PCJ – Chapter 119 Collecting Herbs

Cock-a-coo…

The morning in Meizi’ao begins with the first crow of the rooster. A new day starts, and life unfolds a new page. The fright of last night seems to have been left behind. However, Liu Qiaoye does not think so, as Zhang Jiaohua’s condition still worries her deeply. The yellow hen from last night did not replenish much of Zhang Jiaohua’s depleted vitality.

Early in the morning, Zhang Youping strides toward the Yidu Shui commune, occasionally touching the several dozen yuan bills hidden in his pants’ pocket. It’s rare for Zhang Youping to carry so much money when going out, and he constantly worries about it falling out.

On this autumn morning, the fog hangs thick in the air, and after a few steps, tiny droplets form on his hair, turning it white in an instant.

By the time Zhang Jiaohua wakes up, his father has already returned from the commune, carrying a piece of pork belly with a rib attached and a pig’s stomach. This is a luxury for Zhang Jiaohua’s family, usually reserved for festivals or birthdays. Buying so much meat is an extravagance for any family in Meizi’ao.

Early in the morning, Liu Qiaoye sharpens her knife, determined to prepare something nourishing to help Jiaohua recover quickly.

Zhang Jiaohua is awakened by the aroma coming from the kitchen, unable to stay in bed any longer. He rushes to the kitchen without washing up, reaching for a piece of freshly cooked pork with chili peppers. Just as his hand extends, Liu Qiaoye lightly slaps it away.

“Go wash up first,” she says, her face adorned with a smile that could melt ice.

Zhang Jiaohua quickly washes up, returning with toothpaste still on the corner of his mouth.

“You little rascal, did you even wet your hands?” Liu Qiaoye scolds, noticing his half-hearted effort.

“Of course I did, even my sleeve got wet,” Zhang Jiaohua replies honestly, showing his damp sleeve, a result of not bothering to roll it up.

Back then, the pigs raised in Meizi’ao were mottled pigs. Decades later, they would be replaced by improved breeds, and the unique flavor of their meat would become a thing of the past.

Despite the thick layer of fat, the meat was considered the best. In those days, fatty meat was preferred for its richer flavor, while lean meat, though less greasy, was considered tougher. Zhang Jiaohua found his teeth filled with lean meat fibers, while the fatty meat tasted sweet and delicious.

The pig stomach was used to make a large pot of soup. This time, neither Zhang Youping nor Liu Qiaoye considered sharing it with Zhang Jiaohua’s grandparents. They wished to feed all the meat to Jiaohua, hoping it would turn into flesh on his bones. Unaware of what vitality loss was, they didn’t know that eating meat alone wouldn’t effectively restore Zhang Jiaohua’s energy.

Zhang Jiaohua ate heartily until his stomach was full. Then he noticed something odd.

“Mom, Dad, why are you only eating the chili peppers? Are they tastier than the meat?” he asked, puzzled by his parents’ behavior.

“Chili peppers are delicious. Stir-fried with pork, they’re the best,” Liu Qiaoye replied, smiling.

“Dad, can we go to the mountains to gather herbs later? My old Taoist master said that eating meat alone won’t restore my vitality. We need to make a tonic soup,” Zhang Jiaohua suddenly remembered.

“A tonic soup? You don’t know anything about medicine. The herbs in the mountains look like weeds. How would you find them?” Zhang Youping laughed.

“My master taught me last night. I had to remember the herbs and got hit many times,” Zhang Jiaohua said, showing his hands, which were still sore from the dream.

“Just take him,” Liu Qiaoye said, clearing the dishes.

“Alright, I’ll go with you. But if you’re lying, I’ll spank you,” Zhang Youping teased, pinching his son’s cheek.

“I know them. You’ll see,” Jiaohua replied, his lips pouting in displeasure.

Zuan Shanbao, in a good mood, knew that if Zhang Jiaohua was eating meat, there would be some for him too. Zhang Youping and Liu Qiaoye, doting on their son, allowed Jiaohua to feed Zuan Shanbao, even if it meant they didn’t eat any themselves.

The Meishan Mountains stretch for hundreds of miles, filled with remote forests, a vast treasure trove waiting for those with the right key. The mountains around Meizi’ao are rich in various herbs, but to the locals, they are no different from firewood.

Zhang Jiaohua, entering the mountains, excitedly discovered surprises in every corner of the forest.

“This is Poria, this is Magnolia bark…”

Zhang Youping was surprised that Jiaohua recognized so many herbs. No one in Meizitang knew these herbs, and there were no medical books at home. How did his son learn about them? Could there really be a god in his dreams teaching him? Zhang Youping struggled to accept this, yet here was his son, miraculously mastering Meishan magic and recognizing herbs.

Every time Jiaohua found an herb, he called Zhang Youping to dig it up. Some herbs were harvested for their leaves, others for their roots or fruits.

By the time they returned home, Zhang Youping’s basket was full of herbs. The only disappointment was not finding wild ginseng. However, Zhang Youping firmly refused to let Jiaohua venture deeper into the forest.

When they got home, Liu Zongtai was there with a gift, including a wild ginseng.

“I went to town this morning but couldn’t find old ginseng at the pharmacy. This one is less than ten years old,” Liu Zongtai said, not mentioning that even if he found older ginseng, he couldn’t afford it.

“How much was the ginseng? We’ll pay you back,” Zhang Youping offered.

“You’re insulting me. Your son saved my family. If I can’t even give you ginseng, what kind of person am I?” Liu Zongtai replied, agitated.

“What about your cow? What will you do?” Zhang Youping asked.

“What can I do? I don’t dare take food from its mouth,” Liu Zongtai said with a bitter smile.