Chapter Twelve: Switching the Beams and Pillars

Early the next morning, in the Zhang family’s secluded estate.

Within the guest quarters, Qingsong looked anxiously at the daylight streaming through the window. It had been a full day since he descended the mountain, yet the task entrusted to him by the master showed not the slightest progress. Though he was well treated here in the Zhang residence, with ample food and drink, he felt restless and yearned to leave as soon as possible.

Just then, footsteps sounded outside, followed by a gentle knocking at the door. Qingsong’s spirits lifted; he hurriedly opened it. Standing outside was a servant of the Zhang household, who bowed respectfully and said, “Master Qingsong, the young master requests your presence in the guest hall.”

Qingsong said little, allowing the servant to lead him to the hall. Inside, Zhang Niankang sat upright, sipping tea. Upon seeing Qingsong, he set down his cup and smiled, “Master Qingsong, did you rest well last night? My household servants are rather clumsy—if there was any lack in their care, I ask your forgiveness.”

Qingsong waved his hand, replying, “Young master, you are too gracious. Everything was fine last night. I must thank you for your hospitality.”

“Haha! That is good to hear!” Zhang Niankang laughed, then continued, “I did not fail in my promise—late last night, I finally found traces of Mr. Jiang. I plan to accompany you to visit him today. What do you think?”

“Truly?” Qingsong was overjoyed, clasping his hands in thanks. “I am deeply grateful for your assistance, young master!” He was eager to set out at once.

Zhang Niankang smiled at his impatience. Once Qingsong was ready, they left the Zhang estate together.

Just beyond the wall, the estate was tranquil, yet the streets outside teemed with crowds. Everywhere Qingsong looked, people thronged and bustled.

He asked in surprise, “Why is the city so lively today? I don’t recall such crowds before.”

Zhang Niankang paused, then chuckled, “Master Qingsong, have you forgotten what day is coming in seven days?”

“What day?” Qingsong was puzzled. Suddenly, as if recalling something, he slapped his forehead. “Ah! I nearly forgot—soon it will be the Pine Origin Festival!”

“Precisely! The Pine Origin Festival has become a grand event here in Jinzhou. Years ago, Master Songhe, along with many famed physicians, competed at the lakeside, offering free consultations—an event still spoken of fondly. Each year, renowned healers gather here to test their skills, striving for supremacy. The master’s brilliance truly earns my admiration.”

At this, Zhang Niankang’s eyes shone with longing.

Years ago, Jinhua City was ravaged by a rare plague—nine out of ten households fell ill, and the city nearly became a ghost town. Though the Chisong Temple dispatched its disciples to treat the sick, the sheer number of afflicted overwhelmed their efforts. Then the renowned Songhe Daoist, skilled in both medicine and martial arts, issued a challenge: at the lakeside, he would compete with all the famous physicians.

Though meant to provoke, the effect was remarkable. Doctors from all corners rushed to Jinhua, testing their skills against Songhe at the lakeside. Thanks to their combined efforts, the epidemic was soon quelled.

Songhe’s actions saved tens of thousands. In gratitude, the survivors named the day of the contest the Pine Origin Festival. Ever since, countless physicians assemble here annually, striving to demonstrate their prowess.

Zhang Niankang sighed, “Sadly, I never glimpsed Master Songhe’s immortal presence. Such heroes are rare indeed.”

He had brought his junior sister back to Jinhua in hopes of seeing Songhe at this year’s festival, and perhaps, among the gathered healers, someone might cure her illness. Though the hope was slim, he felt it worth trying.

Qingsong, standing nearby, was filled with pride at hearing outsiders praise his grandmaster. Yet as the festival approached, anxiety gnawed at him. After Songhe won the title of medical leader, troubles multiplied. With Songhe traveling the world, the Chisong Temple became a target for other renowned doctors. In the past decade, as its own masters passed away, their defeats mounted, and they lost countless precious medicines.

Worse still, the temple’s supply of medicinal herbs dwindled, leaving them barely able to make ends meet. How could he not worry?

At that moment, for reasons unknown, Qingsong recalled the young man he’d met on the mountain path. If that youth truly was the grandmaster’s disciple, could this year’s contest bring a turning point?

He laughed at himself for such wishful thinking. Lin You was barely older than himself; even with the grandmaster’s teachings, how could he rival doctors with decades of experience?

Lost in thought, he was suddenly jolted as someone crashed into his shoulder. A shout rang out, followed by a torrent of curses.

“Hey! You plague-ridden Taoist, do you walk without watching where you’re going?” A thin, short man with a mustache rubbed his waist, cursing at Qingsong.

Still dazed, Qingsong hurried forward to help, apologizing, “Brother, I’m sorry! I was distracted, thinking about something. Please forgive me!”

No sooner had he helped the man up than the man’s eyes flashed. He grabbed Qingsong, pulling him down as well. Qingsong felt a sudden surge of strength and tumbled helplessly to the ground, his bundle falling beside him.

“Hmph! Taoist, unless you hand over fifty taels of silver, I won’t let you go!” The man seized Qingsong’s collar, snarling.

At this, Zhang Niankang pushed the man aside, helping Qingsong up. He scolded, “Where did this lunatic come from? Master Qingsong already apologized. Are you trying to extort us?”

The man sneered, “Extortion? Hardly. You bumped into me—surely you must pay something. If you don’t have silver, I’ll stay here all day!”

Zhang Niankang snorted disdainfully, “For scoundrels like you, the magistrate ought to punish you!” He pulled a silver ingot from his robe, ready to toss it at the man to be rid of him.

Qingsong hurriedly protested, “Young master, you mustn’t! He’s clearly trying to extort us—how can you give him money?” He reached out to snatch it back.

But Zhang Niankang intercepted him, stepping calmly in front of Qingsong. He soothed, “Master Qingsong, we must visit Mr. Jiang soon—how can we waste time quarreling with street rogues? It’s only a bit of silver; let him have it.”

By now, a crowd had gathered, watching with eager curiosity. Zhang Niankang frowned, signaling with his eyes.

The short, thin man understood at once. While Qingsong’s view was blocked, he quickly drew from his pocket an identical cloth bundle, swapping it for the one on the ground. His movements were so swift, not even the onlookers caught the exchange.

Having finished, the man cursed one last time and turned away.

Amid the crowd, a man in white watched with interest. When Zhang Niankang mentioned Mr. Jiang, his brows arched, and a look of intrigue crossed his face. Then, blending into the crowd, he vanished as quietly as the others.