Chapter Seven: Gathering Herbs

Chaozhou was not a large city, and Zhou Qian soon found the Lin Family Apothecary. The shop’s façade was grand and old-fashioned; behind the counter, a young attendant was dozing, and the shelves were lined with drawers filled with various medicinal herbs, their scents blending in the air. Zhou Qian stepped inside. The attendant, clad in blue, noticed Zhou Qian's threadbare clothes and immediately looked down on him, waving his hand dismissively. “Where did this little beggar come from? We don’t give handouts here—move along!”

To be fair, Zhou Qian’s patched clothing was scrupulously clean. At a glance, most would think the boy simply came from a poor family; only those with prejudice would call him a beggar. Zhou Qian took no offense—he’d heard worse in the years when he begged for a living. There had always been those who bullied the weak and fawned on the strong. If Li Sanshan were here, he’d have scolded the attendant so fiercely the man wouldn’t recognize his own mother. Wang Hu, on the other hand, would have let his fists do the talking. Anyone eking out a living at the bottom had a bit of steel in them. Zhou Qian, though simple, was not foolish. Besides, if he lacked confidence, he wouldn’t have come to the largest apothecary in Chaozhou for his herbs.

Zhou Qian strolled leisurely to the counter, pulled from his bundle a silver ingot the size of his palm, and then another, and another, under the increasingly astonished gaze of the attendant. By the fifteenth ingot, the attendant’s face had turned from white to red to green. Only then did Zhou Qian feel satisfied. “Call your boss,” he said. “I want to buy some medicine.”

The portly shopkeeper, dressed in silk with a pair of thin mustaches, was so shocked by the pile of silver that his eyes nearly popped out. He hurriedly invited his young patron into the back room, served him fragrant tea, and asked, “May I ask what herbs you wish to purchase, young master? We have almost everything here!”

Zhou Qian listed the ingredients from his prescription and handed over the list. The shopkeeper glanced at it, drew in a sharp breath, and said, “My, you have quite an appetite! Of these thirty-six herbs, we have thirty here. I can obtain three more from other suppliers, but the last three I simply cannot procure. I can only ask around for you.”

Zhou Qian inquired about the three missing herbs. The shopkeeper replied, “One is the Guo’er flower, another is sweetroot, and the last is leopard-tail grass. The Guo’er flower grows deep in the grasslands and can only be obtained from foreign traders. Sweetroot is rare in the south and difficult to preserve. As for leopard-tail grass, it does grow locally, but it’s found deep in the mountains where tigers, wolves, and poisonous creatures roam—few dare venture to harvest it.”

“Oh? What does leopard-tail grass look like?” Zhou Qian asked.

“We do have one stalk in our inventory, though not enough for your needs. If you’d like to see it, I’ll have it brought out.” The shopkeeper shook his head and sent the blue-clad attendant to fetch it. The attendant, no longer arrogant, obediently complied. Zhou Qian examined the specimen: it was about the length of a finger, covered in fine yellowish fur, much like the tail of a leopard.

“This leopard-tail grass looks so familiar. Could I have seen it before?” Zhou Qian pondered for a long while but couldn't recall. Since he needed many kinds of herbs and couldn’t gather them all at once, he arranged a time to exchange the rest with the shopkeeper, paid a deposit, and was personally escorted out.

With nothing else pressing, Zhou Qian decided to seek out his friends. Estimating that Li would be busy with business, he headed instead for Wang Hu, who was now living at Master Li’s estate on the west side of the city. The estate was lavish, spanning hundreds of acres, with pavilions and water features, birds singing and flowers blooming, and even an artificial lake. Zhou Qian didn’t use the front entrance, but circled around to the back, where he knocked. A house servant poked out his head, greeted him casually, “Dog Egg, here to see Brother Hu? He’s at the training yard. Come with me.”

The servant led Zhou Qian through twists and turns to the training ground, which spanned dozens of acres—spacious, with the ground paved in blue stone and scattered with stone weights, iron stakes, and weapon racks laden with swords, spears, staves, axes, and hooks.

