martial arts manual or an immortal cultivation technique, it would certainly not be easy to practice. He needed to have sufficient patience.

After returning from another day of medical consultations, Qin Sang was in his room contemplating the *Netherworld Sutra* when he saw Ming Yue running up, panting, carrying two bowls of porridge.

“Senior Brother, Master says the temple's medicinal herbs are running low. He is going up the mountain to gather herbs tomorrow and wants you to pack your things to go with him.”

Qin Sang stopped and gazed at the distant mountains. It had been seven days since the snow stopped, and today the sky was clear for miles. After today, the snow on the mountains should have melted.

Providing medical aid down the mountain required brewing several pots of medicinal soup every day, consuming herbs rapidly; no wonder they had to go gathering.

There was no snow on the mountains, but there might be ice on the paths. Qin Sang was uneasy about the old Daoist going up the mountain alone to gather herbs, so he readily agreed. After finishing his porridge, he went back to his room to pack.

In truth, aside from things like the Ebony Sword, he didn't have much to his name. The tools for gathering herbs and food were all prepared by Ming Yue. He bundled his cotton clothes with cloth strips and took a pair of thick cotton shoes; that was all his luggage.

The next day, before dawn, Qin Sang set off with the old Daoist.

Cuiming Mountain was manageable, with a well-trodden path. However, once they left Cuiming Mountain and ventured further in, it became a completely desolate wilderness. They had to follow animal tracks and push through wild grass as tall as a man. Even in broad daylight, Qin Sang could not tell where they were going and could only follow closely at the old Daoist's heels.

They climbed from the valley to the mid-mountain, followed a narrow goat path along a cliff, turned a corner, descended, and climbed again. It wasn't until noon that they reached the foot of the legendary Huanghuang Mountain.

On such paths, Qin Sang slipped several times, his heart trembling with fear, yet the old Daoist remained as steady as Mount Tai. Qin Sang couldn't help but wonder who the actual young person was.

The schedule was tight; they had to return to the temple by tomorrow night. Therefore, after climbing Huanghuang Mountain, they began gathering herbs without pause.

Hearing the strange roars echoing from the forest from time to time, Qin Sang's heart tightened. He thought to himself, *I hope I don't fail to seek immortality only to die in a tiger's maw.* As he walked, he asked in a low voice, “Daoist Master, aren't you afraid that tigers or wolves will eat you, coming so deep into the mountains to gather herbs?”

“I have encountered mountain wolves before. This poor Daoist has beast-repelling powder passed down from my master; it serves some purpose.”

The old Daoist spoke with casual indifference, using a medicinal hoe to push aside the wild grass. “The herbs on the outskirts were long ago picked clean by others; one can only enter the mountains. You have martial arts to protect you, what is there to fear?”

Holding a staff, Qin Sang couldn't help but feel guilty. “Daoist Master, please don't mock me. My meager skills are hardly worth mentioning.”

The old Daoist chuckled. “I noticed that the boxing style Ming Yue learned from you seems incomplete. Is it not the full set?”

“You have a keen eye, Master.”

Qin Sang said, “This *Tiger-Subduing Long Fist* was taught to me by the elder brother who saved my life. He only had time to teach me three forms. However, this style is quite common; after some time, I will go to a security bureau in the city to ask for guidance and complete it.”