Chapter 113: Massage

Xie Yun’s face was etched with anxiety. She gripped her hands tightly, hardly daring to breathe, fearing she might disturb the old Daoist priest. Her eyes remained fixed on his expression, terrified of catching even a flicker of regret or helplessness.

"How is he, Uncle-Master?" Five minutes later, as the old priest slowly withdrew his hand, Zhang Ye hurriedly asked.

"As for my condition, Daoist, I know it well enough myself. You don't need to spare my feelings; even if there is no hope, I won't blame you. I have already grown used to it," the patient said, his voice heavy with resignation.

*Used to it.* After more than half a year of treatment—traditional Chinese medicine, Western medicine, small clinics, large hospitals, folk remedies, and secret prescriptions—he had tried countless avenues, yet never seen a single result. He had long since fallen into despair.

"When did I say it couldn't be cured?" the old priest snapped, his eyes widening.

"Daoist, you mean...?" Xie Yun was instantly overcome with excitement. She rushed forward two steps, grabbing the old priest’s hand. She was so overcome with emotion that she trembled uncontrollably, unable to find the words.

Li Qianqian also looked at the old priest with eyes full of joyous surprise. Glancing at Zhang Ye, she tugged hard at the corner of her shirt, tears welling up in her eyes.

"He is suffering from internal injuries. It didn't seem like much at first, but it has dragged on for at least ten years now. It’s been too long; ordinary medicine would truly struggle to cure it completely. However, if he takes the prescription I write and supplements it with proper massage therapy, it should be enough," the old priest said, stroking his beard with a look of complete confidence.

"Then... then thank you, Daoist, truly."

"Uncle-Master, please, hurry and treat Uncle Li. Whatever the prescription is, write it down, and we can start the massage therapy. Please, I’m counting on you," Zhang Ye said, also delighted, as he quickly chimed in.

"The prescription is easy enough to write." As he spoke, he pulled paper and a brush from his small cloth bag. The paper was a special yellow kind, similar to what might be used for talismans, though larger and softer. The brush, however, caught Zhang Ye’s eye—it was exceptional. It possessed the four key qualities of a fine brush: pointed, neat, round, and firm. Beyond that, it carried an air of refreshing elegance, with a small line of running-script calligraphy carved into the barrel and tiny, vivid figures of animals playing near the tip.

*This is a fine brush,* Zhang Ye thought to himself.

"For the external treatment, any standard liniment for bruises will do. Apply it three times a day. As for the internal medicine, take two doses of this prescription daily for a full half-month, and he should be able to get out of bed and exercise. The massage, however, is a bit more troublesome," the old priest explained as he began to write.

"Massage?" Li Qianqian asked nervously. With her father’s health at stake, she was particularly worried.

"The massage must work in tandem with the medicine. Ordinary people won't suffice; it requires the right technique, the right amount of force, and the right touch. I will be traveling soon and won't be back for a month or two, and your husband's condition cannot be delayed, so..." the old priest murmured.

"Then I’ll learn it. Could you teach me?" Li Qianqian asked immediately.

"You won't do. He, however, might just manage," the old priest said, pointing at Zhang Ye. "He is the disciple of my junior brother. He has sufficient strength, meets the basic requirements, and I trust him to learn it."

"Then I will learn. Please, Uncle-Master, just teach me." Seeing his future mother-in-law and Li Qianqian looking at him with such anticipation, Zhang Ye agreed without hesitation. There was nothing to discuss; this would only strengthen his bond with the family, and he had no reason to be dissatisfied.

"Very well. Brew the medicine according to this prescription, and if you have any questions, you can ask me. I will teach Zhang Ye the massage technique now." He handed the prescription to Xie Yun and gestured for Zhang Ye to begin the massage on Li Aiguo on the spot.

After having Li Aiguo remove his outer garment, the old priest dipped his hands into a nearby basin and began to press gently on Li Aiguo’s waist and other areas to confirm the location of the old injuries. Seeing Li Aiguo’s brow furrow in pain, he began to glide his hands over the lumbar muscles.

The old priest’s movements were fluid and graceful, light yet methodical. He would hook his fingers or push and pull, working through the layers of muscle beneath the skin with effortless, mesmerizing precision. As he worked, he explained the significance of each point to Zhang Ye.

Under the massage, Li Aiguo’s brow, which had been tightly knitted at first, began to relax and furrow by turns. A look appeared on his face that seemed to be one of both pain and profound relief.

Watching from the side, Li Qianqian’s heart had been in her throat, but seeing her father’s expression shift to one of comfort, she finally let out a sigh of relief.

After more than ten minutes, the series of movements concluded. Li Aiguo let out a long sigh; though his back was drenched in sweat, he felt immensely better.

He looked at the old priest with gratitude and said, "Thank you, Daoist. Ever since this illness set in, I have never felt this comfortable. It’s as if a year’s worth of pent-up stagnation has been released all at once."

"If you want to thank someone, thank my nephew here. If he hadn't come to me, I never would have known about your condition." The old priest waved his hand and looked at Zhang Ye. "Did you commit the technique I just taught you to memory?"

"I did." Zhang Ye thought through it carefully for a few minutes and then nodded firmly.

After helping Li Aiguo take the medicine and having Zhang Ye perform the massage once more, the pale, bloodless face of Li Aiguo began to flush with color. His complexion looked far better than it had before. Seeing this, Xie Yun and Li Qianqian offered their deepest thanks once again.

...

"Uncle-Master, are you leaving today?" Amidst the endless gratitude and desperate pleas to stay from Xie Yun and Li Qianqian, Zhang Ye walked the old priest, Wang Qingshan, out of the house.

"Yes, it is time to go." The old priest looked up at the horizon, sighing slightly.

Suddenly, Zhang Ye hesitated, then asked curiously, "That massage..." Zhang Ye was sharp, and he had sensed something earlier.

"It wasn't strictly necessary, of course. While the massage helps speed up recovery, his recovery wouldn't be hindered without it. I saw how much you cared about that young lady, so I gave you a helping hand. How about that? I’m a good sport, aren't I?" The old priest looked at Zhang Ye with an amused, lecherous grin that felt completely at odds with the image of the esteemed, high-minded sage Zhang Ye had held in his mind.

Zhang Ye was rendered speechless.

He looked at his nominal Uncle-Master—who was, in reality, his true master—with a wry smile. A warmth flooded his heart, though he also felt a pang of guilt for having deceived him.

"Uncle-Master, I don't have much to offer you right now, but please take these three thousand yuan I withdrew today." Zhang Ye still had some money on him. Last time had been an emergency, and his bank card was at home, which had forced him to visit an internet cafe to withdraw funds. This time, he had been prepared, hoping to secure an antique painting, and had naturally readied himself to pay any price.

Now that his Uncle-Master was leaving, and remembering how he had once begged for alms at the school gate, Zhang Ye quickly offered the money.

Wang Qingshan did not refuse. He nodded, accepted the money, offered a few words of encouragement, and promised to return in a month to teach him more before departing.

Night fell, and the autumn breeze began to stir. As Zhang Ye cycled away, he didn't feel the cold, though a touch of melancholy lingered in the air.