Daming: Brother, there is no future for monks, let's rebel

The news spread, and within days, people from all around came.

Some people carried loads on their shoulders, some carried patients on their backs, and some dragged children on straw mats. As far as the eye could see, it was a dark, swarming mass.

Zhu Han personally treated patients from morning till night, almost without rest.

He treated a woman whose illness had penetrated to the bone; her pulse was as thin as a thread, and bystanders sighed that there was no hope of saving her.

Zhu Han observed her closely for a moment, then suddenly asked, "Does she often cry at night?"

The family nodded. Zhu Han said, "This is not an epidemic, but rather a result of prolonged grief and depression, causing qi stagnation in the liver. Take white peony root, bupleurum root, and roasted licorice root to relieve the depression and cure the condition."

He followed this method, and after three days of administering the medicine, the woman gradually regained consciousness. Everyone was astonished, and the saying spread that "He Xin, the doctor, is a divine remedy."

Zhu Han smiled faintly: "Medicine is not divine, but the human heart is divine."

In late spring, the epidemic subsided. Imperial physicians traveled south, secretly investigating the people who called him "the physician of compassion." Someone recognized Zhu Han and urgently reported this to the capital.

Upon receiving the report, Zhu Yuanzhang's gaze deepened, and he remained silent for a long time. Zhu Biao whispered beside him, "Father, Uncle did not act against his conscience; he only wanted to save the people."

Zhu Yuanzhang sighed slightly: "His practice of medicine is not a crime, but if I do not prohibit it, the law will be in chaos. How can the world abolish the system of thousands of officials because of the benevolence of one person?"

Zhu Biao hesitated, then bowed once and withdrew.

Three days later, an imperial edict was sent south, stating that "there are folk doctors who are misleading the public and using unorthodox methods to confuse medical practice; local officials are ordered to investigate this matter thoroughly."

Zhu Han, upon receiving the order, did not evade it. Instead, he ordered the boys to post medical records outside the medicine shed every day, noting the pharmacology and efficacy, so that people could freely copy them.

The boy said in a panic, "Your Highness, this is too conspicuous. If we get caught..."

Zhu Han laughed and said, "Only by showing it can it be seen. If it's not seen, how will anyone know that the people are ill?"

That night, mist shrouded the river, casting flickering shadows of lanterns. Zhu Han sat alone in his medicine shed, listening to distant barking dogs. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door three times.

"Enter."

The newcomer was a member of the Imperial Guard, dressed in black with a silver belt and a sword at his waist.

Zhu Han raised his eyes, his gaze calm.

The man knelt on one knee: "This humble official was ordered to investigate folk doctors. However, today I personally witnessed His Highness administering acupuncture and saving a child's life. I am deeply moved and dare not report this."

Zhu Han looked at him for a moment, then said softly, "If you do not report it, you will be disobeying the emperor's command; if you do report it, you will be going against your conscience. The choice is yours."

The Imperial Guard remained silent. After a long while, he rose, kowtowed, and said, "This humble official has nothing to see."

He turned and disappeared into the night. Zhu Han smiled, relit the fire, and spread out the manuscript page by page to dry.

A few days later, the epidemic in Jiangning Prefecture gradually subsided. The people spontaneously built a shrine at the entrance of the village, without setting up any statues of gods, but only offering medicine cups and white paper with the words: "The doctor without seals, his benevolent heart will live on forever."

Upon receiving the news, Zhu Han could only sigh, "Do not use my name."

The boy asked, "Your Highness, why do you not want fame? If the world knew you, wouldn't they be more likely to believe in your medical principles?"

Zhu Han replied: "Fame is like fire; when it burns, it scorches the body. The heart is like water; when it flows, it nourishes all things. A doctor who seeks fame is not a doctor."

On the summer solstice, Zhu Han continued his journey north.

