第一章、 温汤人家，执中守正
第一节、温汤人家，执中守正
“一方水土养一方人”，温汤镇的水土，是浸着暖意的。
这里的富硒温泉，是镇民日常的慰藉——清晨的石板路上，总能见提着木桶的老人慢悠悠走向泉眼，舀一瓢带着热气的泉水回家，或泡脚解乏，或泡澡舒筋，嘴里念叨着“这水养人”。
难怪镇上世代出俊男靓女，即便是粗茶淡饭的寻常人家，皮肤也透着健康的光泽；
温汤是全国有名的长寿镇，这里的百岁老人更是随处可见，粗茶淡饭，坐在巷口晒太阳时，谈笑声比春日的阳光还明朗，整个镇子找不到一位癌症患者，引起医学界泰斗争相研究，这是上天对袁州人的恩赐！
这份天然的养生底色，引得外地许多富商专程来此添置产业，把这里当作度假过日子的好去处，让温泉边的青石板路，也渐渐多了些南腔北调的寒暄，人气旺了，生意随之水涨船高，生活日用品也日渐丰富起来，老百姓的日子过得很安逸祥和，处处呈现岀一片欢乐的海洋。
清晨的温泉眼边，总围着拎着陶壶的阿婆们，她们说用温泉水泡发的黄豆格外饱满，磨出的豆腐带着股温吞的甜香，煎成金黄的豆腐块，蘸着本地辣椒面，是镇上早餐摊最俏的吃食。
巷尾的老茶馆更有意思，老板直接引温泉水入灶，煮出的绿茶汤色清亮，喝起来带着点矿物质的回甘。常有人泡在茶馆里，就着一盘花生米，从晨光熹微聊到日头西斜。
城里人懂得养生，空闲时都是一家老少、成群结队地都来这里泡脚泡澡，每天人山人海，弄得天天像赶集似的好不热闹，有时你会看到万人同沐的盛况。
他们回家时除捎上一些山货野味外，还会特意捎上几桶十几二十几桶富硒山泉水，拿回去烧水泡茶煮饭烧菜等用。
商家看到了生意，搭起简易棚子，摆上粗陶大木桶，外地人花上一两文钱，就能舒舒服服泡个脚，解去旅途疲惫；
对于有钱人来说，可以住进镇上的疗养院，院里栽着四季常青的松柏，温泉汤池砌在雕花廊下，晨起听鸟鸣泡汤，午后在藤架下品茗，日子过得悠哉悠哉。温泉边的吆喝声、谈笑声，混着水汽飘得老远。
那些来置产的富商，倒也懂顺着这里的性子来，建的宅院不贪大，多是白墙黛瓦的小楼，院里必挖一方小池，引温泉水缓缓流过，种上几株睡莲，叶片浮在暖水上，粉白的花苞垂着，倒比城里的豪宅多了几分温润。
每到秋冬，这些院子里就热闹起来，富商们带着家人泡汤、品茗，藤椅摆在池边，盖着厚棉垫，手里捧着青瓷杯，看水汽在杯口凝成小水珠；
孩子们追着池边的蝴蝶跑，偶尔踩进浅池溅起水花，被大人笑着嗔怪两句，倒也渐渐染上了几分镇民的悠闲模样。
每到农历九月初九，温汤镇要过“温泉节”，这日子是镇上老人按温泉水最暖的时辰定下的。
节前几日，镇民们就忙着准备：阿公们扛着竹筐去山上采野菊花，竹筐沿上挂着草帽，采满了就往筐里铺层松针，说能保住花香；
阿婆们则聚在祠堂前，竹凳摆成一圈，手里捏着晒干的艾草和香草，穿针引线缝成小香包，有的绣个简单的“福”字，有的缀上颗红绒球，串在红绳上，说是挂在温泉边能添福气，孩子们围着看，时不时伸手要一个挂在衣襟上。
节日当天，最热闹的是“沐泉礼”。清晨天刚亮，泉眼边就摆开了几张红漆长桌，桌布是新染的靛蓝色，桌上摆着新酿的米酒、刚蒸的米糕——
米糕上还印着桂花纹，还有用温泉水焯过的鲜藕，藕片裹着层薄糖霜，透着脆嫩。
镇长穿着藏青色长衫，领着大家先向泉眼鞠躬，再由德高望重的百岁老人拄着拐杖上前，颤巍巍舀起第一瓢温泉水，洒在泉边的青石板上，水珠溅起时，周围人都跟着念“谢水恩”，算是“敬水”。
之后镇民们便各自找地方泡汤，石砌的汤池里飘着野菊花，阿婆们坐在池边，把脚泡在水里，手里摇着蒲扇，聊着谁家的孙儿该上学了;
孩子们拎着小桶在浅水区打水仗，手里的香包浸了温泉水，艾草和香草的味混着水汽飘开，满巷都是暖融融的香。
到了午后，温泉边的空地上会搭起戏台，戏台帘是红底绣金线的，唱的是本地的袁州采茶戏，戏文里总少不了“温泉养人”的桥段，比如书生赶考路过温汤镇，泡了温泉后精神大振，最终高中状元。
戏台旁的小吃摊最是热闹，竹棚子支了一排，卖的都是温泉特色：用温泉水煮的土鸡蛋，蛋壳上带着细密的小气孔，敲开后蛋白嫩得像豆腐，蛋黄是澄黄的；
转角处的阿叔正守着小摊煎豆豉小鱼，铁锅里的菜籽油烧得滚烫，丢进裹了薄粉的小鱼，瞬间滋滋冒起金红的油花。
他手腕一抖，撒下黑亮亮的豆豉、拍碎的蒜末和切圈的小红椒，铲子翻搅间，香气混着戏台的锣鼓声往人鼻子里钻。
食客们凑在摊前，等阿叔用竹筷夹起煎得焦香的小鱼，搁在粗瓷碟子里，还冒着热气就迫不及待捏起一条——鱼肉外酥里嫩，牙齿咬开时，豆豉的咸香混着鱼鲜在舌尖炸开，连骨头都酥得能嚼碎，有人就着吃，有人往油纸袋里装，说要带去戏台边，就着茶慢慢啃。
用富硒山泉水泡的野菊花茶，便是这咸香滋味的最佳搭档。
山泉水的清冽激出野菊的甘香，茶汤澄亮如琥珀，入口先是微苦，尾调却泛着清甜。
喝一口，舌尖的咸鲜被冲淡，只留菊花的余甘，野菊的清热明目混着泉水里的硒元素，倒像是给这市井烟火气里，添了份润物细无声的妥帖。
还有温泉糯米酿的甜酒，盛在粗瓷碗里，撒上几粒桂花，热气裹着酒香、花香飘得老远，喝一口从舌尖暖到胃里；
更有阿婆推着小车卖温泉冻，用温泉水和藕粉慢熬成的冻，透亮得能映出戏台的影子，浇上一勺蜜水，凉丝丝、甜津津的，恰好压下甜酒的温燥。
那些来度假的富商们也跟着凑趣，有的搬个小板凳坐在阿婆身边学缝香包，线总绕在一起，引得周围人笑；
有的坐在戏台前听戏，手里还拿着串糖画——大多是小兔子造型，举着看半天舍不得吃，倒比镇里的孩子还看得入迷，偶尔跟着戏文哼两句，调子走了也不在意，只跟着众人一起拍手。
姐弟俩挤在长桌末端，夏云姑手里攥着个刚从阿婆那讨来的香包，红绳缠在手腕上，正给弟弟剥温泉水煮蛋。
蛋壳一磕就碎，嫩白的蛋白露出来，她递过去时叮嘱：“慢点吃，小心烫。”夏执中接过来，咬了一小口，含糊着说：“姐，比家里煮的香。”
不远处的戏台还没拆，有几个后生在收拾戏服，夏执中眼睛瞟着，脚不自觉往那边挪，夏云姑看出来了，笑着推他：
“想去就去看看，别走远，等下一起回家。”他立刻跑过去，凑在旁边看人家叠绣着金线的戏袍，手指轻轻碰了碰，又赶紧缩回来，像怕碰坏了什么宝贝。
等夏执中跑回来，手里多了个小生用的木质马鞭，是个戏班师傅送的，他举着给姐姐看，眼里亮闪闪的。夏云姑摸了摸他的头，从怀里掏出块用荷叶包着的米糕，递给他：
“吃块糕，我们该回了，娘定是在门口等我们呢。”姐弟俩并肩走着，灯笼的光把他们的影子拉得很长，夏执中时不时挥挥小马鞭，嘴里哼着刚听来的戏文调子，
