Qin Chaoyu carefully harvested the medicinal herbs with her tools. She gently parted the leaves and uncovered the Polygonum multiflorum beneath—its characteristic black-brown, glossy, and ovate achenes clearly visible.
Many people judge the age of Polygonum multiflorum by its size, but this method isn’t always accurate. Having studied medicine under her master for over a decade, Qin Chaoyu had her own way. A wider cambium layer indicated faster growth and thus a younger plant, while a tighter layer meant slower growth and greater age.
As she harvested, the little squirrel remained quietly perched opposite her. Though Qin Chaoyu stayed cautious, she couldn’t help but relax slightly.
True to her promise, she only took half of the plant, leaving the rest untouched.
“Little squirrel, I’m done. I didn’t take the rest. I’ll be going now.”
Bidding farewell to the squirrel, Qin Chaoyu felt her spirits lift. She had found the Polygonum multiflorum—perhaps her master’s illness would improve soon.
Instead of continuing her search, she chose to return to the bamboo house, eager to head back immediately.
Watching Qin Chaoyu’s retreating figure, the little squirrel tilted its head, sniffing the lingering scent in the air as if committing it to memory.
By the time she returned, it was already 3 p.m. Though she hadn’t eaten lunch, her high spirits kept hunger at bay.
Pushing open her master’s door, she approached his bed. “Master, I found the Polygonum multiflorum.” She tried to suppress her joy, speaking calmly, but her happiness still seeped through.
“Ah…” Her master sighed inwardly. He knew his condition—his time was likely limited to just a few more days—but he had concealed it well. After all, as a lifelong physician, masking his pulse was simple. Having weathered life’s storms, he had made peace with everything at his age—except for his apprentice.
He had found her as an infant, abandoned in a rural forest. In those days, starvation was common, and discarding a baby girl was hardly unusual. A lifelong practitioner of traditional medicine, he had witnessed countless partings, yet his heart still held tenderness. If fate had allowed him to find her, it meant she was meant to live. So he took her in. It had been a rainy spring morning, so he named her Chaoyu—both a memory and a blessing.
Eighteen years had passed in the blink of an eye. The swaddled infant had grown into a young woman, while he had aged.
Gazing at the graceful Qin Chaoyu, he felt a pang of reluctance. “Chaoyu… there’s one last thing I must give you. Keep it safe.”
A sense of unease settled over her—it sounded like a final wish.
“Tell me, Master. I’ll fetch it for you.”
“Cough… It’s in… that drawer,” he said weakly, pointing. “A small box… bring it to me.”
Following his direction, she found a black case, about the size of her two palms.
She handed it to him.
Holding the box, his expression grew solemn.
“Chaoyu, what I’m about to tell you—you must remember it for life. Never forget.”
Sensing his gravity, she nodded solemnly.
Suppressing another cough, he mustered his strength to speak clearly.
“I’ve never told you this, but we belong to an ancient sect—the Divine Physician Valley. Over time, we declined, but fortunately, our ancestors preserved our secrets intact. This box is the token of the sect leader. Legend says whoever opens it can restore our sect’s glory. Yet for over a century, no one has succeeded…” He sighed. His greatest regret was never reviving the sect’s reputation. In his youth, he had been ambitious, confident his skills could restore its prominence. But in those times, tradition was scorned, and medicine was marginalized. Injustice and suffering had worn him down, driving him to seclusion in these mountains. Still, he couldn’t let go—but now, the task fell to his apprentice.
“Today, I pass this box to you, naming you the 89th leader of the Divine Physician Valley. Qin Chaoyu, successor of the 89th generation!”
Qin Chaoyu rose, stepped to the center of the room, and knelt. “Yes!”
“Ancestors bear witness! The 88th leader, Qin Bingwen, passes his mantle to his unworthy apprentice, Qin Chaoyu. May she strive tirelessly to uphold our sect’s legacy!” His voice was solemn, his presence commanding despite his pallor. Raising the box, he gestured for her to take it.
She lifted it overhead with both hands, then kowtowed deeply. “I swear to devote all my skill and heed your teachings, Master.”
“Good… good!”
With that, his energy seemed to drain away, his face turning even paler.
Alarmed, Qin Chaoyu rushed to support him. “Master, are you alright?”
He waved weakly. “I’m fine… Just need rest. You… go now.”
Reluctantly, she obeyed, clutching the box and glancing back repeatedly as she left.
Once alone, he lay back, feeling at peace. His final duty was done. After his passing, she would find the letter he had left. He trusted her talent to fulfill his hopes.
In his fading consciousness, Qin Bingwen seemed to return to his youthful days—surrounded by friends, guided by his own master. He faintly recalled his master’s words: “Bingwen, your temperament worries me. You may face many regrets in life, but I hope you’ll stay true to yourself. That is my blessing for you.”
Master… I did it. I never betrayed my heart…
His eyelids grew heavy. A kind-faced old man smiled at him—his master, come to guide him home…
While preparing the Polygonum multiflorum, Qin Chaoyu suddenly felt a sharp pang in her chest. She bolted upright and dashed to her master’s room.
Pushing the door open softly, she hesitated, afraid to approach the still figure on the bed.
No… He’s just resting…
She forced herself forward, hands trembling as she reached for his wrist.
No pulse. She must be mistaken. She had to check his eyes.
Gently lifting his eyelid, she saw—dilated pupils, vacant gaze.
Collapsing to the floor, she felt all strength leave her. So it wasn’t her imagination. Another loved one was gone. Why… why was she always left behind?
Mechanically, she rested her head against the bed, staring blankly—perhaps lost in thought, or simply numb. Motionless as a statue, devoid of life, she finally closed her eyes. Twin tears traced down her delicate face.
She was so tired. Just a moment’s rest… just a moment…
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