Chapter 56: Wanting a Peach

At dusk.

Xuan Huang, who had been busily fertilizing the garden on the Back Mountain, put down what he was doing. When he returned to the Taoist Temple and looked again toward the Peach Tree,

Mr. Chen’s figure was already gone. The Library Pavilion was also calm and ordinary.

Xuan Huang understood that Mr. Chen had probably left.

Actually, proper etiquette would have been to see Mr. Chen off, but he himself didn’t want to do that. To Xuan Huang, leaving silently avoided sadness, as this was the very last time…

Xuan Huang let out a long sigh and sat down at the stone table beneath the Peach Tree.

Before him was the Taoist Temple, untainted by any impurity. Above his head was the Peach Tree heavy with fruit. Inside the yard, the well water held not a single ripple; not even a dead leaf remained…

He looked at all this, and a contented smile appeared on his face.

The Flowing Cloud Temple was getting better day by day…

This was what he, the foolish man, had always hoped for.

Xuan Huang snapped back to the present and took a deep breath. But as he turned his head, he suddenly froze.

“Mr. Chen’s sword?”

Xuan Huang was stunned. There, beneath the Peach Tree, stood a sword peacefully planted in the ground. The sword looked utterly plain and unremarkable.

“How did Mr. Chen even forget to take his sword…”

Xuan Huang walked over and picked up the sword. He couldn’t grasp its true essence, but he understood that Mr. Chen’s sword was surely extraordinary.

He recalled the breathtaking sword gleam Mr. Chen had once displayed in the courtyard, something that had so stunned everyone.

He put the sword away, thinking that Mr. Chen would surely come back to fetch it when he remembered.

But unexpectedly, as the cicadas’ chirping from the Mountain Stream gradually faded and autumn arrived, Mr. Chen never returned for the sword.

By then, Xuan Huang understood; Mr. Chen probably wasn’t coming back.

He had thought the Taoist Temple would fall silent henceforth.

Xuan Huang also planned to rest during his own remaining, limited days. Yet, surprisingly, after Mr. Chen left, Young Master Tong often came up the mountain to ask him about martial arts and internal energy flow.

Because of Young Master Tong’s visits, more life filled the Taoist Temple. Smile lines also appeared more often on Xuan Huang’s face.

Something that surprised Xuan Huang was this: Tong Zhihuan was already of capping age, long past the ideal years for starting martial arts training. Yet, in martial arts, his understanding was surprisingly good. Although his progress was a bit slow, he grasped many concepts immediately when explained.

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After a moment’s thought, Xuan Huang understood why. After all, Mr. Chen’s discernment was never poor.

“Daoist Priest, do I really have a talent for martial arts?” Tong Zhihuan asked curiously.

“Excellent talent,”

Xuan Huang continued, “It’s a shame you started so late. If not for that, at your age, you probably could have become a top-tier master in the Jianghu.”

Tong Zhihuan shook his head. “But Daoist Priest, I learn martial arts to strengthen my energy for healing and saving people, not to become a Jianghu figure.”

Xuan Huang, however, shook his head. “Entering the gate of this River and Lake, you must bear the hardships of this River and Lake. The road you must walk later is still very long.”

Tong Zhihuan listened, understanding only half. When he pressed for more, Daoist Priest Xuan Huang wouldn’t say anything else. Later, when he returned home, he asked his dad. His dad seemed very calm upon hearing it, as if he had expected this, but he also didn’t explain what it meant, only saying that the Daoist Priest spoke truly.

Only he was kept in the dark.

And it really couldn’t be blamed on others. Mr. Chen had once said he possessed a “Heart of a Child (Pure Innocence)” and would therefore always be a bit slower than others. Though he didn’t really know what “Heart of a Child” meant, it was probably just as Mr. Chen said.

From then on, Tong Zhihuan would often come up the mountain. Sometimes, he would even stay to rest there.

Xuan Huang gradually adapted to his presence and began teaching Tong Zhihuan as if he were a disciple.

In a winter after Mr. Chen had left,

Tong Zhihuan once mentioned wanting to formally take Daoist Priest as his master, but he was refused.

At that time, Daoist Priest Xuan Huang told him, “Mr. Chen taught you before. This poor priest has no right to be your master. But any questions you have, you can come and ask. This poor priest will naturally teach you everything he knows.”

Tong Zhihuan was frustrated. “But Mr. Chen never took me as a disciple either.”

“Even if he hadn’t accepted you, it’s still not allowed,” Xuan Huang said.

Tong Zhihuan could only sigh and never brought up the matter again.

He maintained his usual routine, coming up the mountain every three days to learn energy flow from Daoist Priest Xuan Huang. While down the mountain, he spent his days diligently studying medicine.