夏云姑跟在旁边，听着弟弟跑调的哼唱，嘴角弯着笑，手里的香包随着脚步轻轻晃，艾草的香味混着温泉的暖意，一路飘回了夏家坊。夏家坊有豆腐坊、榨油坊、酿酒坊、酱油坊……，这地方曾留下了美好时光。
看戏过后，夏云姑和村里、镇上一班朋友摸仿着大人唱起彩茶戏，如《孙城打酒》《十美图》《白扇记》《喻家戏》《桃花女》，倘若我后来没有当皇后，我可能是舞台上一名著名演员。
我从小在清沥江边长大，清沥江教会了我游泳。
清沥江的水，比温泉更添几分神奇，它自仙女岭的石缝中渗出，终年带着化不开的暖意——哪怕腊月里北风卷着雪沫子往脖子里钻，只要把脚探进江水里，便只觉暖烘烘的气顺着脚踝往上爬，半分也冻不红皮肤。
镇里人都说是仙女洒下的甘露，夏云姑的娘却总摇头：“哪来的仙女？是你曾祖父、祖父积下的德，让咱们守着这好山好水，心也跟着暖。”
夏云姑，小名明月，家里有爹娘，还有个小三岁的弟弟夏执中。
在外人眼里，他们就是温汤镇再普通不过的农户，可没人知道，夏家祖上也曾是响当当的官宦人家——
曾祖父夏令吉，早年做过吉水簿，断案清明，百姓都敬称他“夏青天”；
祖父夏榖，更是官至太子少傅，陪先帝读过书，只是后来厌倦了朝堂上的尔虞我诈，才辞官带着家人回了温汤镇，守着清沥江过起了耕读传家的日子；
生父夏协虽未入仕，却承了祖上的文脉，一手毛笔字写得行云流水，连镇上的私塾先生都常来登门讨教，可惜他走得早，朝廷感念夏家祖上的功绩，追封他为太子少师、信王。
这些光耀的过往，爹娘从不对外人提及，只反复教姐弟俩：“做人要低调，行事要踏实。”
家里的茅草屋虽小，却总在屋角摆着个旧木匣，里面装着曾祖父的官印拓片、祖父当年的讲学笔记，还有生父临摹的《兰亭集序》。
每逢年节，娘都会郑重地把木匣取出来，让她和弟弟对着磕头祭拜：“你们曾祖父为官清廉，祖父教书育人，父亲忠厚老实，你们姐弟俩要学他们的样子，守正心，走正路。
第二节、夏云姑：学堂里的“解困人”
私塾的先生姓周，是个须发皆白的老者，据说早年在城里的书院教过书，后来因年迈回了温汤镇。
周先生知道夏家的过往，也怜惜夏云姑爱读书的性子——镇上的女孩多是跟着娘学针线、做家务，像她这样总揣着旧书卷的，实在少见。
所以每当学堂开课，周先生便默许她坐在墙外的老槐树下听课，有时还会把自己批注过的旧书借她看，叮嘱她“读书不在形迹，在用心”。
那天午后，周先生在课上讲《论语》里的“己所不欲，勿施于人”，问学生们：“这句话说的是待人之道，可若遇着不公之事，该如何自处？”学生们大多是七八岁的孩童，有的说“告诉爹娘”，有的说“躲得远远的”，周先生听着，只是轻轻摇头。
夏云姑坐在墙外，手里攥着生父留下的半本《论语》，听见先生的问题，忍不住轻声接了句：“先生，曾祖父曾说，‘己所不欲，勿施于人’是本心，可遇着不公，更要守着本心，不能因为怕事就退，也不能因为气盛就乱。就像他在吉水断案，明知凶犯是县丞的亲戚，也敢依法处置，因为他知道，若放了坏人，就是把不公施给了受害者。”
话音刚落，学堂的门“吱呀”一声开了，周先生站在门口，眼神里带着些惊讶，还有几分赞许：“明月，你进来。”
夏云姑愣了愣，握着书的手紧了紧，跟着先生走进学堂。学生们都转过头看她，有的好奇，有的不解。周先生指着讲桌旁的一个空座位：“以后你就坐在这里听课。”
她有些局促，小声说：“先生，我是女子，怕是不合规矩。”
周先生笑了，拿起她手里的《论语》，翻到生父批注的地方——那是“不义而富且贵，于我如浮云”一句，生父在旁边写着“心正，则富贵如尘；心偏，则贫贱如刺”。“规矩是死的，人是活的，”
周先生指着批注，对学生们说，“你们看，夏家的人，读书先读心。明月虽为女子，却懂‘守心’的道理，比你们这些只知背书的小子强。”
从那以后，夏云姑便正式进了学堂听课。
她学得认真，不仅背得熟，还总爱琢磨字句里的道理——周先生讲“学而不思则罔”，她便在课后把先生的话和祖父的讲学笔记对照着看，笔记里祖父写“思不是空想，是要对照着做人做事去想”，她便把这话记在纸上，贴在书桌前；
先生教写毛笔字，她就每天清晨起来，用树枝在地上练，手腕酸了也不停，没多久，她的字就有了生父的几分风骨，周先生看了，忍不住叹：“夏家的文脉，没断在你这一辈。”
入秋后的一天，学堂里闹了场小风波。镇上粮商的儿子赵小郎，把同窗陈小娃的墨锭藏了起来——那墨锭是陈小娃爹临终前留给他的，磨出来的墨色浓亮，陈小娃每天都用棉布包着，宝贝得很。发现墨锭不见时，陈小娃急得直哭，赵小郎却坐在一旁撇嘴：“谁让你总拿出来显摆，丢了也是活该。”几个学生围着劝，有的说去告诉周先生，有的说搜赵小郎的书包，赵小郎梗着脖子：“搜就搜，搜不到你们赔我面子！”
夏云姑正在窗边磨墨，见这情形，放下墨条走过去。她先拍了拍陈小娃的背，递给他一块干净的帕子：“先别哭，墨锭定是落在学堂里了，我们慢慢找。”又转向赵小郎，声音平静：“小郎，你昨天说你娘的手腕总疼，我爹上山砍柴时采了些‘桑枝’，熬水熏洗能治风湿，我下午给你带些来。”赵小郎愣了愣，他娘的风湿是镇上人都知道的事，却没跟学堂里的人提过，不知夏云姑怎么晓得。
夏云姑又说：“我记得你上次写‘孝’字，总把下面的‘子’写得歪歪扭扭，先生说‘孝’字要稳，就像子女扶着老人，得踏踏实实。你娘要是知道你藏了同学的东西，怕是手腕更疼了。”赵小郎的脸涨得通红，攥着衣角不说话。夏云姑蹲下来，指着他脚边的缝隙：“你看，那是什么？”众人低头，只见一缕墨色从他板凳腿的缝隙里露出来——正是陈小娃的墨锭，不知何时滚到了那里，被板凳挡住了。
赵小郎赶紧把墨锭捡起来，塞给陈小娃，小声说：“对不住，我不是故意的，就是想跟你闹着玩。”陈小娃接过墨锭，擦干眼泪笑了。周先生从后堂走出来，手里拿着本《弟子规》，翻到“财物轻，怨何生”那一页，对学生们说：“明月没喊没叫，却把事辨明了，这就是‘智’。读书不是为了背句子，是为了懂道理，用道理暖人心，这才是夏家‘守正’的真意思。”
后来赵小郎的娘真的用桑枝熏洗好了手腕，特意提着一篮温泉煮的土鸡蛋送到夏家，拉着夏云姑的手说：“你这孩子，比我家小郎懂事多了，以后常来家里玩，我教你做温泉蛋羹。”夏云姑笑着应了，心里想起祖父笔记里的话：“文能化人，不是靠高声辩理，是靠真心待人。”
有时夏执中练完武，会绕到学堂门口等她放学，手里总揣着几颗从山上摘的野山楂，见她出来，就塞到她手里：“姐，我刚去药庐给李大夫送了草药，他说你最近气色好，定是读书读得开心。”她笑着接过，把山楂分给身边的同学，夏执中就站在一旁，手里拎着她的书篮，像个小护卫，听着她和同学聊课上的内容，偶尔插一句“我姐说的对，就像曾祖父说的那样”，惹得大家笑，他也跟着嘿嘿笑，眼里满是骄傲。
