Chapter Eight: Crippled Hao

Summer faded, winter arrived, and Feng Xiaobao had spent a year since crossing into this world.

His days were full and rewarding: practicing martial arts, studying medicine, and gathering herbs from the mountains formed the rhythm of his life. Four hearty meals a day replenished the energy he expended, and he grew taller and stronger, standing out among his peers like a crane amidst chickens.

They no longer wandered, having found a storefront in the town. The front served as a shop, the back as their home. They collected medicinal herbs, processed them at home, and their business was mainly wholesale to medicine shops, with some retail sales on the side. The profits were modest, for their operations remained limited to neighboring counties and towns.

"The most crucial thing is, there's no health insurance!" Feng Xiaobao often remarked.

There were no hospitals, no official pharmacies; only shops like Spring Renewal Hall sold herbal decoctions and preparations. The common folk had little purchasing power, and the demand for traditional medicine was low.

Many people couldn’t afford medicine. When illness struck, they could only endure or try to treat themselves with wild herbs. As described in Zhou Shuren’s essay "Medicine," after executions, the poor would use blood-soaked buns to treat tuberculosis—a desperate remedy for the destitute. The wealthy, who could afford herbal medicine, would never resort to such measures.

To put it bluntly, how beneficial could a condemned man's blood be?

In later times, policies like health insurance and public medical care spurred the development of the pharmaceutical industry and, more importantly, gave ordinary people the confidence to seek medical treatment when ill.

Despite the slow business and the harsh deductions by pharmacies, the potent effects of Divine Strength Pills sustained Xiaobao's family, ensuring four meals a day and a worry-free life, with a slight surplus.

Within the area where Divine Strength Pills were sold, wealthy families spread all manner of legends about the pills. It was said that not only did they strengthen the body, but they also invigorated men, granting impressive endurance and power—earning the nickname "Celestial Elixir."

As the saying goes, "Warmth and fullness breed desire." The rich, well-fed and comfortably clothed, indulged in amorous pursuits during their leisure hours, and the Celestial Elixir became their salvation.

The world is vast and full of wonders. With the reputation of the Celestial Elixir growing ever more fantastical, claims of its ability to cure all ailments inevitably attracted covetous eyes.

...

Ten miles from Xiaobao’s home lay Baoman Village, whose master, Yao Wenhao, was a local magnate—an influential patriarch who typically resided in the city for comfort, visiting the estate only occasionally for leisure.

He was not yet forty, of imposing stature and commanding presence, his bright eyes radiating authority. A former military officer, he ruled his household like an army. After sustaining a knee injury from an arrow during battle, which left him with a limp, he retired and returned to found a vast enterprise.

His temperament was fiery and his manner harsh; servants who erred faced military discipline, and several died each year under his wrath. Such strict rules made his attendants careful and diligent, always alert.

Baoman Village was expansive, with connected rock gardens, flower-filled waterways, and fish ponds. The most beautiful building was named Moon Pavilion, situated above the pond, offering cool breezes and moonlit serenity in summer. A hot spring flowed into the pond, never freezing in winter, and when viewed from a window, the rising steam created a scene akin to a celestial realm.

It was afternoon, and Moon Pavilion was quiet. A scholar stood gazing out the window at the distant snow-capped mountains—a view worthy of admiration.

The scholar, over thirty, bore the gentle refinement of one well-read, though his narrow, slanting eyes lent a somewhat sinister air to his face.

The door creaked. The scholar turned and bowed, saying, "Student greets the master."

It was the limping magnate, who entered supported by a metal cane. He smiled faintly and gestured, "No need for formality, Zeng Erlang. Sit."

---

Both seated, facing the window.

Soft footsteps sounded, and Zeng Erlang glanced sideways. A maid entered—a beautiful young girl with delicate features, her skin as pale and rosy as the snow outside, her sweet face charming and lovely, her waist slender as a willow.

