Volume One: At the Foot of Mount Zhongnan Chapter Twenty-Four: Putting on Airs Before Sun Simiao

As expected! Sun Simiao! Revered by later generations as the Sage of Medicine! Hailed by foreign scholars as “a treasure of humanity,” he is the author of the monumental medical classic “Prescriptions Worth a Thousand Gold.” In his lifetime he left behind dozens of medical works and pioneered countless firsts in the history of Chinese medicine! He was the first to systematically, comprehensively, and concretely discuss the cultivation, collection, and storage of medicinal herbs! Not only was his knowledge vast, but his moral conduct was equally exemplary. Historical records note that he made no distinction between rich and poor, high or low, young or old, beautiful or plain, friend or foe, Han or foreigner, wise or foolish—he treated all equally. He proclaimed, “Human life is of utmost value, worth a thousand pieces of gold.” This was a sage who spent his whole life setting a perfect example of what true medical ethics mean! And even more outstanding, this old immortal lived to be over one hundred and forty years old! Truly a living deity! From Western Wei, Northern Zhou, Sui, and into the great Tang, he lived through four dynasties and more than a dozen emperors—a legendary figure!

Li Mingyu remembered chatting with a friend who had studied medicine in his previous life. When they talked about ancient famous doctors—Hua Tuo, Li Shizhen, Sun Simiao—he wondered what kind of doctors these men would be in modern times. His friend, from a family of physicians, said at the very least, they would be academicians of the Chinese Academy of Sciences—just their medical writings alone would be enough to establish a school of thought.

Now, faced with the living Sage of Medicine, Sun Simiao, how could Li Mingyu not be excited? At once, he bowed deeply and said respectfully, “So it is the venerable Immortal Sun! Earlier, I was ignorant and my words were rude. I beg the immortal’s forgiveness!”

Sun Simiao waved a hand and said, “Don’t mind empty formalities. Not only do you tell stories well, you also have unique insights into medicine. If you could share all you know with me in detail, that would be the greatest respect you could show me.”

Upon realizing he was speaking to Sun Simiao, Li Mingyu had already resolved to tell him everything he knew about battlefield first aid and wound treatment. He knew that Sun Simiao had dedicated his life to healing, regardless of status or wealth. In his later years, he wrote the monumental “Prescriptions Worth a Thousand Gold”—a true classic of medical wisdom. Through Sun Simiao’s writings, future generations could adopt more effective and scientific methods for treating battlefield injuries, indirectly saving countless lives—a merit for the present and a benefit for ages to come.

Without hesitation, Li Mingyu replied, “If Master Sun commands, I will hold nothing back. But perhaps this is not the place to talk. Let me collect my thoughts and call upon you tomorrow.”

“Very well. Then I will first prepare some prescriptions for the wounded, and wait for you at home,” Sun Simiao agreed with a nod.

After giving his word, Li Mingyu returned home, took out paper, brush, ink, and inkstone, and prepared to write down all the emergency medical techniques he knew from the future.

He ground the ink, moistened the brush, pondered for a moment, then, imitating his master’s grip, scrawled out five crooked characters: “Emergency Treatment of Wounds.” Dissatisfied, thinking it looked like a chicken had scratched it, he tossed it aside and rewrote it several times before producing something barely legible. Setting down the brush, he looked at his writing and, self-satisfied, said, “Truly the brush moves like a dragon and snake, done in one breath. Aside from the ugly handwriting, everything else is fine. But that’s not important; what matters is the meaning.”

His dog, Little Black, hearing his shameless self-praise, nosed over to have a look. Li Mingyu asked, “Little Black, you think it’s not bad, right? Tsk, tsk, these characters—truly a masterpiece.” Little Black stared for a while, saw no flowers from the “flowery pen,” sniffed at the writing—perhaps the ink stank and tickled his nose, or perhaps he was disdainful—then sneezed mightily. Mucus and drool sprayed everywhere, and of course, Li Mingyu’s “masterpiece” was soaked and smudged beyond recognition.