第三节、夏执中：洪水里的“逆行者”
夏执中打小就爱舞刀弄枪，七八岁时跟着镇上的武师学武，武师一听说他是夏榖的孙子，特意多教了他几套夏家祖传的枪法，还拍着他的肩说：“夏家的孩子，就得有股正气。”十一岁那年，镇里流行风寒，不少孩子高烧不退，隔壁张阿婆的小孙子也染了病，躺在床上奄奄一息，镇上的郎中们都束手无策。娘急得直哭，这时有人说，仙女岭下的李宁大夫或许能治——李大夫是当地有名的老中医，年轻时在宫里当过御医，后来辞官回了老家，医术高明得很，性子却孤僻，从不轻易收徒。
夏执中听说后，揣了两个娘刚蒸好的白面馒头，天不亮就蹲在了李大夫的药庐外。李大夫开门见是个半大孩子，皱着眉赶他：“小孩家凑什么热闹，快回去。”他却“扑通”一声跪下，把馒头递过去，眼神亮得很：“李大夫，求您救救张阿婆的孙子，也求您教我医术！我学了医，就能帮镇上的人治病，以后打仗了还能救伤员！”李大夫看着他冻得通红的手，又瞧着他眼里的坚定，沉默了片刻，终究是让他进了药庐。
自那以后，夏执中就成了李大夫的徒弟。每天练完武，他就往药庐跑，跟着李大夫识草药、背药方、碾药粉。李大夫教他，“柴胡”能退热，“当归”能补血，“三七”能止血；还带着他去仙女岭采摘草药——春日里采刚冒芽的“茵陈”，夏日里挖带露水的“半夏”“夏枯草”，秋日里摘挂在枝头的“山茱萸”，冬日里挖埋在雪下的“天麻”。他总背着个竹篓，跟在李大夫身后，手里攥着小锄头，仔细记着哪些草能治病，哪些草有毒。有一次，为了采悬崖上的一株“灵芝”，他差点摔下去，幸好李大夫一把拉住他，嘴上骂着“冒失”，手却悄悄把那株灵芝摘了下来，教他怎么晾干入药。除了认药采药，李大夫还教他研读《黄帝内经》《难经》《伤寒杂病论》《神农本草经》这些医书，他也肯下苦功，背得滚瓜烂熟。
夏执中是个实诚孩子，从李大夫那学来的本事，全用在了镇上的人身上。谁家孩子积食不消化，他就用山楂、麦芽熬水给孩子喝；谁家老人腰酸背痛，他就用艾草熏烤穴位；张阿婆的腿风湿犯了，他就采来“独活”“桑寄生”，帮着煎药、泡脚。时间久了，镇上的人都夸：“执中这孩子，不仅武艺好，医术也越来越高明，真是夏家的好后代。”
没人教他武学时，他就对着木匣里的旧物琢磨——看祖父笔记里写的“执中守正”，他就把“不偏不倚”记在心里，练武时从不恃强凌弱，行医时也从不收百姓的钱；听爹讲曾祖父断案的故事，他就拍着胸脯说：“以后我要像曾祖父一样，保护好人，打跑坏人，还要做个能救死扶伤的大夫。”到了十五岁，他已把十八般武艺练得样样精通，镇上的年轻后生没一个是他的对手，医术也学了个七八成，李大夫常对着他叹气：“我这一身本事，总算没传错人。”
那年入夏，温汤镇连下了三天三夜的暴雨，天空像被戳破的雨帘，豆大的雨珠砸在青石板上，溅起半尺高的水花。清沥江的水涨得疯快，浑浊的江水裹着断枝、石块，在江面上翻滚咆哮，连岸边的老槐树都被冲得歪了腰。第四天夜里，雨势稍缓，夏执中正借着油灯的光背《备急千金要方》里的“伤寒例”，忽然听见院外传来急促的拍门声，混着风雨声，听得人心慌。
“执中！执中在家吗？”是住在仙女岭下的猎户王大叔，声音里带着哭腔，“快！李大夫的药庐被山洪冲塌了半边，他困在里面出不来了！”
夏执中心里“咯噔”一下，手里的医书“啪”地掉在地上。他顾不上捡，抓起墙上挂着的硬木枪——那是他上个月刚用仙女岭的老枣木做的枪杆，磨得油亮结实，又从桌下的药箱里揣上三七粉、止血布条和一瓶刚熬好的创伤药膏，扯过门口的蓑衣就往外冲。夏云姑也披了件粗布衫追出来，把一双纳了三层麻线的防滑草鞋塞给他：“穿这个！山路滑，娘已经去喊镇上的人了，你先去探路，千万别冒失！”
“知道了姐！”夏执中接过草鞋，往脚上一蹬，踩着满院的积水冲进雨幕。雨水砸在蓑衣上“噼里啪啦”响，视线被浓密的雨帘遮得模糊，只能凭着记忆往仙女岭的方向跑。山路早已被雨水泡得泥泞，每走一步都要陷下去半只脚，裤腿很快就被泥水浸透，沉甸甸地贴在腿上，脚踝处的伤口（前几日采草药时被石片划伤的）被泥水一泡，疼得钻心，他却咬着牙往前冲——李大夫还在等着他，药庐里那些晒好的草药、配好的药方，都是镇上人的救命东西，绝不能丢。
到了仙女岭下，眼前的景象让他倒吸一口凉气：往日里清静的药庐此刻塌了半边，屋顶的瓦片碎了一地，东倒西歪的木梁压在断墙上，像被猛兽啃过的骨架；浑浊的山洪顺着山坡往下冲，在药庐门口积成了一片深约半尺的泥水潭，水面还在不断上涨，潭里漂浮着药箱的碎片和晒干的草药，空气中混着泥土和艾草的味道。“李大夫！李大夫您在哪儿？”夏执中朝着药庐大喊，声音被风雨吞掉大半，只有山谷的回声传来。
过了片刻，药庐没塌的那半边屋里传来微弱的回应：“执中？是你吗？别过来！门口的土坡要滑了！”是李大夫的声音，带着些嘶哑，还混着几声咳嗽。夏执中循声绕到药庐侧面，这里的水流稍缓，但坡上的泥土已经松动，几棵小树歪歪斜斜地挂在坡边，树根下的泥土不断往下掉，随时可能被冲走。他握紧手里的木枪，用枪杆试探着地面的虚实——枪杆戳下去，有的地方硬实，有的地方却“噗”地陷进去，连枪头都没了影。
他一步一步往药庐挪，每一步都走得格外小心。突然，脚下的泥土猛地一松，他整个人往下滑了半尺，幸好手里的枪杆及时戳进旁边一棵小树的根部，才稳住身形。他低头一看，裤腿被坡上的荆棘划开了一道口子，鲜血混着泥水渗出来，火辣辣地疼。“执中！你没事吧？不行就等镇上的人来！”李大夫的声音又传来，带着焦急。“我没事！您再等等！”夏执中应着，手脚并用地往上爬，掌心被枪杆磨得发烫，指缝里嵌满了泥土和草屑，却丝毫不敢松劲。
终于到了药庐门口，他看见一根碗口粗的断木横在门口，把李大夫困在了里屋，断木旁还堆着不少碎石，泥水已经漫到了断木的一半，水面上飘着几片被泡烂的药方纸。李大夫坐在里屋的墙角，背靠着药柜，右腿被一根掉落的房梁砸伤了，鲜血浸透了裤腿，染红了身下的干草，他手里还紧紧攥着一本《备急千金要方》像是怕被雨水打湿。“大夫，您别急！我来救您！”夏执中深吸一口气，双手握紧枪杆，把枪尖插进断木底部的缝隙里，脚蹬着旁边的石墙，使出浑身力气往上撬。
断木又粗又重，他憋得脸通红，手臂上的青筋突突直跳，额头上的汗水混着雨水往下淌，滴进眼睛里，涩得他睁不开眼。他想起武师教他的“扎马功”，双腿分开扎稳马步，腰腹发力，手臂猛地往上抬——“咔嚓”一声，断木终于被撬得挪了个缝。他刚想钻进缝隙，就听见“轰隆”一声，坡上又滚下几块碎石，砸在他的背上，疼得他龇牙咧嘴，手里的枪杆却没松。他知道不能停，再等下去，剩下的半边药庐也可能塌了。