They provided medical treatment and aided the sick along the way. Upon reaching Jiangxi province, they saw smoke rising again from mountain villages and rice paddies beginning to turn green. However, the epidemic was not yet over, and new illnesses occasionally broke out.

He arrived at a village, where a wooden tablet was erected at the entrance, which read: "Medical practitioners are prohibited from entering."

The boy looked frightened: "Your Highness, this place is set up by the government. If they see your name..."

Zhu Han smiled but did not answer. He simply took out his bamboo hat to cover his face and pushed open the door to enter.

The village chief stopped them, saying, "Halt! This is a plague-stricken village. No one may enter without an imperial medical officer!"

Zhu Han stopped and took out a letter from his pocket.

It was a secret letter written by Zhu Biao himself, which read: "Zhu Han, appointed as a specially appointed physician by the Southern Branch of the Imperial Medical Academy, to assist in medical affairs." The seal was Zhu Biao's private seal.

The village chief was startled and quickly retreated, saying, "So you were sent by the Crown Prince! Please come in!"

On this day, Zhu Han and the boy entered a newly encountered village. The clouds hung low and the wind howled.

The houses in the village were almost deserted, many windows were tightly closed, and white paper was hanging on the doors, indicating that people had died there.

The air was thick with an atmosphere of sickness and mourning; even the wind seemed to carry a solemn heaviness.

"Your Highness, are we really going to enter this village?" the boy asked in a low voice.

"Since the people need it, what is there to fear?" Zhu Han's voice was as calm and firm as the unmelted snow.

He didn't turn around, but pushed open the heavy wooden door and stepped inside.

The room was dark, dimly lit, and the air was humid.

Only the wind from outside the window occasionally blew by, causing the gauze curtains inside to sway slightly.

A few low coughs mingled with bursts of sobs, as if telling the story of the world's suffering and helplessness.

As Zhu Han entered, he saw the old woman standing by the bed, her eyes filled with panic and despair.

When she saw Zhu Han enter, she hurriedly waved her hand and said, "Don't come in! They are patients, please don't come near!"

Zhu Han smiled slightly, gently removed the straw hat from his head, and bowed: "Mother, do not be alarmed, I have come to treat your illness."

The old woman was stunned. After a long while, tears welled up in her eyes: "Doctor... what doctor would dare to come nowadays? The government has already said that private doctors are breaking the law, and all who come will be punished..."

“If you don’t come, you will be punished with your life,” Zhu Han said calmly.

He gently lifted the damp cloth covering the bed and saw that the woman's face was pale and her breath was weak.

The pulse was rapid and erratic, indicating the invasion of pathogenic factors, and the body's strength was gradually being exhausted.

Zhu Han lowered his head in thought, having already made his decision. He took out silver needles from his medicine box and began to prepare carefully.

"Boy, boil water." Zhu Han didn't turn around, but flicked his finger lightly, giving a concise and clear instruction.

The boy hurried to the stove and put the freshly boiled snow water into the pot. Steam rose up, and the room gradually filled with a warm atmosphere.

Zhu Han's gaze became focused and calm, and the silver needles danced in his hands.

"Break the soul, gather the spirit, guide the vital energy back to the heart—"

The needlework was nimble and fluid, like silk threads, with the needle tip swiftly and accurately piercing the woman's skin.

As the needles were inserted one by one, the woman gradually calmed down, her breathing became steady, her complexion turned from pale to rosy, and her body temperature gradually returned to normal.

Zhu Han remained silent and quietly wrote down prescriptions for various herbs: "Three parts indigo naturalis, five parts forsythia, half a liter of mint and half a liter of angelica dahurica, decocted in water and taken three times a day."

Then, he smiled slightly and handed the prescription to the old woman.

The old woman took the prescription, her hands trembling slightly, tears welling up again: "Doctor, I want to have your name engraved on a plaque so I can offer sacrifices in gratitude."

Zhu Han shook his head: "I have no name. You only need to remember the two words 'heart and harmony'."