Li Mingyu was so angry he nearly twisted his nose off. He raised his hand to hit the dog, but Little Black immediately nuzzled his face, purring in his throat as if apologizing. Amused, Li Mingyu laughed, his anger dissipated. He sighed, “Little Black, I know my handwriting is unpresentable, but this is the best I can do. This brush is so hard to use—soft and limp, impossible to control. If only I had a fountain pen—or even a pencil.”

A pencil? Suddenly, Li Mingyu slapped his forehead and laughed out loud, startling Little Black, who wondered if his master had gone mad. The dog cocked his head at him, then darted out, returning soon with a twig as thin as a chopstick.

Li Mingyu sharpened the twig, charred it over a flame, then said to Little Black, “Watch as I show you what true artistry is with this charcoal pen.” He took up the charcoal and prepared to write.

But before finishing the first character, the rough paper tore with a rip. He steadied himself, tried again, and tore the paper once more. Undeterred, he tried five or six times, but always ended with torn sheets.

“Damn it, what rotten paper! I’m done!” Li Mingyu threw down the charcoal, blaming the paper for ruining his writing. He grumbled that his master was too stingy to buy decent paper, making do with this brittle, yellow hemp paper that was too rough even for wiping one’s backside.

Little did he know that so-called “Xuan paper” would not appear until the Tang dynasty, named after Xuanzhou, which governed Jing County where it was produced. At that time, people wrote mostly on hemp, bamboo, or leather paper. Only after the advent of Xuan paper—with its durability, smoothness, whiteness, density, purity, and ink absorption—did it become the “king of paper.”

Unable to write decently with a brush and unable to write on poor paper with a hard pen, Li Mingyu gave up, deciding to just explain things orally—whatever came to mind, he would say, and fill in the gaps later.

The next day, after practicing martial arts, he sent the children to train on their own under Little Black’s supervision and strolled over to Sun Simiao’s thatched hut.

Sun Simiao’s cottage had a small courtyard, filled with all kinds of medicinal herbs spread everywhere. The old master was busy sorting them.

Seeing Sun Simiao’s head bent in concentration, Li Mingyu cleared his throat and said, “Master Sun, I have come as promised.”

Sun Simiao looked up and smiled, “Ah, you’re here. Good. Please wait inside while I finish tidying these herbs.”

“Is there anything I can help with?” Li Mingyu offered.

“Very well, I won’t be polite. Please put those herbs into that jar for me,” Sun Simiao replied, gesturing to a pile on the ground.

The two of them worked for a while, sorting and storing the herbs, then washed their hands. Sun Simiao led Li Mingyu inside and offered him a bowl of water.

“Child,” Sun Simiao began, “our families are old friends. Your master is my junior. May I call you Mingyu from now on?”

Li Mingyu bowed and replied, “Master Sun, you are too courteous. As my master’s elder, you are naturally my elder as well. Please treat me as your grandson.”

Sun Simiao nodded, “Then I shall not stand on ceremony. Mingyu, I thought over what you said yesterday and found much sense in it, but I still have some questions. You mentioned that bacteria cause wounds to become inflamed. Since they are invisible to the naked eye, how can we be sure that washing with strong spirits can kill them?”

Li Mingyu considered. He only knew a little about battlefield first aid, much of it half-understood, and many modern terms were impossible to explain to someone from a thousand years ago. So he replied, “As I said yesterday, the Buddhists say there are eighty-four thousand insects in a drop of water. In fact, not only water—these things are everywhere, just unseen. For instance, a piece of fresh meat will rot if left out, and if eaten, causes diarrhea. That is because bacteria have infested the meat. Strong liquor is their nemesis—wiping a wound with it kills most bacteria, and the body’s own immunity deals with the rest.”

Sun Simiao mused, “So, if we soak meat in spirits, it can be eaten after a long time?”

“Er…” Li Mingyu was stumped, then answered, “Probably not. Spirits kill many bacteria, but some remain, and the body must deal with the rest. A small amount won’t harm a person. Just as arsenic is poisonous, but in the right dose, it can expel parasites. I’ve also heard that soaking venomous snakes in spirits with some herbs makes medicinal wine, and the longer it soaks, the better the effect. Snake meat soaked for years can be eaten to cure illnesses.”