他侧身钻进缝隙，里屋的景象更糟：屋顶还在往下掉瓦片，“噼里啪啦”地砸在地上，药柜倒了两个，里面的草药撒了一地，被泥水浸湿了大半。他赶紧蹲下来，小心翼翼地挪开房梁，拿出怀里的三七粉撒在李大夫的伤口上——三七粉是他前几天刚磨的，还带着股药香，撒在伤口上时，李大夫疼得皱了皱眉，却没哼一声。“您忍忍，这药止血快。”夏执中说着，用干净的布条一圈圈仔细包扎好，布条不够长，他就把自己的衣襟撕下来一截，续上接着包。
“傻孩子，你这衣裳……”李大夫看着他破烂的衣襟，眼里泛起了水光。“衣裳没事，救您要紧。”夏执中咧嘴笑了笑，露出两排白牙，脸上的泥水印子让他看起来有些狼狈，眼神却亮得很。他背起李大夫，让李大夫搂住他的脖子，一手扶着李大夫的腿，一手拿着木枪探路，慢慢往门口挪。刚走到门口，就听见“咔嚓”一声，药庐的后墙又塌了一块，扬起的尘土混着雨水扑了他一脸。
夏执中咬牙，加快脚步往外冲，刚踏出药庐没几步，身后的半边屋顶就“哗啦”一声塌了下来，泥水溅了他一身。他背着李大夫，深一脚浅一脚地往山坡下走，李大夫趴在他的背上，轻声说：“执中，药庐里的‘九叶重楼’‘半边莲’还在药柜最上面的抽屉里，那是治蛇毒的特效药，你……”“我知道！等镇上的人来了，我就回来找！”夏执中打断他，语气坚定——他记得李大夫说过，“九叶重楼”难找，去年在仙女岭深处才采到几株，要是丢了，镇上人被蛇咬了就没法治了。
两人刚走到山坡下，就看见远处传来一片火把的光，还有嘈杂的人声——是夏云姑和爹娘带着镇上的人赶来了。“执中！你们没事吧？”夏云姑跑在最前面，手里举着个火把，脸上满是焦急。“姐，我没事！李大夫受伤了！”夏执中喊着，脚步更快了。大家七手八脚把李大夫扶到王大叔的牛车上，夏云姑赶紧拿出怀里的干布，帮夏执中擦脸上的泥水印子，看到他背上的伤口，眼泪差点掉下来：“你这孩子，怎么不注意点！”“我皮糙肉厚，没事！”夏执中笑着说，手里还紧紧攥着那本李大夫没撒手的《备急千金要方》。
后来李大夫养伤时，把自己珍藏了几十年的《备急千金要方》手抄本送给了夏执中，扉页上用小楷写着“执中守正，仁心济世”八个字。夏执中把这本书和曾祖父的官印拓片、祖父的讲学笔记放在一起，每天练完武、看完医书，都会摩挲着这几样东西，心里更清楚了自己要走的路——像曾祖父一样守正不阿，像祖父一样踏实做事，像李大夫一样仁心救人，做个能护着温汤镇、帮着百姓的人。
Chapter 1: The People of Wentang– Upholding Balance and Integrity
“One place shapes one kind of people，“ and the land of Wentang is steeped in warmth.
Its selenium-rich hot springs are the townsfolk’s daily comfort. On early mornings along the stone-paved lanes， elders with wooden buckets amble toward the springs， ladling home steaming water to soak their feet or bathe their muscles， murmuring，“This water nourishes.“
No wonder the town has produced handsome men and beautiful women for generations. Even ordinary families living on simple fare glow with healthy complexions. Wentang is a famous longevity town， where centenarians are a common sight. Living on plain food， they sit at lane entrances basking in the sun， their laughter brighter than spring sunshine. Not a single case of cancer has been found in the entire town， drawing top medical experts to study it—truly a gift from heaven to the people of Yuanzhou!
This natural wellness allure has lured wealthy merchants from afar to buy property here， making it their vacation and retirement retreat. The bluestone paths by the springs now echo with accents from across the land. As prosperity grows， so do businesses; daily necessities become more abundant， and the locals live peaceful， contented lives， with joy filling every corner.
At dawn， the springs are always surrounded by grandmothers with clay pots. They say soybeans soaked in spring water plump up perfectly， grinding into tofu with a mild sweetness. Pan-fried golden and dipped in local chili flakes， it is the most popular breakfast item in town.
