Chapter 102 - Zhang Chunyang

Zhang Yingchen was more keen on opening a pharmacy than anyone else, but he couldn’t make the decision himself. Asking Zhao Yigong to telegraph Lin’gao for medicine was like trying to quench a thirst with distant water. Fortunately, when he worked at the traditional Chinese medicine hospital, he often frequented the dispensary. General traditional Chinese medicine hospitals usually prepared some commonly used patent medicines. The medicinal materials used were generally not expensive, but they were proven remedies that had been used for many years with remarkable effects. Zhang Yingchen thus planned to set up a manual medicine workshop in the temple to prepare some medicines himself.

In the second courtyard, over a hundred people had gathered to seek his treatment. Seeing “Zhang Chunyang” emerge, they all stirred restlessly.

Zhang Yingchen glanced around. There were many people seeking medical advice today. To avoid spending too much time on consultations, which would leave him no time for missionary work and writing about medicine, he had stipulated that he would only see patients on even-numbered days of the month.

“Dear patrons, please don’t be disorderly. Come one by one,” called out Mingren, a young Daoist from the temple. Zhang Yingchen cleared his throat and, with a “transcendent” gait, walked to the long table under the tree. Mingqing neatly arranged the medicine box and medical records on the table. This action immediately caused a stir of hushed whispers among the nearby crowd: Zhang Yingchen was using a quill pen, an inkwell, and thick paper.

Zhang Yingchen sat down behind the table, calmly adjusted his sleeves, and Mingren quickly served him a freshly brewed cup of pre-rain tea. He took a sip before signaling to begin.

Zhang Yingchen’s diagnostic methods were still the traditional “observation, auscultation, inquiry, and palpation,” but he had also incorporated three common tools of modern medicine: a stethoscope, a thermometer, and a sphygmomanometer. Although these three items were simple, they greatly improved the accuracy of his diagnoses. As a result, many people who had been confused by the conflicting opinions of various doctors or self-proclaimed “Confucian physicians” could get a more accurate diagnosis from him, and the prescribed medicine was particularly effective.

He wrote prescriptions as he diagnosed. Unless absolutely necessary, he prescribed only locally available medicines and Chinese patent medicines. In the previous stage, Zhang Yingchen had sent a young Daoist to buy various Chinese patent medicines sold in the city’s pharmacies. He analyzed their ingredients by sight, smell, and taste to be able to use locally produced drugs. The types and names of “raw drugs” in Ming Dynasty pharmacies were mostly the same as in the old world, but Chinese patent medicines were very different. Many commonly used patent medicines from the old world only appeared and were perfected during the Qing Dynasty.

To maintain his “magical attribute” and as a placebo, even for prescriptions that could be filled locally, he would include a packet of “pills”—which were actually honey and rice flour pills he made himself.

This farcical distribution of placebos had been done many times during Zhang Yingchen’s missionary work in Hainan. Once, he had “cured” many people in a Li village with this method. It proved to be just as effective in Hangzhou. Quite a few people got better after taking the placebos. Although these rice flour pills solved the immediate problem, a more troublesome issue emerged.

In the past, most of the people who came to Qingyun Temple for treatment were poor people who couldn’t afford medical care, coming with a “nothing to lose” attitude. Since his fame as a “divine physician” spread, more and more people from official and wealthy families began to come. Of course, some came for treatment, but most were seeking the art of “longevity.” Some bored individuals started spreading rumors that Zhang Yingchen knew the art of external alchemy. Many Confucian scholars and wealthy men, their minds filled with fantasies of turning base metals into gold and silver, repeatedly came to him for advice, wanting to “discuss the art of longevity” with him.

Just then, such a person appeared before Zhang Yingchen. This man was the “steward” of a local gentleman—in other words, the master’s “lackey.” He had come to Qingyun Temple more than once, asking him to “concoct a great medicine” for his master.

The conditions offered were extremely generous. Since Zhang Yingchen had used modern medicine to save several patients whom the famous doctors of the city had given up on, his reputation for “bringing the dead back to life” had spread. This gentleman had naturally heard of it and offered to let Zhang Yingchen live in his villa on West Lake, providing him with a generous monthly stipend of money and grain so he could concentrate on his cultivation and alchemy. In addition, handsome young servants and beautiful maids would be provided to serve him.

“Daoist master, what future is there for you in treating patients here?” The steward, having failed to secure a deal after many visits, was getting impatient. “If you can concoct a good medicine for my master, it would be easy to build a new temple for you!”

Zhang Yingchen wore an enigmatic smile, but he was extremely impatient. He would rather do some health education for the poor who couldn’t afford medical care than discuss how to “concoct a great medicine” with an old reprobate in his sixties who was still indulging in wine and women.

If it were for the pursuit of immortality, Zhang Yingchen wouldn’t have been so averse. Although he had always been contemptuous of alchemy, he had some interest in the process of refining elixirs itself. However, this old reprobate’s method of refining elixirs was quite different. He followed the theoretical model of using women as cauldrons, practicing the art of “sexual cultivation.” He had already ruined a reinforced platoon of girls for the sake of prolonging his life through this practice. Zhang Yingchen had read a lot about this and knew that the girls this old reprobate used were all young girls who had just had their first menstruation, only twelve or thirteen years old. If the lolicon enthusiasts in Lin’gao knew about this, they would surely shout “Heaven’s punishment!” and tear him to pieces.