The old woman was taken aback, then lowered her head, tears streaming silently down her face. She kowtowed, saying, "I understand. The doctor's heart is kind, and the medicine is effective. I am deeply grateful." Zhu Han nodded slightly, then walked out of the room.

The wind howled outside, as if the whole world was trembling at this small but heartwarming gesture.

As night fell, Zhu Han and Tongzi stayed overnight in the village.

By candlelight, he wrote down the condition and treatment plan for each patient, his handwriting neat and meticulous, like scripture.

The boy asked sleepily, "Your Highness, aren't you afraid the authorities will investigate if you write it like this?"

Zhu Han didn't look up: "I'm afraid. But if I don't write it down, how will future generations learn medical skills? I'm afraid of one person dying, but I'm also afraid of causing the deaths of a hundred others. Which is more important?"

The boy remained silent, but his eyes were full of respect.

The firelight illuminated Zhu Han's figure, and at that moment, his silhouette seemed to blend into the surrounding cold and snow, resilient and unyielding.

The next morning, Zhu Han set up a medicine stall by the river, named it "Hexinzhai", and hung a wooden sign in front of the door that read: "Illness can be cured, do not let your mind be disturbed".

He didn't sign his name or publicize it widely; all that everyone can remember are those four words.

The news spread, and soon people from the surrounding area flocked to the hospital for treatment.

Some carried loads on their shoulders, some carried patients on their backs, and some pushed straw mats around their necks; their eyes were filled with a desire to survive.

Zhu Han stood in front of the medicine shed, patiently taking the pulse, prescribing medicine, and treating each patient.

One day, he treated a woman who was terminally ill, with a weak pulse and almost no hope of survival.

Other doctors had declared her beyond saving, but Zhu Han patiently asked, "Does she often cry at night?"

The family nodded, and Zhu Han nodded gently: "This is not an illness caused by evil spirits, but an illness of the heart. Due to prolonged grief, her qi has become stagnant in her liver. She needs to be treated with white peony root, bupleurum root, and roasted licorice root to regulate her mood, relieve depression, and resolve qi stagnation."

Three days after the prescription was given, the woman miraculously awoke. Everyone around was astonished, and rumors spread that "He Xin, the doctor, is a divine remedy."

Zhu Han simply smiled faintly: "Medicine is not divine, but the human heart and spirit are."

However, the waves of the river did not wash away the pain and sorrow of this land.

Although the epidemic has subsided, new cases occasionally break out, and the people remain worried. Cries and pleas for help are often heard in the villages.

Zhu Han and Tong Zi entered this mountain village that had recently been hit by disease.

The stone tablet at the entrance of the village clearly reads: "Medical personnel are prohibited from entering," indicating that there are medical officials stationed here and that there is a high degree of vigilance against outside medical personnel.

Zhu Han didn't say much, but simply lowered his straw hat to cover his face and slowly walked towards the village entrance.

"Your Highness, are you really going in? The officials here say that outsiders are not allowed to enter," the boy said hesitantly, a hint of unease in his eyes.

Zhu Han smiled slightly, but did not stop walking: "Now that the disease has spread, how can we let the people sit idly by? If we don't go in, how will we know their suffering?"

He didn't answer the boy's question, but continued forward. Seeing the village chief standing at the door to greet him, Zhu Han took out a secret letter from his robes and handed it to the village chief.

"This is a letter personally written by the Crown Prince, appointing him to assist in medical affairs." Zhu Han's voice was unhurried and calm, yet it carried an invisible pressure.

The village chief took the letter, a hint of surprise flashing in his eyes. He then knelt down: "So it was sent by the Crown Prince. We respectfully welcome Your Highness." He hurriedly stood up, stepped aside, and led Zhu Han into the village.

The village was silent, the houses were empty, and many doors and windows were tightly closed. Only occasionally could one see some lowered eyes peeking out at the outside world.