He still hadn’t finished the book Mr. Chen had given him.

It wasn’t just one book.

Every time he finished reading the entire book, the words inside would change, transforming it into another book entirely.

Sometimes it was about medicinal principles, sometimes about acupuncture techniques, and other times prescriptions. Much of the book contained knowledge he had never encountered before, including records of many difficult and complex diseases.

This caused Tong Zhihuan’s medical skill to advance rapidly in a short time.

Thus, in the spring of the following year,

His dad started letting him treat patients by taking their pulses.

The results were unexpectedly good. Sometimes, his dad couldn’t cure an illness, but Tong Zhihuan knew how to treat it. News spread back and forth until he gained the reputation of “Little Miracle Doctor Tong” in the Civic Districts.

Later, more patients with complex illnesses came seeking his help. Tong Zhihuan gained much valuable learning experience, slowly accumulating knowledge and gradually achieving noticeable results.

Not just in Autumn Moon Market, but even in neighboring District-Towns, people started talking about this “Little Miracle Doctor Tong.”

On this day, Tong Zhihuan went to the Flowing Cloud Temple as usual.

He carried a packet of medicine, nourishing herbs intended for the Daoist Priest.

“Cough… cough… cough…”

Since the beginning of the year, Xuan Huang’s coughing had grown increasingly severe. Often, after a violent fit, it seemed like half his life had choked away.

Xuan Huang said weakly, “This poor priest has known for some time that his days are numbered. Don’t waste these valuable herbs on him anymore.”

“These herbs don’t cost much, Daoist Priest. Please don’t worry about money; drink them quickly…”

“Sigh…”

Tong Zhihuan insisted until he saw the priest swallow the medicine.

For over three hundred days of the year, the medicine never stopped. Because of Tong Zhihuan, Xuan Huang likely gained at least another six months.

But at the onset of autumn the next year, a cold wind ended everything.

The autumn wind arrived violently.

Xuan Huang was caught once by this chill wind and fell ill, confined to his bed.

By the time Tong Zhihuan next climbed the mountain, Daoist Priest Xuan Huang was already breathing his last.

“Zhihuan…”

Xuan Huang lay in bed. His face was gaunt, his eyes vacant. The end was near.

“Daoist Priest! Daoist Priest!”

Tong Zhihuan panicked, saying, “Daoist Priest, wait for me! I’m going down the mountain right now to get medicine! It’ll be alright! It will be alright…”

Xuan Huang stretched out a frail hand to stop him.

“Cough…”

He spoke with effort, “This poor priest… has words… for you.”

Tong Zhihuan’s eyes reddened. Tears streamed uncontrollably down his face. Mr. Chen was one, and the Daoist Priest was the person who had taught him the most after him.

He had actually long anticipated the arrival of this day but hadn’t dared to face it.

That’s why, only now, tears choked his voice.

“In your future medical practice, remember… best not to…”

“Don’t treat for no payment… yet also don’t… demand exorbitant prices…”

Tong Zhihuan, his eyes red, nodded. “I’ll remember, I’ll remember.”

Xuan Huang nodded faintly. A relieved smile then appeared on his face.

“This poor priest also wants…”

Tong Zhihuan leaned close to the priest’s mouth. “Want what?”

Xuan Huang spoke, nearly drained of strength.

“Want to… eat…”

“…a peach.”

Hearing this, Tong Zhihuan jolted up. “I’ll go buy one right now! Right away! Daoist Priest, you wait for me! Wait for me!”

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He leaped up and rushed out the door.

But as he turned around, he froze where he stood.

At the start of autumn, for some reason, a single peach had grown on the Peach Tree in the Flowing Cloud Temple.

A peach that appeared right when Daoist Priest Xuan Huang spoke those words.

“Rustle…”

Tong Zhihuan stepped forward. The Peach Tree swayed slightly. The peach upon it fell, landing perfectly into Tong Zhihuan’s hand.

Tong Zhihuan was stunned to his core. But he had no mind for wonder now. Holding the peach, he hurried back into the room.

Tong Zhihuan tore off a piece of the peach flesh with his fingers and placed it gently into Xuan Huang’s mouth.

“Daoist Priest…”

Xuan Huang’s jaw moved faintly. Though his eyes were closed, an expression of pure contentment was clear upon his face.

A soft breeze blew past…

Stirring memories of more than seventy years.

This was what he had wanted most to eat back then. And even now, it held the same yearning.

His breath ceased. There were no regrets.

“Daoist Priest!!”

Tong Zhihuan was choked by sobs. He collapsed beside the bed, weeping uncontrollably like a ten-year-old child.