Chapter 112: Secured and Healing the Illness

"These are all antiques. Do you even know anything about art?" Fan Cuiyun rolled her eyes at Zhang Ye, then frowned in thought before saying, "Fine, fine. Since you really seem to want them, I'll take out the few antiques I’ve been keeping for myself."

With that, she entered her bedroom and returned with a small box. The items inside were better preserved, mostly small trinkets that looked more impressive. However, the same caveat remained: whether they were truly antiques was open to debate.

There were two paintings in the small box, but after Zhang Ye opened them one by one, he felt deeply disappointed—they were not what he was looking for.

Though he had never actually seen the painting in question, his memory told him it was a landscape. It depicted a scene of someone in a boat, gazing up at distant mountains. Rumor had it that the artist was the Southern Tang dynasty painter Dong Yuan.

"Are there no better ones?" Zhao Haidong, sensing Zhang Ye’s disappointment, pressed.

"These are all the paintings I have. If you want more, you'll have to dig through the piles of old books, scripts, and scraps of paper outside," Fan Cuiyun said, gesturing toward the heaps of rubbish and discarded paper by the door.

"Wait." Zhang Ye suddenly spoke, a faint sense of excitement and heartache stirring within him. "I want this one." As he spoke, he pointed to the very bottom of the small box.

There, something resembling rice paper lay beneath everything else. The paper looked withered and yellow, clearly quite aged. Through the faint gaps, one could still discern the shadows of a landscape.

At that moment, Zhang Ye was certain: this was the painting he was looking for, discarded and used as a liner at the bottom of the box.

As he hurriedly pulled the painting out, Fan Cuiyun looked at him, surprised. "Just this one?" The painting’s appearance was truly lackluster. Because it had not been properly maintained, it was somewhat blurred, and the edges were nibbled by insects, making it look rather tattered.

"Yes, this is the one. How much?" Zhang Ye nodded firmly, his eyes bright as he looked at her.

Fan Cuiyun was a shrewd woman. Seeing Zhang Ye’s certainty, she began to have second thoughts. Could this be a genuine antique? Gritting her teeth, she quoted what she considered a "high price." "Since you really like it, you can take it for five hundred yuan." She watched him nervously as she spoke.

"Are you robbing us? This is just a piece of scrap you were using as a liner, and you want five hundred? Even a thief wouldn't be this ruthless!" Before Zhang Ye could respond, Zhao Haidong burst out. To him, such a tattered painting was worth at most a few dozen yuan; five hundred was absolutely absurd.

"Who’s robbing whom? These are antiques, do you understand? Don't look at how tattered it is; it’s valuable! It was painted by some great master from the old days!" She couldn't explain its specific value, but she refused to lose out.

"I like it, but five hundred is truly too expensive. And look at me, I’m just a student—how could I possibly afford that much? Fifty yuan. I’ll take it for fifty. If it weren't for my grandfather’s love for these landscape paintings, I wouldn't even be buying this from you," Zhang Ye said, frowning.

In truth, Zhang Ye was secretly delighted when Fan Cuiyun first named her price; it was far below his expectations. However, knowing her shrewd nature, he knew that if he had agreed immediately, she would have surely regretted it and raised the price. Thus, he had intentionally slashed her offer by a factor of ten.

...

"Xiao Ye, I really don't understand why you spent over a hundred yuan on such a ragged painting," Zhao Haidong said half an hour later as they left Fan Cuiyun’s house. They had spent one hundred and thirty yuan to acquire an unframed, colorless, and even tattered landscape painting.

"A ragged painting? Perhaps," Zhang Ye smiled, offering no explanation.

Carefully tucking the painting into his schoolbag, he looked up and said, "I’ll be heading off now."

He had things to attend to today. Early that morning, he had made an appointment with his senior uncle, the old Daoist priest Qingshan, to visit and treat Li Qianqian’s father, Li Aiguo, that evening.

The Guyue Dao lineage originated in the Ming Dynasty, founded by the eccentric Jiang Daozi. He was a master of martial arts and highly skilled in medicine. While some of the knowledge had been lost over the generations, the true successors of Guyue Dao were always proficient in both martial arts and medicine—especially in their unique methods for treating chronic ailments left behind by old injuries.

Thus, when Zhang Ye had asked that morning, the old priest Qingshan had agreed without hesitation. To them, this was nothing out of the ordinary.

After dropping his bag off at home, Zhang Ye rode his bicycle toward the No. 2 Middle School. At the school gate, he saw the old priest Qingshan curiously watching two elderly men play chess. Dressed in a cyan Daoist robe, clutching his customary wooden bowl, his long hair swept up and held by a wooden hairpin, and with his flowing beard and benevolent expression, he truly carried an air of a sage.

"Senior Uncle," Zhang Ye walked over and greeted him respectfully.

"Ah, you’re here," the old priest said. "Let’s go, then. Treating the patient is the priority."

Arriving at Li Qianqian’s house once more, Zhang Ye felt more at ease; he knocked on the door and walked inside.

Li Qianqian was busy tending the fire. Her family still used firewood, and the thick smoke billowed out, smudging her fair, lovely face with soot.

"Qianqian, where is your mother?" Zhang Ye asked.

"Who is this?" Before she could answer, Xie Yun stepped out from the inner room, looking surprised.

Zhang Ye quickly introduced him. "This is my senior uncle. He is highly skilled in medicine, and I’ve invited him to help treat Uncle. He is very knowledgeable about external injuries."

"Senior uncle?" Li Qianqian looked at the sage-like old priest standing behind Zhang Ye with curiosity. The old priest’s appearance was indeed impressive, and since people in the area held a certain degree of reverence for such figures, Xie Yun quickly grew enthusiastic, rushing to serve the priest tea.

"No need, let’s get to the treatment first. My medical skills are only superficial; I cannot guarantee a cure," the old priest said politely.

Soon, Xie Yun led the old priest into the bedroom where Li Aiguo was staying. A heavy scent of medicinal herbs wafted out, stinging the nose.

Having been bedridden for half a year, Li Aiguo, who had once been a sturdy man, had grown gaunt. His eye sockets were sunken, his face was pale, and he looked incredibly frail.

The old priest’s expression turned solemn. He stepped forward quickly, first observing the complexion of Li Aiguo’s face, then checking his pupils and tongue, before finally beginning to take his pulse.

Li Qianqian stood behind the old priest, her body trembling with tension. Her father’s illness had dragged on for so long; seeing his health decline day by day while her mother struggled to manage the household filled her with dread. Although they had seen countless doctors and tried endless folk remedies to no avail, she remained hopeful.

This was because Zhang Ye had been the one to find him. And since it was his senior uncle, she believed he would not have made such a bold promise if he weren't confident.