The old teahouse at the lane’s end is even more delightful. The owner pipes spring water directly into the stove， brewing green tea with a clear liquor and a mineral aftertaste. Regulars linger all day， chatting from dawn till dusk over a plate of peanuts.
City dwellers， mindful of wellness， visit in family groups to soak their feet and bathe， turning the town into a bustling fair every day. Spectacles of ten thousand people bathing together are not uncommon.
When leaving， they carry not only mountain goods and game but also dozens of buckets of selenium-rich mountain spring water for tea， rice， and cooking.
Seeing the opportunity， merchants set up simple sheds with large earthenware tubs. For a few coins， travelers can soak their feet comfortably to ease fatigue.
The wealthy can stay at the town’s sanatorium， planted with evergreen pines and cypresses. Hot spring pools are nestled under carved corridors—soaking at dawn to bird song， sipping tea under vine arbors in the afternoon， life is leisurely. The shouts and laughter by the springs drift far on the mist.
The wealthy merchants who buy property here respect the town’s character， building modest white-walled， black-tiled villas. Each courtyard has a small pool fed by spring water， with water lilies floating on the warm surface， their pink buds drooping—more gentle than urban mansions.
Every autumn and winter， these courtyards come alive. Merchants bring their families to soak and sip tea， wicker chairs by the pools with thick cushions， celadon cups in hand， watching steam condense into droplets on the rims.
Children chase butterflies by the pools， occasionally splashing in shallow water and being playfully chided by adults， gradually adopting the townsfolk’s leisurely air.
On the ninth day of the ninth lunar month， Wentang celebrates the“Hot Spring Festival，“ timed by elders to coincide with the warmest spring water.
Days before， townsfolk prepare: grandfathers carry bamboo baskets to the mountains for wild chrysanthemums， straw hats hanging from the rims. When full， they line the baskets with pine needles to preserve the fragrance.
Grandmothers gather in front of the ancestral hall， bamboo stools arranged in a circle， sewing sachets from dried mugwort and herbs. Some stitch simple“blessing“ characters， others attach red pom-poms， strung on red cords—said to bring luck when hung by the springs. Children cluster around， begging for sachets to pin to their collars.
On the festival day， the“Spring Bathing Ceremony“ is the highlight. At dawn， red-lacquered long tables are set by the springs， covered with newly dyed indigo cloth. On them stand newly brewed rice wine， steamed rice cakes imprinted with osmanthus patterns， and fresh lotus roots blanched in spring water， coated in thin sugar frosting， crisp and tender.
