Chapter Twenty-Two: Testing the Sword of the Sage of Grass

Pei Min watched the old Daoist’s every move. The name Liu Shenwei was utterly unfamiliar to him, yet the great reputation of Sun Simiao echoed through the ages, famed in both his lifetime and beyond. As the renowned King of Medicine, Sun Simiao’s achievements and contributions to medical science were unmatched. He not only authored monumental works such as “Prescriptions Worth a Thousand Gold,” “Essentials Worth a Thousand Gold,” and “Supplementary Prescriptions Worth a Thousand Gold,” but, uninterested in officialdom, accepted the court’s invitation to compile the world’s first national pharmacopeia, “Tang New Materia Medica,” benefiting generations to come.

According to Pei Min’s memory, Sun Simiao passed away during the reign of Emperor Gaozong of Tang, living to over a hundred and sixty years—a longevity worthy of admiration. He regretted never witnessing the King of Medicine’s presence, a source of lingering regret in his heart.

Now, Liu Shenwei, claiming to be Sun Simiao’s foremost disciple, was solemnly extracting six moxibustion needles, heating them over charcoal until they glowed red-hot. With a flick of his wrist, the slender needles pierced precisely into six acupoints on the woman’s face. His accuracy and speed revealed a mastery born of arduous practice; without such dedication, such skill would be impossible.

Pei Min silently praised him.

Within seconds of the needles’ placement, the woman abruptly awakened, gasping for breath, her face pale and filled with terror.

Pei Min, ignorant of medical principles, could not comprehend the intricacies, but he knew that the so-called “qi sickness” was what later generations called asthma. A flare-up could be extremely dangerous, especially as the woman had already gone into shock, with signs of oxygen deprivation—a potentially fatal state. Yet the old Daoist, using only a few moxibustion needles, had dragged her back from the gates of death. It seemed true that he was indeed the King of Medicine’s disciple.

Unbeknownst to Pei Min, Liu Shenwei was employing fire needle therapy—a powerful, forceful technique that could both heal and harm, reserved only for those of extraordinary medical skill. For such a critical condition, only strong measures could be effective.

Seeing the woman revived, Liu Shenwei breathed a sigh of relief, looked to Pei Min with hopeful eyes, and, without waiting for a response, hurriedly descended the stairs and departed.

Pei Min followed him out of the tavern, but the old Daoist Liu Shenwei had vanished. Nearby, six or seven monks were searching the area. They were not the same group as before, suggesting the old Daoist was in deep trouble, pursued by numerous villainous monks who had split up and spread throughout the Western Market. Yet, even in such peril, the old Daoist risked himself to save others, a testament to his medical virtue.

Pei Min thought, since he had nothing urgent to attend to, it would do no harm to investigate.

He sought out a helpful passerby, learned the location of Longevity Lane, and led his little chestnut horse southward.

Meanwhile, the woman had fully regained consciousness. With Liu Shenwei and Pei Min gone, she grasped her child’s hand and asked, “Xun’er, do you remember the faces of our benefactors?”

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The child called Xun’er, eyes red and swollen, replied loudly, “I remember! The old immortal and the big brother—I will never forget their faces as long as I live.”

Pei Min followed the crowd out of the Western Market and at its archway saw more than ten monks lying in wait, scrutinizing every passerby. Anyone bearing the slightest resemblance to the old Daoist was subjected to their domineering inspection.

“Where do these monks come from, so ‘imposing’?” Pei Min mused. Leaving the crowded Western Market, he mounted his little chestnut horse and rode toward Longevity Lane.

Longevity Lane lay just south of the Western Market, not far away, separated only by Huaiyuan Lane. Sensing Liu Shenwei’s urgency, Pei Min took the shortest route, passing straight through Huaiyuan Lane, and entered Longevity Lane, intending to ask where Sun Pu resided. At the lane’s entrance, several women were sunning themselves and chatting, and their conversation happened to mention Sun Pu.

A woman in her forties remarked, “What’s happened to Dr. Sun Pu? Those monks from Shengshan Temple marched off to Rende Pharmacy, looking fierce. Falling into those villainous monks’ hands—what good could come of it?”

“Exactly!” said another woman in green, still shaken. “Earlier, the head monk asked me for directions to Rende Pharmacy. I nearly collapsed in fright. Alas, in these times, good people are always bullied by the wicked. Those villainous monks from Shengshan Temple have been oppressing the common folk for ages. Who dares interfere? Poor Dr. Sun Pu, grandson of the King of Medicine, even he isn’t spared today.”

Pei Min didn’t know what sort of monks these Shengshan Temple villains were, but since Sun Pu was Sun Simiao’s grandson, he couldn’t sit idly by. He dismounted and asked, “Auntie, could you please tell me how to get to Rende Pharmacy? I have a patient at home, and I’ve heard there’s a famous doctor at Rende, but I don’t know where it is.”

The woman answered warmly, “Walk forward a hundred paces, turn right, then another hundred paces and turn left—you’ll find it. Young man, Rende Pharmacy is in some trouble now. If you need medical attention, it’s best to seek another place.”

“Thank you for your guidance!” Pei Min proceeded as instructed. Before he’d covered half the first hundred paces, he saw ten monks at the street corner ahead. They were pushing a young doctor whose hands were bound, kicking him forward with the same crude violence.

Pei Min’s anger flared. He urged his horse ahead, shouting, “Villainous monks, leave him here!”

From ten paces away, Pei Min leapt into the air, drawing his long sword and aiming straight for the leading monk.

The monks from Shengshan Temple were startled by his sudden attack. At first, chaos and panic broke out, but seeing Pei Min alone—a mere youth—they began to laugh.

The leading monk jeered, “Where did this brat come from? Are you still nursing?” He swung his monk’s staff, a move called “three nods,” aiming for Pei Min’s head—a technique both forceful and flexible, able to strike the skull or, by leveraging the staff’s pliancy, the shoulders.

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This monk was evidently a practiced fighter, skilled in martial arts.

Pei Min’s sword did not falter, ignoring the opponent’s attack. His Autumn Water Sword slid along the monk’s staff, cutting down toward the monk’s hands. “Let go!” he commanded.

The monk, never expecting Pei Min’s sword to be so precise, was forced to release his grip to avoid having his hands cut. As he tried to retreat, Pei Min’s sword tapped his temple, stunning him and sending him collapsing to the ground.

With a single move, Pei Min charged into the crowd. The Autumn Water Sword blazed with emerald light, cold as frost, cleaving through the enemy ranks like a torrent. His sword surged like the Yellow River in flood, like the Yangtze pouring down. In just one move, he forced the remaining nine monks back, then, with a quick stroke, cut the ropes binding the young doctor’s wrists. “Are you Sun Pu? Daoist Liu Shenwei sent me to rescue you.”

Enemy repelled, ally freed—all in one breath!

The young doctor, still shaken, replied, “I am indeed he!”

Pei Min gave him a gentle push. “Withdraw to the rear. Once I’ve dealt with these villainous monks, I’ll take you away!” His tone was utterly indifferent to those around him.

The monks from Shengshan Temple, long accustomed to tyranny, had never met someone more brazen than themselves. Furious, they howled, drew their weapons, and attacked Pei Min.

Pei Min raised his long sword. “Today, I’ll use you lot to test my Sage of Grass Sword…”