The sandalwood medicine cabinet of Renxin Hall towers into the clouds, and the new herb, Jingjie, stares at the small amount of 'rhinoceros horn ointment' that is constantly scraped off the balance scale — that is the 'mingrun' (handling fee) taken away by the pharmacy according to the prescription. He grinds herbs and cuts ginseng, his ten fingers cracked like the skin of an old pine tree, but the mugwort pouch (principal) hanging at his waist still feels light as the catkins of early spring.
The master pharmacist, Qin Lao, suddenly knocked her old silver bracelet on the edge of the green jade mortar, startling Jingjie to look up. 'Foolish child,' she slapped half a piece of aged donkey-hide gelatin, glistening with beeswax, into Jingjie's palm, 'Just staring at the sparkling balance in front of the cabinet, no matter how many prescriptions you ruin, you won't brew a cup of gelatin aroma. An old pharmacist's keen eye must see the 'spiritual buds in the dregs of medicine' (handling fee exemption).'
She led Jingjie to the medicine drying field in the backyard. On the blue stone ground in the corner, there lay an old medicinal grinder covered in dust, inverted, resembling a crouching turtle. Qin Lao took the copper spoon, which was covered in medicinal powder, from Jingjie, not wiping it, but instead turning the handle upside down and gently pressing it into an inconspicuous stone crevice at the bottom of the grinder. In an instant, tiny golden sparks resembling fine sand climbed up the spiral grooves of the spoon handle, like morning dew climbing up grass stems, silently gathering in the scales of the spoon neck's dragon pattern, condensing into a thin layer of warm golden paste, with a deep fragrance like the vapor of the earth's veins.
'What the balance weighs is the weight of saving the world,' Qin Lao lightly scraped the warm gold in the spoon's pattern with her fingernail, the dim light from the stone crevice reflected in her eyes, 'This 'essence' 'seeping' from the bottom of the grinder is the true root of sustaining life and replenishing energy.'
Jingjie held his breath, his fingertips touching the smooth and substantial golden paste, as if pinching a segment of solidified sunlight. He looked back at the shimmering silver balance in front of the cabinet, and suddenly the spoon in his hand felt heavy — this time, what he scooped up was not just the essence of a hundred herbs, but also the warm current quietly nourishing from the depths of the stone crevice. The essence at the bottom of the grinder, darkly storing the universe. The light mugwort pouch at his waist quietly dropped a warm arc.
The master pharmacist, Qin Lao, suddenly knocked her old silver bracelet on the edge of the green jade mortar, startling Jingjie to look up. 'Foolish child,' she slapped half a piece of aged donkey-hide gelatin, glistening with beeswax, into Jingjie's palm, 'Just staring at the sparkling balance in front of the cabinet, no matter how many prescriptions you ruin, you won't brew a cup of gelatin aroma. An old pharmacist's keen eye must see the 'spiritual buds in the dregs of medicine' (handling fee exemption).'
She led Jingjie to the medicine drying field in the backyard. On the blue stone ground in the corner, there lay an old medicinal grinder covered in dust, inverted, resembling a crouching turtle. Qin Lao took the copper spoon, which was covered in medicinal powder, from Jingjie, not wiping it, but instead turning the handle upside down and gently pressing it into an inconspicuous stone crevice at the bottom of the grinder. In an instant, tiny golden sparks resembling fine sand climbed up the spiral grooves of the spoon handle, like morning dew climbing up grass stems, silently gathering in the scales of the spoon neck's dragon pattern, condensing into a thin layer of warm golden paste, with a deep fragrance like the vapor of the earth's veins.
'What the balance weighs is the weight of saving the world,' Qin Lao lightly scraped the warm gold in the spoon's pattern with her fingernail, the dim light from the stone crevice reflected in her eyes, 'This 'essence' 'seeping' from the bottom of the grinder is the true root of sustaining life and replenishing energy.'
Jingjie held his breath, his fingertips touching the smooth and substantial golden paste, as if pinching a segment of solidified sunlight. He looked back at the shimmering silver balance in front of the cabinet, and suddenly the spoon in his hand felt heavy — this time, what he scooped up was not just the essence of a hundred herbs, but also the warm current quietly nourishing from the depths of the stone crevice. The essence at the bottom of the grinder, darkly storing the universe. The light mugwort pouch at his waist quietly dropped a warm arc.