The mayor， in a dark blue long gown， leads everyone in bowing to the spring. A revered centenarian， leaning on a cane， steps forward to ladle the first scoop of spring water， sprinkling it on the bluestone. As droplets splash， the crowd chants，“Grateful for the water’s grace，“ honoring the spring.
Afterward， townsfolk soak at various spots. Stone pools float with wild chrysanthemums; grandmothers sit by the edge， feet in the water， fanning themselves and chatting about grandchildren starting school.
Children splash in shallow areas with small buckets， their sachets soaked in spring water， releasing a warm blend of mugwort and herbs that fills the lanes.
In the afternoon， a stage is erected on the open ground by the springs， with red-gold embroidered curtains. Local Yuanzhou tea-picking operas are performed， often featuring tales of“hot springs nourishing people“—scholars passing through Wentang， revitalized by soaking， and later passing imperial exams.
Snack stalls beside the stage bustle with activity. Bamboo sheds line the area， selling spring specialties: eggs boiled in spring water， shells dotted with tiny pores， whites as tender as tofu， yolks golden.
Around the corner， an uncle tends a stall frying fermented soybean fish. Rapeseed oil boils in an iron pan; fish coated in thin batter sizzle into golden-red crispness.
With a flick of his wrist， he adds glossy black fermented soybeans， crushed garlic， and sliced red chilies. As the spatula stirs， the aroma mingles with opera gongs and drums， tempting passersby.
Customers crowd the stall， waiting for the uncle to lift the crispy fish with bamboo chopsticks onto rough porcelain plates. Eagerly， they pick one up—crisp outside， tender inside， the salty fermented soybeans blending with fresh fish， bones so crisp they melt. Some eat on the spot， others pack them in oiled paper to enjoy by the stage with tea.
Wild chrysanthemum tea brewed with selenium-rich mountain spring water is the perfect complement. The spring’s clarity enhances the chrysanthemum’s sweetness; the amber liquor tastes slightly bitter at first， then sweet.
A sip washes away saltiness， leaving chrysanthemum’s lingering sweetness. The chrysanthemum’s heat-clearing properties， combined with the spring’s selenium， add a subtle comfort to the bustling street life.
Sweet rice wine brewed with spring water， served in rough bowls with osmanthus petals， wafts warm aroma and wine fragrance， warming the tongue to the stomach. Grandmothers push carts selling spring jelly—slow-cooked from spring water and lotus root starch， transparent enough to reflect the stage， drizzled with honey， cool and sweet， balancing the wine’s warmth.
Wealthy vacationers join in the fun: some sit with grandmothers learning to sew sachets， tangling thread and drawing laughter; others watch operas， holding sugar paintings—mostly rabbit shapes， reluctant to eat， more engrossed than children， occasionally humming off-key but clapping along.
The siblings squeeze at the end of a long table. Xia Yungu， holding a sachet from a grandmother， red string wrapped around her wrist， peels a spring-boiled egg for her brother.
The shell cracks easily， revealing tender white.“Eat slowly， it’s hot，“ she says. Xia Zhizhong takes a bite， mumbles，“Sister， it’s more fragrant than home-cooked.“
The stage nearby is not yet dismantled; young men pack opera costumes. Xia Zhizhong glances over， feet drifting toward it. Yungu smiles and pushes him:“Go look， don’t go far. We’ll go home soon.“ He runs over， watching them fold gold-embroidered robes， fingers brushing gently then pulling back， afraid of damaging the treasure.
When he returns， he holds a small wooden horse whip from an opera master， eyes shining. Yungu pats his head， pulling out a lotus-leaf-wrapped rice cake:“Eat this， we should go. Mother must be waiting at the door.“ They walk side by side， lanterns stretching their shadows. Zhizhong waves the whip， humming off-key opera tunes.
Yungu follows， smiling at his off-key singing， the sachet swaying with her steps. Mugwort fragrance mingles with spring warmth， drifting back to Xiajiafang—home to tofu mills， oil presses， breweries， and soy sauce workshops， where beautiful memories linger.
After the opera， Yungu and friends from the village and town imitate adults performing tea-picking operas: Sun Cheng Buys Wine， Ten Beauties， White Fan Story， Yu Family Opera， Peach Blossom Girl.“If I hadn’t become empress later， I might have been a famous actress on stage.“
I grew up by the Qingli River， which taught me to swim.
The Qingli River’s water is even more magical than the hot springs. Seeping from the cracks of Fairy Ridge， it stays warm year-round—even in the twelfth lunar month， when north winds blow snow into necks， dipping feet in the river brings warmth up the ankles， never reddening the skin.
Townsfolk say it’s dew from fairies， but my mother always shakes her head:“No fairies. Your great-grandfather and grandfather accumulated virtue， letting us guard this good land and water， keeping our hearts warm.“
Xia Yungu， nickname Mingyue， lives with her parents and three-year-younger brother Xia Zhizhong.
To outsiders， they are ordinary farmers in Wentang， but few know the Xia family was once a prominent official household.
Great-grandfather Xia Lingji served as Jishu clerk， judging cases fairly， honored as“Lord Xia the Upright“ by the people.
Grandfather Xia Gu rose to Crown Prince’s Young Tutor， tutoring the former emperor. Tired of court intrigue， he resigned and returned to Wentang， living a farming and scholarly life by the Qingli River.
Father Xia Xie never entered officialdom but inherited the family’s literary legacy， his calligraphy flowing like clouds and streams—even the town’s private school teacher often visited for advice. Unfortunately， he passed away young; the court， honoring the Xia family’s merits， posthumously titled him Crown Prince’s Young Mentor and Prince of Xin.
These glorious pasts are rarely mentioned by parents， who repeatedly teach the siblings:“Be humble， act steadfastly.“
Their small thatched cottage always holds an old wooden box in the corner， containing great-grandfather’s official seal rubbings， grandfather’s lecture notes， and father’s copy of Preface to the Lanting Collection.
Every festival， mother solemnly takes out the box， making them kowtow:“Your great-grandfather was honest， your grandfather taught， your father was loyal. You two must follow their example， uphold integrity， walk the right path.“
Chapter 2: Xia Yungu– The“Problem-Solver“ at the School
The private school teacher， Mr. Zhou， is a white-bearded elder who once taught at a city academy before returning to Wentang in old age.