Seeing her, Zeng Erlang felt his body tense.

He knew the household rules were strict and dared not linger his gaze, turning back to the window.

The girl, obedient and demure, set the tea service on the table, silently brewed the tea, and poured a cup for each of the men. "Master, Mr. Zeng, please enjoy your tea."

"Good! Gan Twelve, raise your head!"

Gan Twelve looked up in confusion, and in that instant, Zeng Erlang’s eyes lit up!

Truly, "A lotus rises from clear water, naturally exquisite." Young, adorable, fresh, and radiant—peerless indeed!

It was often said that the maids of wealthy households surpassed even the daughters of lesser families in beauty, spared from hard labor and nourished well. Naturally, such treasures were exclusive to the privileged, often mere playthings for the powerful.

"You may leave."

"Yes!"

After Gan Twelve departed, the limping magnate mentioned nothing of her. Instead, he produced a small box, pushing it toward Zeng Erlang. "Take a look."

It was a box of medicine, six wax pills within, packaged somewhat gaudily, bearing the name "Celestial Tonic Pill."

"This is?" Zeng Erlang asked.

"This is a virility medicine. I assure you, it works—truly works!" the magnate said languidly. "All the local doctors are promoting it. Three hundred coins a box!"

Zeng Erlang murmured, surprised at the price. In the early Tang period, currency still held value; inflation had not yet taken hold, and a bushel of rice cost only a few coins.

"There are similar medicines on the market, but none as effective as this."

The magnate continued, "I had my people investigate, and it turns out they all source their stock from Feng’s Pharmacy outside the city!"

"Feng’s Pharmacy, run by the father and son of the Feng family, are outsiders who once sold medicine as itinerants. Their products are the Celestial Elixir and dogskin plaster. The plaster is nothing special, but the Celestial Elixir is quite effective. They collaborate with various local pharmacies, who help distribute their goods. Business is decent."

---

Listening, Zeng Erlang remained silent, wondering if his master intended to obtain the pills. That was easy enough—just buy them. Three hundred coins was expensive, but hardly unaffordable for his master.

Unexpectedly, the magnate said, "What I want is the recipe!"

"The recipe?" Zeng Erlang was surprised. At that time, people treasured inherited secrets, rarely parting with them. Selling ancestral recipes was considered a grave act of filial impiety, a stigma for both buyer and seller.

To sell one’s heritage was to be unfilial; to force another to sell was to cause unfiliality. The rumor would bring double disgrace.

Such was the prevailing social sentiment. Unless absolutely necessary, no one would sell their family’s legacy.

Seeing his confusion, the magnate explained, "You know I’m acquainted with a noble in the capital..."

"Indeed!" Zeng Erlang understood. As the magnate’s advisor, he had drafted letters to the noble in the capital—a powerful former superior of the magnate, with whom relations remained close. Every year, gifts were sent for birthdays and festivals to the noble’s family.

"This year marks the noble’s grand birthday. What hasn’t he seen, used, or tasted? To prepare a gift, I racked my brains. Then I heard he was about to welcome his fifteenth concubine, and I knew what to send!"

"The recipe for the Celestial Elixir!"

"Exactly." The magnate’s tone grew serious. "I sent my steward to negotiate with the Fengs, offering a fortune for the recipe, but they refused!"

He raised a finger. "I offered them one million coins."

Zeng Erlang thought, of course they refused—who would give up a goose that lays golden eggs?

The magnate continued, "I sent my men again, promising not to divulge the recipe, but to use it privately. I still offered them one million coins!"

"They did not accept?"

"No!"

Zeng Erlang was puzzled. "That’s a generous offer. They really wouldn’t accept?" He found the price reasonable, but for people of that era, selling their heritage was an unthinkable act of unfiliality.

"Indeed, they refused!" The magnate slammed the table, his eyes flashing with murderous intent. "Go and get me the recipe!"

"At your command!"