A crowd of bare-chested men were practicing with weapons, building their strength. The servant shouted, “Brother Hu, Dog Egg’s here for you!” Wang Hu, in a horse stance, was repeatedly plunging his hands into a brazier filled with hot sand. Sweat rolled from his brow, making his sturdy frame gleam. Seeing Zhou Qian, Wang Hu’s face lit up, but before he could finish, a thunderous roar rang out, making Zhou Qian’s eardrums ache: “Keep practicing!”

Zhou Qian turned to see a burly man with a leopard-like head, ringed eyes, and a bristling beard glaring at him. “Little brat! Don’t disturb Little Hu’s training!”

Zhou Qian shrank back, murmuring, “I understand, Sixth Uncle.” This was Ba Zi Liu, the Li family’s martial instructor and Wang Hu’s master. He was fiercely protective of Wang Hu and, by extension, looked after Zhou Qian as well, though his temper was rather fiery. Zhou Qian was a bit afraid of him—Li Sanshan had once suffered a harsh lesson from Ba Zi Liu and had sworn never to set foot there again.

After the time it takes to burn an incense stick, Ba Zi Liu finally called a halt, leaving Wang Hu so exhausted he collapsed on the ground, his fingers stained with blood.

Zhou Qian couldn’t help but protest, “Sixth Uncle, you’re too harsh! Brother Wang’s hands are injured!”

Ba Zi Liu spat on the ground. “No one builds strength without injury! Just like raw iron from the mine—it must be hammered and broken to become fine steel. Enough nonsense! Help Little Hu back to his room and treat his wounds.”

Obeying, Zhou Qian helped Wang Hu back, fetched medicine for bruises and cuts, and as he applied it, told Wang Hu about his experience at the apothecary. Wang Hu, weakly, replied, “That internal training method is a secret rarely passed on in the martial world. Elder Zhou must think highly of you. You must train diligently—don’t disgrace his name. As for this leopard-tail grass, let me have a look, perhaps I’ll recognize it.”

Zhou Qian produced the leopard-tail grass. Wang Hu gave a soft exclamation. “Why does this look so familiar?”

“You think so too?” Zhou Qian was surprised.

“Let me think…” Wang Hu pondered, then his eyes lit up. “Isn’t this the little grass growing beside the fragrant sunflower? Do you remember?”

“That’s it!” Zhou Qian exclaimed in excitement. He had seen leopard-tail grass before!

It happened years ago, when the three brothers were still living by begging, with no one to guide or teach them. One day, Li Sanshan had the wild idea to explore nearby She Mountain. The place was notorious—dark, full of tigers, wolves, and snakes. Even the most seasoned hunters rarely dared to venture there. But the three beggar boys were reckless and hard to control; at Li’s call, all three set out, carrying nothing but some dry food. They climbed the mountain, where ancient trees blocked out the sun, and the deeper they went, the colder and gloomier it became. Insects swarmed, leaving them dizzy and miserable. Before long, Li was ready to give up. The trio turned back, but the winding paths led them astray—they were lost, wandering the mountains for two days and nights. They witnessed a tiger devour an elk, wolves feast on badgers, and even a bear tear apart a leopard. The bloody scenes left them trembling in terror, their hearts nearly failing. Yet by luck or stupidity, they were not eaten by any wild beast.

Blundering through the woods, they stumbled into a hidden cave that opened into a small valley, flanked by steep cliffs and with a lake ahead. Like weary birds returning to their nest, they fished and caught shrimp, staying several days. The valley was full of strange flowers and herbs. Zhou Qian recognized only one: the fragrant sunflower, which an old cook had once pointed out to him. It grew deep in the mountains and was famed as a seasoning—adding it to soup enhanced the flavor to perfection. Zhou Qian’s noodle shop owed much of its fame to this flower; without it, his skills alone would not have earned him such renown.

Beside the fragrant sunflower grew the leopard-tail grass. At the time, Li jokingly said, “Why do these dog-tail weeds look like tiger tails? Like putting green onions in a pig’s snout—pretending to be clever!”

The three stayed a few more days. Wang Hu suggested building a small raft to float down the lake. Following the current, they were carried into the Tongtian River, one of the four great waterways of the Central Plains. They made their way ashore and, after walking dozens of miles, finally returned to Chaozhou. At the city gate, the three looked at each other, nearly bursting into tears.

“I must go there again,” Zhou Qian declared with conviction.