The air was filled with a damp, musty smell, and the occasional cough from afar sounded particularly lonely and desolate.

Zhu Han did not stop immediately, but walked straight to a house in the village that seemed to be quite popular.

The room was almost dark, with only the faint light of a kerosene lamp barely illuminating the surroundings.

A middle-aged man lay on the bed, his face pale and his brows furrowed, clearly having been ill for a long time.

"What illness does this patient have?" Zhu Han asked a woman standing nearby.

When the woman saw Zhu Han enter the room, she hurriedly got up, her face full of panic: "Doctor, you...you mustn't come any closer! He's had a fever for days now, you should go home..."

Zhu Han ignored her advice, walked closer to the bed, and carefully observed the patient's complexion and pulse.

The room was quiet, with only the patient's faint breathing and occasional cough echoing in the air.

Zhu Han reached out and gently took his pulse, his brows furrowing slightly.

“This patient is already terminally ill, and his internal heat is extremely strong. If we don’t clear the heat and detoxify him in time, I’m afraid…” Zhu Han muttered to himself.

Seeing Zhu Han's calm demeanor, the woman felt slightly relieved: "Doctor, can he still be saved?"

Zhu Han was silent for a moment, then said, "If he is left untreated, he will surely die; if he is treated, there is still a glimmer of hope."

He turned around and took out medicinal herbs from the medicine box on his back, grinding them carefully to prepare the herbal medicine.

At the same time, he took out silver needles and began to administer acupuncture to the patient.

"It disperses qi, dispels cold, clears heat, and detoxifies."

Zhu Han's voice was calm, but his movements were extremely swift. As soon as the needle tip pierced the patient's skin, the silver needle entered the body as quickly and accurately as silk.

With each needle insertion, the patient's body gradually relaxes, and their breathing begins to become more even.

The woman stood to the side, a look of surprise on her face: "Doctor, you...you applied the acupuncture so quickly, it's as if you're very skilled."

Zhu Han did not answer, but continued his treatment.

His movements were fluid and natural, as if each needle could accurately strike the patient's vital points and dispel the internal heat.

A few minutes later, the patient finally calmed down, his complexion gradually regained some color, and the cold sweat on his forehead gradually subsided.

Zhu Han breathed a slight sigh of relief: "Send this prescription to the family. They can take the three herbs, white peony root, bupleurum root, and forsythia, to decoct and take them to gradually recover."

The woman hurriedly took the prescription, tears welling in her eyes, and knelt down on the ground: "Doctor, you are truly my savior! How should I address you?"

Zhu Han turned to leave, saying simply, "A doctor is nameless, but benevolence is paramount. Just remember the prescription."

The woman nodded hurriedly, tears streaming down her face: "I will remember, I will remember."

Zhu Han didn't say anything more, but turned around and left the house, heading to the next one.

Zhu Han walked out of that house, his steps unwavering, continuing to traverse the narrow and somewhat muddy paths of the village.

The boy followed closely behind him, his eyes filled with worry and tension, glancing around every now and then, afraid that something unexpected might suddenly happen.

"Your Highness, isn't it too risky for us to travel around like this? What if those physicians find out..." the boy said cautiously in a low voice.

Zhu Han tilted his head slightly, his gaze firm: "Young man, the people are suffering from illness right now. If we back down out of fear, how are we any different from those who refuse to help those who are dying? Doctors should take saving lives and healing the wounded as their duty."

After hearing this, the boy still had some concerns, but seeing Zhu Han's resolute expression, he could only nod silently and quicken his pace to catch up.

They arrived at a dilapidated hut at the other end of the village. The hut looked so crumbling that a strong wind could blow it down.

Painful groans came from inside the house. Without hesitation, Zhu Han lifted the tattered straw curtain and went inside.

A pungent, putrid stench filled the room. In the dim light, a emaciated child lay on the bed, his face ashen, eyes tightly closed, and lips cracked and peeling white. (End of Chapter)