Knowing the Xia family’s past and pitying Yungu’s love for learning—rare among town girls， who mostly learn needlework and housework—he allows her to sit under the old locust tree outside the wall during classes， sometimes lending her his annotated old books， telling her，“Learning lies in the heart， not in form.“
One afternoon， Mr. Zhou taught Analects:“Do not do to others what you do not want done to yourself.“ He asked students:“This is the way to treat others， but how to act when facing injustice?“ Most were seven or eight years old; some said“tell parents，“ others“stay away.“ Mr. Zhou shook his head gently.
Yungu sat outside， clutching her father’s half of Analects. Hearing the question， she whispered:“Sir， great-grandfather said，‘Do not do to others what you do not want done to yourself’ is basic goodness. But facing injustice， uphold goodness—don’t retreat from fear， nor act rashly in anger. When judging cases in Jishu， he dared punish the county magistrate’s relative according to law， knowing letting the guilty go would inflict injustice on the victim.“
The school door creaked open. Mr. Zhou stood at the entrance， surprised and approving:“Mingyue， come in.“
Yungu froze， gripping the book tightly， following him in. Students turned to look， curious or confused. Mr. Zhou pointed to an empty seat by the podium:“Sit here from now on.“
She hesitated， whispering:“Sir， I am a girl; it may break the rules.“
Mr. Zhou smiled， picking up her Analects， turning to her father’s annotation next to“Unrighteous wealth and honor are like floating clouds to me“—“A righteous heart makes wealth dust; a biased heart makes poverty a thorn.““Rules are rigid; people are flexible，“ he said， pointing to the annotation.“The Xia family learns the heart first. Mingyue， though a girl， understands‘upholding the heart’ better than you boys who only recite texts.“
From then on， Yungu officially attended classes.
She studied earnestly， not only memorizing but pondering meanings. When Mr. Zhou taught“Learning without thought is labor lost，“ she compared his words with grandfather’s notes:“Thought is not idle dreaming， but reflecting on how to live and act.“ She wrote this on paper， pasting it before her desk.
When taught calligraphy， she practiced with branches on the ground at dawn， wrists aching but persisting. Soon， her writing bore her father’s style; Mr. Zhou sighed:“The Xia literary legacy lives on in you.“
One autumn day， a small conflict erupted at school. Zhao Xiaolang， the grain merchant’s son， hid classmate Chen Xiaowa’s ink stick—his father’s last gift， its ink dark and bright， wrapped in cotton daily. When Xiaowa found it missing， he cried; Xiaolang sneered:“You always show it off; losing it is your fault.“ Students gathered， some suggesting telling Mr. Zhou， others searching Xiaolang’s bag. Xiaolang stiffened:“Search away; if you find nothing， you owe me face!“
Yungu， grinding ink by the window， put down her ink stick and approached. She patted Xiaowa’s back， handing him a clean cloth:“Don’t cry; the ink stick must be in the school. Let’s look slowly.“ Turning to Xiaolang， she said calmly:“Xiaolang， you said your mother’s wrist hurts. Father picked‘mulberry branches’ when chopping wood; boiling water for fuming cures rheumatism. I’ll bring some this afternoon.“ Xiaolang stared—he hadn’t mentioned his mother’s rheumatism at school.
Yungu continued:“I remember you struggled to write the character‘filial piety’; Mr. Zhou said it must be steady， like a child supporting an elder. If your mother knew you hid a classmate’s things， her wrist would hurt more.“ Xiaolang blushed， clutching his clothes. Yungu squatted， pointing to the gap by his bench:“Look， what’s that?“ Everyone saw ink peeking out—Xiaowa’s ink stick， rolled under the bench.
Xiaolang quickly picked it up， handing it to Xiaowa:“Sorry， I didn’t mean it， just playing.“ Xiaowa took it， smiling through tears. Mr. Zhou emerged from the back hall， holding Standards for Being a Good Student and Child， turning to“Lighten material gains， and resentment will not arise.“ He said to students:“Mingyue resolved this without shouting or arguing—that is wisdom. Learning is not reciting sentences， but understanding truth， warming hearts with reason. This is the true meaning of the Xia family’s‘upholding integrity’.“
Later， Xiaolang’s mother really cured her wrist with mulberry branches， bringing a basket of spring-boiled eggs to the Xia family， holding Yungu’s hand:“You’re more sensible than my son. Come often， I’ll teach you to make spring egg custard.“ Yungu smiled， recalling grandfather’s note:“Literature transforms people not through loud arguments， but sincere kindness.“
Sometimes， after practicing martial arts， Zhizhong waits for her at the school gate， holding wild hawthorns from the mountains:“Sister， I delivered herbs to Doctor Li; he said you look well， must be happy studying.“ She smiles， sharing hawthorns with classmates. Zhizhong stands by， carrying her book basket like a little guard， listening to their chat， occasionally interjecting，“Sister is right， like great-grandfather said，“ drawing laughter， grinning proudly.
Chapter 3: Xia Zhizhong– The“Countercurrent Runner“ in the Flood
Zhizhong loved martial arts from childhood. At seven or eight， he learned from the town’s martial artist， who， upon learning he was Xia Gu’s grandson， taught him the Xia family’s ancestral spear techniques， patting his shoulder:“A Xia child must have integrity.“ At eleven， a cold epidemic swept the town; many children had high fevers. Neighbor Granny Zhang’s grandson fell critically ill， and local doctors were helpless. Mother cried; someone said Doctor Li Ning under Fairy Ridge might cure him—a famous former imperial physician， skilled but reclusive.
Hearing this， Zhizhong took two steamed buns， squatting outside Doctor Li’s clinic at dawn. Doctor Li， seeing a child， frowned:“Go home， don’t linger.“ Zhizhong knelt， offering the buns， eyes bright:“Doctor Li， please save Granny Zhang’s grandson， and teach me medicine! I’ll cure townsfolk， and save wounded in wars!“ Doctor Li looked at his frozen red hands and firm gaze， finally letting him in.
From then on， Zhizhong became Doctor Li’s apprentice. After martial arts practice， he rushed to the clinic， learning herbs， prescriptions， and grinding powder. Doctor Li taught him:“Bupleurum reduces fever; angelica nourishes blood; notoginseng stops bleeding.“ He took him to Fairy Ridge to gather herbs—wormwood in spring， pinellia and selfheal in summer， cornus in autumn， gastrodia in winter. Carrying a bamboo basket， he followed Doctor Li， holding a small hoe， memorizing medicinal and toxic plants. Once， he nearly fell collecting“lingzhi“ on a cliff; Doctor Li pulled him up， scolding“reckless“ but secretly picking the lingzhi to teach him drying. He also studied Huangdi Neijing， Nan Jing， Treatise on Cold Damage， and Shennong Ben Cao Jing， memorizing them thoroughly.
