“Amitabha—Eunuch Zheng, do not be hasty. Think back to your youth when you ran just a small grocery store. If not for your calm decisiveness, the Zhou Group would never have come to be. Now, with this life-or-death prescription, rashness and carelessness are out of the question. Adding or omitting even a single ingredient, or getting one or two wrong, could lead to grave consequences. Please calm yourself, Eunuch Zheng, and take your time to recall carefully.”
Seeing sweat bead on Eunuch Zheng’s forehead and his unsteady demeanor—clear signs of excessive mental strain—the old monk offered words of comfort before beginning to chant the *Heart-Calming Sutra*. Only when Eunuch Zheng’s expression gradually eased, his eyes closed as if in deep meditation, did the old monk cease his chanting.
“Whew—” After a moment, Eunuch Zheng exhaled deeply, opened his eyes, and said, “Abbot, may I borrow some ink and brush?”
“Ink and brush? There are none here. Those are kept in the clinic. In this meditation room, there’s only charcoal pencils. I’ve always dreaded the hassle of grinding ink. Since the Lin family began producing charcoal pencils, unless it’s for official documents or prescriptions, I’ve grown too lazy to prepare ink. I’ll fetch a charcoal pencil for you, though I wonder if you’ll find it comfortable to use.”
As he spoke, the old monk retrieved a slender, ribbon-wrapped charcoal pencil from a brush holder on the corner table. The delicate, colorful pencil looked incongruous in the monk’s large, plump hand. He then opened a drawer and took out a small sheet of paper, finely patterned with floral and star motifs. Clearly, both the pencil and paper were items often used by Lin Fang, as they had been custom-made for her by Lin Wu.
Taking the colorful pencil and paper, Eunuch Zheng examined them closely. The pencil’s core was a thin, charred twig, encased in a slightly thicker hollowed-out branch. The outermost layer was meticulously wrapped with colorful ribbons, segmented in fine detail. One end had been sharpened, showing signs of prior use. Though it resembled a pencil from his past life, it was much thicker.
Eunuch Zheng frowned. “This—how does the Lin family have such a thing? Did Lin Fang make it?”
“No,” the old monk shook his head. “It was made by Fang’s second elder brother, the fifth child in the Lin family. Fang calls him Fifth Brother.”
Seeing Eunuch Zheng’s lingering doubt, the monk chuckled. “Though, it’s said Fang provided the design, and Fifth Young Master Lin developed the final product.”
Eunuch Zheng’s tone turned firm. “Then Lin Fang must remember her past life. This is clearly a pencil from that time.”
The old monk sighed wearily. “Ah—Eunuch Zheng, to borrow your past-life phrasing, you’re splitting hairs. It’s your subconscious hoping Fang remembers. Let me remind you again: if she truly recalled her past, why would she resign herself to death? All this only proves Fang’s remarkable intelligence.”
Eunuch Zheng opened his mouth to ask more but found himself tangled in thought. Reluctantly, he let it go and began writing the prescription on the paper. Once finished, he reviewed it carefully before handing it to the monk.
After studying the prescription, the old monk inhaled sharply. Aside from three guiding herbs, there were a full twenty-nine ingredients—far more than typical prescriptions from this or previous dynasties. Some were foreign imports, and a few even he, with his vast experience, couldn’t identify.
Upon closer inspection, the monk noticed another issue. “Eunuch Zheng, what does this symbol mean? Is it from your past life?”
Realizing the monk was pointing at the unit “g” (grams), Eunuch Zheng understood the confusion. While Arabic numerals existed in this era, the metric system did not. Here, measurements followed the *jin*, *liang*, and *qian* system, with one *jin* equaling sixteen *liang*, and one *liang* ten *qian*. Converting grams to *qian* was no simple task.
Though the prescription contained twenty-nine ingredients, the total weight was under seventy grams—each portion minuscule. A slight miscalculation could spell disaster. Not daring to cut corners, Eunuch Zheng requested, “Abbot, may I have more paper? I need to convert the measurements carefully before rewriting it properly.”
“Of course, this is of utmost importance.” The monk fetched a stack of rough paper and handed Eunuch Zheng a thicker, gray-black charcoal pencil. “Since you’re drafting calculations, this ordinary one will do. The writing won’t be as elegant as on fine paper with a delicate pencil, but it’s serviceable. Most in Lin Town use these. Fang’s fancy stationery is limited—Wu didn’t make her new supplies this summer due to the refugee crisis. Once it’s gone, it’s gone.”
