Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Ultimate Yin Severed Veins

Li Zisheng had always considered such tales to be nothing more than fanciful nonsense—amusing enough to listen to, but never to be taken seriously. Yet now, hearing the venerable Master Wei Cizang recount the story, it seemed as if these events might truly have taken place. This alone stirred Li Zisheng’s curiosity to its utmost.

He pricked up his ears, quietly awaiting the old man’s words, for the tale of this extraordinary medical book fascinated him deeply.

One thing puzzled Li Zisheng, however: he could not fathom why Wei Cizang had chosen to share these secrets with him. No matter how he reasoned, he found no answer. Still, he sat in silence, listening intently as the elder spoke on.

Wei Cizang paid no heed to Li Zisheng’s changing expression. He knew that his words would leave the youth bewildered, for no matter how precocious Li Zisheng might be, he could not possibly grasp the full weight of what was being revealed. How foolish he himself had been, betting with his junior disciple over matters that would ultimately cost so many lives. The burden of guilt had grown too heavy to bear over all these years.

“Back then, after a rift formed among the three of us disciples, we parted ways in anger. It was during the Zhou Dynasty. My senior brother went to serve as the imperial physician to the Zhou Emperor, devoting himself to the study of medicine. Of the three of us, he was the most carefree. My junior brother and I, however, found ourselves unable to resist the lure of that miraculous medical text. Each of us took half. I took the arts of healing and saving lives; my junior, drawn by a fascination with poisons and their mechanisms, took the half concerning toxicology. For once, we were in agreement.”

“From that moment on, our paths truly diverged. Years passed without contact. Never did I imagine that, before long, a new figure would emerge outside the court—the Poison Immortal, King of Medicine. This Poison Immortal became renowned throughout the land for his mastery of venoms and antidotes. Most remarkably, he found an unorthodox path: using the deadliest poisons to cure the gravest illnesses, even many considered incurable.”

“As rumors spread, I began to suspect that this Poison Immortal might be my junior brother. Yet I could not be certain. Every two years, at the grand medical assembly, I sought to meet this famed Poison Immortal. Little did I know that one such assembly would become the prelude to a massacre.”

At this point, Li Zisheng’s heart skipped a beat. He recalled reading in obscure histories of a horrific event during the Tang Dynasty, when a healer used his own concocted poison to wipe out nearly an entire city. The details were always vague, the accounts unclear and contradictory. He had always dismissed it as hearsay, never considering it could be true.

Yet Wei Cizang’s words suggested that the massacre might indeed have happened, and that the Poison Immortal responsible was likely his own junior brother. If so, it would explain the old man’s deep regret—perhaps he bore some responsibility for the loss of so many lives.

“At the assembly, the Poison Immortal appeared, just as I had expected—and he was indeed my junior brother. My pride was at its peak. Though he was gifted beyond compare, I refused to believe he could truly use poison to heal. I confronted him, and he, never one to mince words, exposed our conflict openly. Our relationship only worsened.”

“After the tragedy, we became utterly irreconcilable. Not even the emperor’s mediation could restore peace. In the end, within the secret chambers of the palace, two lots were drawn. Each of us was to seek a worthy successor, but we were to do so alone. If either of us failed, both would forfeit our lives.”

‘Such a bizarre requirement?’ Li Zisheng thought. If one failed, would both truly have to die?

“Yes. The lots made it clear. The prophecies from the Court of Destiny are unfailingly precise. Should we refuse to seek successors, countless innocents would perish alongside us. The wording was even more terrifying.”

“So the emperor ordered us to leave the palace and search among the common folk. My junior brother, ever proud and defiant, refused to yield. I blame myself for being too soft-hearted, for concealing his crimes when I should have spoken out, and thus a greater disaster ensued.”

“As I traveled among the people, I encountered countless strange and difficult cases. I found satisfaction in helping where I could. One day, I met a farming family—harmonious and joyful, newly blessed with a grandson. I stopped in to ask for a drink of water, and, inexplicably, felt drawn to the child. Taking his pulse, I found it most unusual and decided to help him grow strong. Little did I know, this was the beginning of my karmic debt.”

“The child’s eyes were vacant, almost soulless, as if stricken with idiocy. When I examined his pulse, I sensed a pattern I had never before encountered—yet it was described in detail within the miraculous medical book. Its name was the Nine Yin Severed Pulse. Those born with this pulse would not live past the age of twelve. Most troubling of all, even the miraculous medical text offered no remedy.”

At this, Wei Cizang glanced at Li Zisheng, shook his head, and sighed.

“You say your name is Li Zisheng? What is your childhood nickname?” the old man suddenly asked, his question abrupt.

Li Zisheng’s heart lurched with a sense of foreboding.

“My formal name is Li Zisheng, but my nickname is Li Zhuangzhuang. My elders said a wandering Taoist once saw how frail and sickly I was as a child, and gave me this name for good fortune.”

He answered truthfully, holding nothing back.

“That wandering Taoist was none other than I,” Wei Cizang replied.

With that, Li Zisheng understood all too well. He was the very child afflicted with the Nine Yin Severed Pulse, doomed to live no more than twelve years. The wandering Taoist who gave him his name was this very old man before him. He realized that, perhaps, his body had once truly been devoid of consciousness, and that now he had but five years left to live.

He did not know whether, upon death, he would return to his original world or simply cease to exist. If true annihilation awaited him, then what meaning did all his present efforts hold?