Chapter 151.1: Worship
The chickens were wild, and so were the sheep—but Wu Heng needed to make sure they all behaved themselves and stayed in their own corners.
Within his own space, he held absolute authority. Without much effort, he first located a large flock of wild chickens drinking water and pecking at insects by a pond. Their numbers had doubled since before, and they had grown noticeably larger as well. The moment they saw Wu Heng, they scattered in alarm in all directions.
In a nearby patch of bushes, Wu Heng discovered dozens of glossy white wild chicken eggs.
He crouched down and glanced around. These eggs definitely had to be left to hatch a new batch of chicks—chickens lay eggs, eggs hatch chickens; only then could the food supply continue endlessly.
After hesitating for a rare moment, Wu Heng picked up two smaller eggs from the edge, wiped them on his pant leg, cracked them open, and poured them into his mouth.
“Gulp, gulp.”
Something hard and icy pressed against Wu Heng’s forehead.
Still holding the eggshells in his hand, Wu Heng slowly raised his eyes—and saw a wild chicken even larger than the ones he had seen before.
It poked its head out from the bushes in front of him. Once it realized it had been discovered, it stepped out slowly, its fluffy, broad chest emitting an irritated, pre-attack rumble.
Seeing the delicate comb on the chicken’s head, Wu Heng knew it was a hen.
Everyone knew how ferocious hens were when protecting their young—never retreating, not even in the face of natural enemies.
The young man slowly stood up, turned his head, and bolted.
After a brief moment of stunned stillness, the hen began hopping and flapping as it chased after the egg thief.
Only after Wu Heng had crossed over a small hill did the enraged hen finally stop. Wu Heng stood there, panting heavily. When he looked back, the hen was already strutting proudly on her way back.
Not yet, he thought. But eating them is only a matter of time.
Wu Heng brushed the bits of grass off himself and found several sheep grazing with their heads down on the back side of the hillside. They saw him coming and paid him no attention.
After a few more hills lay a small lake. Fine raindrops kept falling, and mountain mist drifted thickly all around.
There were some fish in the lake, their schools gliding lazily just as they would outside, now and then releasing a string of bubbles from beneath the water.
The shore was lush with flowers and grass. Outside, it was spring—and inside this space, it was spring as well.
The wooden fence along the lakeshore had already been built halfway, with a pile of tools set off to the side. Only Doctor Chen would be busy with this kind of work here.
Wu Heng’s gaze slowly shifted, and he spotted a small wooden cabin faintly visible on the opposite shore.
He took a long detour and made his way over to it. Before going inside, he circled the cabin once; there was even a small window on the left side.
No need to ask—this was definitely Doctor Chen’s handiwork as well. He had even built himself a duty room.
To keep out dampness, the cabin had an extra raised layer underneath, separating it from the ground. Wu Heng wiped the grass from the soles of his shoes, stepped up onto the stairs, and pushed the door open.
The cabin wasn’t large—at most ten square meters. Inside were a stool made from a tree stump, a low table of uneven thickness, and a thick wolfskin mat spread across the floor. Several notebooks were stacked in one corner.
Wu Heng sat down on the mat and lifted the stack of notebooks onto the low table in front of him. He flipped open the top one; it was filled entirely with handwritten notes, and every page bore patches of yellowish-white liquid that had long since dried and begun to stink.
He read a few lines and found that Doctor Chen had written nothing but key points on treating illnesses, personal insights, and suggestions on how to help the various physiological systems of the human body cooperate and develop more effectively.
Wu Heng couldn’t really understand much of it, but he knew that Doctor Chen was constantly thinking about his great medical pursuits, and it wasn’t as if Wu Heng felt nothing about that.
He hoped Doctor Chen wouldn’t end up delaying other important work because of it. With that thought, Wu Heng opened the second notebook. As soon as he turned to the first page, the very first line bore Wu Heng’s name.
Wu Heng: Pulse thin and weak; mood often low; severe deficiency of qi and blood. Favors meat; temperament impatient and irritable, easily leading to qi stagnation and qi deficiency, damaging longevity.
Dietary therapy recommended. Consume an appropriate amount of vegetarian foods such as white radish, onion, and Chinese yam. The patient is unlikely to be willing to take medicine; coercive measures carry an extremely high risk of medical disputes. Recommendation: eat it if you want, don’t if you don’t.
Wu Heng expressionlessly flipped to the second page. The second page was actually about Teacher Ying—Doctor Chen noted there that Teacher Ying was weak in qi with kidney deficiency.
With his back to the doorway, the young man continued turning the pages.
Almost everyone was written about in there.
Lin Mengzhi was noted as having an excess-fire constitution and should only drink water in moderation. Ruan Silian’s pregnancy-related bloating and nutritional supplementation were recorded as well. Shen Ping’an was described as having a deep, slow pulse and pent-up depression—put simply, he thought too much and wasn’t happy.
Wu Heng couldn’t think, for the moment, what it was that Shen Ping’an was unhappy about. He flipped further back, and only on the very last entry did he find Xie Chongyi.
Doctor Chen’s handwriting wasn’t the kind that was hard to make out—on the contrary, every stroke was clean and decisive, clear and easy to read.
Sparse yet frequent. Short-lived.
The tips of Wu Heng’s eyelashes trembled. He lowered his gaze and continued reading. Beneath everyone else’s diagnosis, there was always a corresponding method of treatment and regulation—but under Xie Chongyi’s diagnosis, there was nothing.
He flipped another page. Then another.
The rest of the notebook was completely blank—not written, and not an omission.
Wu Heng closed the cheap yet thick leather cover and put the stack of notebooks back where they belonged.
He frowned, feeling unsettled. For a brief moment, he even imagined Xie Chongyi disappearing from this world, and his mouth suddenly lost all sense of flavor.
The world could not exist without good food.