Sun Simiao nodded, “Indeed. The ‘Divine Farmer’s Classic of Materia Medica’ records that snake meat invigorates blood, dispels wind, removes phlegm and dampness, and strengthens vital energy. Soaking venomous snakes in wine with special herbs can dispel wind, promote circulation, harmonize qi and blood, nourish yin and yang, and drive out cold and damp. That makes sense!”

Li Mingyu secretly wiped a cold sweat, thinking how close he’d come. He had simply made things up, not realizing how much depth there was, but fortunately Sun Simiao found his own justification. Otherwise, he would have been stumped.

Li Mingyu added, “I’ve noticed that when Little Black gets a minor wound, he licks it and it doesn’t become inflamed. I suppose animals’ saliva can be effective for themselves. Also, after eating meat, Little Black licks his fur clean and never gets sick. I think animal saliva must have antibacterial properties.”

“Hmm, that may be so. When kittens and puppies are born, their mothers lick them clean—perhaps for this reason? Still, wild beasts are ignorant and can’t be compared to humans, so whether saliva works must be tested,” Sun Simiao said thoughtfully.

Afraid Sun Simiao would keep pressing about alcohol disinfection, Li Mingyu quickly added, “Actually, it’s not just spirits—boiling water, fire, and strong brine can all disinfect. But for wounds, spirits are much easier to bear.”

Sun Simiao nodded, “Indeed. Before I perform acupuncture, I always pass the silver needle through a flame to remove poison.”

Li Mingyu didn’t want to discuss bacteria any further, so he changed the subject: “In emergencies, if you don’t have suture thread, cauterizing the wound with fire can constrict blood vessels and stop bleeding, though it’s far more painful than sewing.”

Sun Simiao’s eyes shone with interest. “Fire can do that as well? Mingyu, at your young age, you already know so many novel methods—it’s truly remarkable! Tell me more!”

Li Mingyu was relieved that Sun Simiao cared more about medical techniques than about probing into his own knowledge. He then described, without reservation, all he knew about battlefield first aid.

One was a master of medicine, learned and insightful; the other came from a future era of information explosion, broadening his horizons—though Li Mingyu’s knowledge of medicine was superficial, it was up-to-date. Together, they discussed and verified ideas, both benefiting greatly, talking on until night had fallen.

As darkness gathered, Sun Simiao invited Mingyu to stay for dinner. When it was time to part, the old master reluctantly said, “Mingyu, speaking with you today has greatly expanded my knowledge. Your innovative approaches to trauma and your theory of ‘illness entering by the mouth, hygiene and epidemic prevention’ have opened new doors for me. Though it was only an afternoon, I have gained much insight and found new directions for research. But as human life is precious, all this must be repeatedly tested, as you say, by ‘clinical trial.’” With that, he saw Mingyu to the door. “It’s late, take care on your way home. I won’t see you off, for I must write down and organize all you’ve told me today.”

Li Mingyu bade Sun Simiao farewell with the respect due a junior. “Master Sun, you are right. I have merely offered my own ideas, which still need to be proven by your superior medical skill. I intended to write them out for your review, but my handwriting is so poor that I could only say what came to mind. I’m not sure if I missed anything, but if I remember more, I’ll report to you again.” With another bow, he returned home.

Time passed, and more than a month went by. Besides practicing martial arts, training the children, and telling stories at night, Li Mingyu added a new routine—visiting Sun Simiao’s cottage daily. Whenever he remembered something he’d missed, he would share it with the old master, and together they would discuss and verify it. In just over a month, they became close friends despite their age difference.

Li Mingyu deeply admired this sage of medicine, and did his utmost to share all the modern medical knowledge he knew, hoping that with Sun Simiao’s talent, medicine could advance even further.

Sun Simiao, too, was genuinely fond of Li Mingyu—so bright, so quick-witted, and full of novel, imaginative ideas that, upon careful thought, were not without reason. Though young, his insight far surpassed that of ordinary men, and his keen observation promised limitless achievement in the future.

One day, as Li Mingyu was drilling the village children in physical training, he heard the sound of galloping hooves. Looking up, he saw Li Xuanba, covered in dust, returning on a tall steed.