Zhang Yingchen knew that the gentry of the Ming Dynasty, especially in the “end times” of the late Ming, had a “dance of demons” feel to it. The luxury and decadence of the gentry and wealthy families had reached an extreme. Like the Qing Dynasty, the Ming had no concept of human rights—there were no bottom lines. Zhang Yingchen had seen a lot of this while studying Daoist history, so he was very reluctant to get involved.

Originally, he had tried to decline, saying that he only had a superficial knowledge of medicine and was not familiar with the great art of alchemy. But the other party, for some reason, believed he was a reclusive master and not only spoke earnestly but also kept sending a large number of gifts. Zhang Yingchen had refused many times, but the other party was persistent, making it difficult to handle.

Moreover, the gentry had great power. He was just a wandering Daoist. If this old man got angry, a single note sent to the yamen could have him charged with “spreading heresy,” and at the very least, he would be taken to the yamen to taste the “bamboo planks of the Ming gentry” and then be “deported back to his hometown.” Not only would he suffer physical pain, but his “immortal” image would also be ruined.

Zhang Yingchen felt that he could not refuse again this time. Anyway, he had read many books on alchemy and sexual cultivation and could probably bluff his way through. He agreed to go and “talk.” They agreed that the mansion would send a sedan chair to pick him up in three days.

After finally getting rid of the arrogant servant, Zhang Yingchen focused on his consultations. He observed and inquired, felt the pulse, and occasionally used his instruments for examination. His quill pen wrote swiftly. Mingren and Mingqing assisted him, one grinding ink and laying out paper, the other distributing “elixirs” to those who had received prescriptions.

The consultations ended at two in the afternoon. Afterward, Zhang Yingchen instructed the young Daoist to pack up, and he returned to his quiet room to organize his medical records and clean his medicines.

“Sir, the master abbot asked me to ask if the temple should leave the gate open for you tonight,” the young Daoist Mingren asked respectfully, looking at the tall wandering Daoist before him as he served the tea.

He was going to Zhao Yigong’s place today. He had told Daoist Ma in the morning that they didn’t need to prepare dinner for him.

“No need. It’s just a scholar hosting a banquet to thank me. There’s no need to leave the gate open. You can close the doors and windows and go to rest,” Zhang Yingchen said with a gentle smile, lightly patting the boy’s head.

He gave the boy a few more instructions and then slowly walked out of Qingyun Temple. Outside the gate, Cai Shi, a servant sent by Zhao Yigong, was already waiting with sedan chair bearers. Although Cai Shi was not sure of the origins of this Daoist Zhang, nicknamed “a match for Chunyang,” he knew that his medical skills were superb and that he was an old acquaintance of his master. He dared not be neglectful, respectfully greeted him, and helped him into the sedan chair. The group then headed towards Phoenix Mountain Villa.

This banquet was not for “reminiscing.” The first phase of the Phoenix Mountain Villa project had been completed, and Zhou Dongtian and Mei Lin had returned from Nanjing—bringing with them many books, a dozen craftsmen, and servants. Zhao Yigong planned to use this opportunity to gather with the members of the inspection team and discuss the next steps. According to the information provided by the Great Library, the disastrous climate in Zhejiang would begin to erupt gradually from the summer. And the Dengzhou rebellion was also about to begin.

Unlike the Guang-Lei faction, which was focused on industrial development through arduous pioneering, the key mission of the Elders sent to Zhejiang was to deal with the upcoming refugee crisis and to absorb more human resources for the Transmigration Group to meet the goals of the Second Five-Year Plan. The focus of the work in Zhejiang was not on industries like sericulture and printing. In Zhang Yingchen’s view, Zhao Yigong’s series of plans were still aimed at generating revenue for the Hangzhou station. Zhejiang was not Guangdong, and the Navy’s projection capabilities could not guarantee that the Hangzhou station could act as recklessly as the Guangzhou and Leizhou stations.

The gentry class in Hangzhou, if divided by faith, could be roughly categorized into pro-Jesuit gentry, anti-Jesuit gentry, and neutralists. Due to the exemplary role of figures like Yang Tingyun, the so-called “pillars of the church in Hangzhou,” the proportion of gentry who were close to Christianity was higher in Hangzhou than in other places. In addition, the atmosphere in Zhejiang was open, and there were many enlightened scholar-officials like Huang Zongxi of Yuyao who were interested in “curious studies” and “Western learning.” This circle of gentry was one that Zhao Yigong could infiltrate with the help of the Jesuits.

He just didn’t know how well Old Zhao had been cramming his contemporary essays and modern-style poetry. Whether it was singing “Counting the Romantic Figures” at a banquet or silently writing Nalan Xingde’s poems while picking up fallen red leaves in the courtyard, these were things to be avoided at all costs. The tragedy of more than a dozen Elders being caught using Nalan’s poems to woo the daughters of local gentry in Lin’gao had become a mandatory negative example in the training courses for deployed Elders.

Putting aside Old Zhao, the fake scholar, Mei Lin, who was fixated on the Eight Beauties of Qinhuai, was a key person of interest for the Great Library’s Copyright Office Leadership Group. He wondered if his trip to Nanjing this time had fulfilled his wishes.