Chapter 23: The Reclusive Divine Herbalist

Zhang Chi and the other two led their horses, following the crowd into the village. The young woman, wary of any tricks, held her bow and arrows at the rear, watching the three intently, never relaxing her vigilance.

The village houses were built in neat rows, orderly and well-kept. Only when they reached the center of the village did they come upon a standalone residence, fenced off with a wicker barrier. Within the courtyard, medicinal herbs lay drying in abundance. At this point, the young woman moved to the front of the group, pushed open the gate, and entered, calling out, "Grandpa Shennong, I've returned with herbs."

"Bing'er, it seems many people have arrived outside?" came a frail voice from within. The girl, called Bing'er, removed the bamboo basket from her back and set it on the ground, replying, "Yes, Grandpa, come see—we've caught three bandits."

Clearly, she had decided Zhang Chi was a bandit. He could only shake his head in resignation.

Upon hearing Bing'er’s words, the door opened and an elderly man stepped out. His hair and beard were snowy white, but his eyes sparkled and his manner was graceful, almost otherworldly. Zhang Chi thought that, compared to the immortal Taibai Venus from Journey to the West, this old man was more like a true sage.

Bing'er hurried forward to assist him, but he waved her off with a smile, saying, "No need, I can still walk." Nevertheless, Bing'er continued to support him as they made their way to the center of the courtyard. She pointed at Zhang Chi and his companions, saying, "Grandpa, thousands of bandits have entered the valley. These three came to scout the village and we caught them. What should we do with them?"

Zhang Chi stepped forward, bowed, and patiently explained, "Honored elder, we are not bandits but officers of the law. We heard of the banditry in this region and came to apprehend the criminals."

The old man did not respond immediately, but studied Zhang Chi and his white horse at length. When Zhang Chi began to grow impatient, he suddenly said, "Young master, I have been waiting for you for many years."

Zhang Chi was stunned, as were the villagers and Bing'er, who found the statement baffling.

"These three are not evil men. You may all go," the old man addressed the villagers. Though puzzled, the villagers respected him deeply; at his word, they dispersed, albeit reluctantly. Bing'er asked, "Grandpa, you haven’t left the valley in over twenty years. How do you know these outsiders?"

The old man merely smiled, offering no answer. Turning to Zhang Chi, he said, "Since you have come to this remote place, why not come in and take some tea?"

With that, he walked back into the house. Bing'er, still confused, hurried after him, helping the old man inside. Santong glanced at Daoxuan, then at Zhang Chi, and asked, "Brother Zhang, shall we go in?"

"We’re here; we might as well make ourselves comfortable," Zhang Chi replied, sensing something unusual but finding the old man’s demeanor sincere. "Let’s go."

He strode into the house.

Inside, the air was thick with the scent of medicinal herbs. Zhang Chi surveyed the small room, seeing little to distinguish it from any peasant dwelling, save for shelves and jars filled with herbal remedies. The old man was already seated on a Hu chair, preparing tea. "Since you have come from afar, why not sit and enjoy a cup?"

The Hu chair, adopted from the northern tribes, was not a bed but a seat, similar to a chair. Zhang Chi was pleased—it was far more comfortable than kneeling on a mat. He asked, "How should I address you, honored elder? Do you favor this Hu chair because you hail from the north?"

The old man thought for a long while before answering, "My name has long faded from memory, but people call me Shennong."

"Age dulls the memory," he sighed.

"Shennong is a sage from ancient times," Santong, though not widely read, had heard of Shennong.

"Is my grandfather not a sage?" Bing'er retorted, displeased. "They say the ancient Shennong was a sage, but he never did anything for us. My grandfather saved every life in this village—if you ask me, he is more of a sage than the old Shennong."

The old man smiled lightly and said, "In all the world, there is neither sage nor ordinary. A name is but a convenience for others."

Zhang Chi admired his breadth of mind.

The old man poured tea for Zhang Chi, his manner kind. Zhang Chi asked, "Why, when the villagers hear the word 'officers,' do they grow so agitated?"

"Young master, let me explain," the old man began. "Many years ago, during Huan Wen’s northern expedition, the people of this village fled from the northern tribes."

Zhang Chi had heard of Huan Wen—he was Huan Xuan’s father, a famed general.

The old man pointed at Bing'er. "Take Bing'er—her parents were northern refugees, fleeing the oppression of the tribes. She was born beside the Luo River during their flight. Her mother carried her as an infant, escaping across the Yangtze, evading pursuit, only to return home and be slaughtered by bandits. Both her parents perished."

Born in chaos, the lives of common folk are worth less than grass. Zhang Chi was moved by the old man's tale, while Bing'er, standing behind him, seemed unaffected—she had been an infant then, and the years had dulled any sadness.

"Why, then, do the people resent the officers?" Zhang Chi asked.

"Do you know who those bandits were?" the old man replied.

Zhang Chi shook his head.

"They were the imperial army of the Huan clan."

"How could the government’s soldiers massacre civilians?" Zhang Chi exclaimed,