Zhizhong was honest， using his skills to help townsfolk. For children with indigestion， he boiled hawthorn and malt water; for elders with back pain， he moxibustioned acupoints; for Granny Zhang’s rheumatism， he collected lovage and mulberry mistletoe， helping decoct and soak feet. Townsfolk praised:“Zhizhong is skilled in martial arts and medicine， a worthy Xia descendant.“
When not learning martial arts， he pondered the family’s old items—grandfather’s note“Uphold balance and integrity“ guided him; he never bullied others in martial arts， never charged for medical treatment. Hearing father’s stories of great-grandfather’s judgments， he vowed:“I’ll protect the good， fight the bad， and be a healer like great-grandfather.“ At fifteen， he mastered all eighteen weapons， unmatched by town youth， and learned most medical skills. Doctor Li often sighed:“My skills haven’t been passed to the wrong person.“
That summer， Wentang suffered three days and nights of torrential rain. The sky poured like a broken sieve， raindrops smashing bluestones， splashing half a foot high. The Qingli River rose wildly， turbid water carrying branches and stones， roaring， bending old riverside trees. On the fourth night， rain eased; Zhizhong studied Treatise on Cold Damage by oil lamp when urgent knocking mixed with wind and rain shook the gate.
“Zhizhong! Are you home?“ It was Hunter Uncle Wang from Fairy Ridge， voice tearful.“Hurry! Doctor Li’s clinic collapsed in the mountain flood; he’s trapped inside!“
Zhizhong’s heart skipped; his book fell. Ignoring it， he grabbed his hardwood spear—carved from Fairy Ridge jujube wood， polished smooth—and stuffed notoginseng powder， bandages， and trauma ointment into his medicine box， throwing on a straw cape and rushing out. Yungu chased， handing him straw sandals:“Wear these! The path is slippery; Mother is gathering townsfolk. Scout ahead， don’t be reckless!“
“Got it， Sister!“ Zhizhong slipped on the sandals， charging into the rain. Rain hammered the cape; vision blurred， he ran toward Fairy Ridge by memory. The mountain path was muddy， feet sinking half an inch， trousers soaked and heavy. A old herb-gathering wound on his ankle stung in mud， but he pressed on—Doctor Li waited， and the clinic’s herbs and prescriptions were life-saving.
At Fairy Ridge， he gasped: half the clinic lay in ruins， tiles shattered， beams leaning like gnawed bones. Turbid floodwater rushed down， forming a half-foot-deep pool at the door， floating medicine box fragments and dried herbs， air thick with mud and mugwort.“Doctor Li! Where are you?“ Zhizhong shouted， voice swallowed by wind， only valley echoes replying.
Moments later， a weak voice came from the intact half:“Zhizhong? Is that you? Don’t come! The slope will slide!“ It was Doctor Li， hoarse， coughing. Zhizhong circled to the side， where water slowed but soil loosened， small trees hanging precariously. He probed the ground with his spear—some spots firm， others sinking.
He inched forward， careful step by step. Suddenly， the soil gave way; he slid half a foot， catching himself on a tree root with the spear. His trousers tore on thorns， blood mixing with mud， stinging.“Zhizhong! Are you okay? Wait for townsfolk!“ Doctor Li called anxiously.“I’m fine! Wait for me!“ Zhizhong replied， climbing up， palms burning on the spear， fingers caked in mud， never letting go.
Reaching the door， he saw a thick beam trapping Doctor Li inside， surrounded by rubble， mud rising to half the beam， soaked prescription papers floating. Doctor Li sat in the corner， back against the medicine cabinet， right leg crushed by a beam， blood soaking his trousers， clutching Treatise on Cold Damage to keep it dry.“Doctor， don’t worry! I’ll save you!“ Zhizhong took a deep breath， inserting the spear under the beam， feet braced against the wall， lifting with all his strength.
The beam was heavy; his face flushed， veins bulging， sweat mixing with rain stinging his eyes. Remembering martial arts stances， he steadied his legs， tightened his core， and lifted—crack—the beam shifted. As he squeezed through， rocks rolled down his back， but he held on. He knew delay meant collapse.
He sidled in， roof tiles still falling， medicine cabinets overturned， herbs soaked in mud. Carefully moving the beam， he sprinkled notoginseng powder on Doctor Li’s wound—freshly ground， aromatic， making Doctor Li wince but not cry out.“Bear with it， this stops bleeding fast，“ Zhizhong said， wrapping the wound with clean bandages， tearing his shirt when bandages ran short.
“Silly child， your shirt…“ Doctor Li’s eyes glistened.“Shirts don’t matter; saving you does，“ Zhizhong grinned， mud streaked on his face but eyes bright. He carried Doctor Li， supporting his legs with one hand， probing the path with the spear， slowly moving out. Just as they exited， the back wall collapsed， mud splashing over them.
Carrying Doctor Li， he stumbled down the slope.“Zhizhong， the‘nine-leaf paris’ and‘lobelia’ in the top drawer cure snakebites—““I know! I’ll retrieve them when townsfolk arrive!“ Zhizhong interrupted firmly—he remembered Doctor Li saying nine-leaf paris was rare， collected deep in Fairy Ridge; without it， snakebite victims would suffer.
At the slope’s foot， torches and voices approached—Yungu， parents， and townsfolk.“Zhizhong! Are you okay?“ Yungu ran ahead， torch in hand， anxious.“Sister， I’m fine! Doctor Li is hurt!“ Zhizhong called， speeding up. They helped Doctor Li onto Uncle Wang’s ox cart. Yungu wiped mud from Zhizhong’s face， tears welling at his back wound:“You reckless boy!““I’m tough， it’s nothing!“ Zhizhong smiled， still clutching Doctor Li’s Treatise on Cold Damage.
Later， while recovering， Doctor Li gave Zhizhong his decades-old hand-copied Treatise on Cold Damage， inscribed with“Uphold balance and integrity， heal with benevolence“ in small regular script. Zhizhong placed it with great-grandfather’s seal rubbings and grandfather’s notes. After martial arts and medical studies， he caressed these items， clear on his path—uphold integrity like great-grandfather， act steadfastly like grandfather， heal with benevolence like Doctor Li， protecting Wentang and helping the people.