“You seem very fond of Lin Fang,” Eunuch Zheng remarked, his tone unreadable even to himself.
The monk admitted freely, “Yes. Watching her grow up, so bright and kind—how could one not care for her?”
With a sigh, Eunuch Zheng bent over the paper, painstakingly converting each measurement multiple times. The once-mighty chairman of Zhou Enterprises now treated elementary arithmetic with the utmost caution.
This dynasty’s scale, the “Sixteen Golden Star Scale,” was marked by the Big Dipper’s seven stars, the Southern Dipper’s six, and three additional stars representing fortune, prosperity, and longevity—a reminder to merchants: cheat a *liang*, lose fortune; short two, sacrifice prosperity; skimp three, forfeit life.
In his past life, three grams of herbs roughly equaled one *qian*. But the doses here were minuscule—averaging one or two grams, or mere fractions of a *qian*. Precision was paramount. After discovering the prescription in Lin Fang’s diary, Eunuch Zheng had consulted an old friend, a traditional physician, to confirm exact conversions.
By the time he finished calculating all twenty-nine ingredients, sweat drenched Eunuch Zheng’s brow. After meticulously transcribing the adjusted prescription and detailing the preparation method, darkness swallowed his vision, and he collapsed onto the table. The monk, after checking his pulse, exhaled in relief and carefully laid him on his own bed.
Eunuch Zheng’s frail body, strained by intense mental exertion, had succumbed to exhaustion. Rest would restore him.
At eighty, he should have been enjoying his twilight years before passing peacefully. Instead, his own descendants’ misdeeds had triggered a fatal stroke, only for his soul to awaken in this dying eunuch’s body—a pitiful half-life. The old monk sighed deeply.
Summoning a young eunuch to watch over Eunuch Zheng, the monk copied five unfamiliar herbs from the prescription onto another sheet and headed to Lin Fang’s courtyard. She was preparing for bed, utterly drained after the day’s events.
Seeing her exhaustion, the monk turned to leave, but Lin Fang stopped him. “Old Monk, if you’ve something to say, say it now. With matters unsettled, I’ll sleep even worse.”
Studying the listed herbs, she frowned. “Where did you learn of these?” They were composite medicines whose origins she didn’t know—though she happened to know their formulas.
The monk feigned mystery. “That’s not for you to know. Just tell me if you recognize them.”
“Of course. Fetch paper and pencil—I’ll explain their preparation.” Her voice already slurred with sleep.
As Lin Fang detailed each compound—some blending three ingredients, one requiring seven—the monk’s awe grew. Combined with the other twenty-four herbs, the full prescription involved nearly fifty components. Even if every detox expert in the realm gathered, they’d never decipher it. Truly, only Buddha’s intervention through Eunuch Zheng could have saved Lin Fang.
A chill ran through the monk. Even with the formula, replicating the antidote seemed daunting.
By the time she finished, Lin Fang’s eyes could barely stay open. Mumbling, she teased, “Old Monk… though I can’t identify herbs, my descriptions help you. So… who’s the half-trained physician—you or me?”
Swallowing his sorrow, the monk played along. “This old monk’s skills are shallow indeed. I’m no match for Fang.”
“Hehe… knew it…” Her voice faded as sleep took her. The monk hurried out.
Back in his quarters, Eunuch Zheng still slept. Instructing the young eunuch Xiao Xi not to disturb him, the monk sent for Physician Gao to tend to him overnight. Then he descended the mountain to Qi Manor, seeking Steward Qi. Master Shen needed to return immediately—the Qi household would know his whereabouts.
Steward Qi copied the prescription and dispatched a rider to deliver it to his master. No one understood Qi Biao’s concern for Lin Fang better than he.
Returning to the temple, the monk found Eunuch Zheng still unconscious. Alarmed, he checked his pulse and ordered Xiao Xi and Physician Gao to maintain constant vigil. When Xiao Xi anxiously asked if something was wrong, the monk clasped his hands.
“Amitabha—birth, aging, sickness, and death are life’s constants. Eunuch Zheng’s lamp has burned to its end. His passing likely comes within days.”
Indeed, Eunuch Zheng never woke. At dawn the next day, he breathed his last—serene, a faint smile lingering between his brows.
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