As the second month neared its end, the examination candidates entered the grace-examination compound, and Lang Jiuchuan had by that point completed her preparations — the medicine had been made — and she invited Zeng Jichuan to come to Wanshi Shop to perform the golden needle cataract extraction procedure.

As for why she was not going to the Zeng household and instead had them come to Wanshi Shop — it was naturally because the geomantic energy of Wanshi Shop was different. Even the reception chamber used for receiving guests had been specially arranged by her, with an array formation layered over it, so that the air circulating through the chamber was notably cleaner and lighter. It put a guest’s body and mind at ease, and made them feel more reassured about submitting to acupuncture.

What she had not anticipated, however, was that in addition to his trusted household servants, Zeng Jichuan had also brought along a grandson to stand by in attendance — one Zeng Yuanhang — as well as that Director Ou whose face she had read some days prior.

In the few days since she had last seen him, Director Ou’s appearance of impending decline had deepened by another degree.

Lang Jiuchuan looked at this group of arrivals, her expression cool and unmoved.

Zeng Jichuan could not see her face — his yin-yang eyes had by then automatically sealed themselves — but having occupied a position of high authority for many years, he had long since developed an acute sensitivity to the shifts in a person’s presence, and even without seeing clearly, he could sense a faint thread of Lang Jiuchuan’s displeasure.

Zeng Jichuan quickly explained: “Since we were coming to Wanshi Shop and would need to return home after the procedure, I called for two extra household servants to carry me out at that point…”

Lang Jiuchuan’s mouth twitched. She cut him off: “Sir, once the golden needle cataract extraction is fully complete, you will have no need to be carried out. You will be entirely capable of seeing, and can walk out on your own two feet. To have yourself carried out — are you putting a curse on yourself?”

Zeng Jichuan’s eyelid gave a jump, and he laughed with some embarrassment: “Naturally that is not what I meant.”

Zeng Yuanhang stared wide-eyed. Was this still the same upright and formidable Elder Master of their household? How was he being outdone by this frail little girl? If Zeng Jichuan hadn’t warned him beforehand not to put on airs, he would have wanted to demand of Lang Jiuchuan what on earth she had eaten to make her so audacious.

Lang Jiuchuan then turned to Director Ou: “You are uneasy about my skills, and have come to observe?”

Director Ou immediately replied: “This old man has not come to steal techniques. I too know the golden needle cataract extraction — it is only that now, in my old age, my hands are no longer steady enough for me to agree to perform it for Master Zeng. I have come to see if there is anything I might help with.”

“You may observe as you wish — but I will say this plainly in advance: when I am performing the needling, I do not welcome noise or disturbance from the side. If a sound is made, I will have no choice but to ask you to step outside.”

“This old man naturally knows the weight of these things,” Director Ou said. As a physician himself, he was of course fully aware that needling required a calm and focused mind.

For what was needed during the procedure — the medicinal broths and the like — Lang Jiuchuan instructed Jian Lan and one of the household servants to go and prepare them. She herself first took Zeng Jichuan’s pulse and, sensing that his pulse was stronger than before and that his kidney water was more replete, said: “You have been taking your medicine on time — your condition these past few days has been tended to well.”

Zeng Jichuan smiled: “The prescription you wrote is a good one. May I continue taking it going forward?”

Whether or not the medicine had been effective, he himself knew best — sleeping soundly, eating well, strength in the back and legs: that was proof enough.

Director Ou pricked up his ears, his heart itching as though scratched by a cat’s paw, wondering if he might be allowed to look at that excellent prescription. Just from Zeng Jichuan’s complexion alone, he could see that the man’s vitality was markedly improved!

“You may,” Lang Jiuchuan said, withdrawing her hand. “It was always a tonic and restorative prescription to begin with.” She had him sit by the window to wait, while she opened the set of golden needle implements that the Zeng household had commissioned to be crafted — held in a dark wood case. When she opened it, golden light gleamed, the needles polished to exquisite fineness.

Lang Jiuchuan picked up one needle and examined it carefully, then gave it a light flick and listened to the faint, resonant hum the golden needle produced: “This set of needles is well made.”

“Golden needles matched with a skilled physician — for this needle to receive such praise from you, my young friend, is its fortune. I give them to you, in respect for your physician’s heart of benevolence, in the hope that you will hold all living beings in your healing care,” Zeng Jichuan said.

Lang Jiuchuan shook her head: “The needles I will accept — but as for holding all living beings in my healing care, that depends on my mood.”

She was opening his eyes for him; accepting a full set of needles from him cost her not a trace of guilt.

Director Ou and Zeng Yuanhang looked at her in speechless resignation. How utterly audacious.

Lang Jiuchuan completed all her preparations, and seeing Zeng Jichuan sitting rigidly upright, rubbing his hands together, she proceeded to explain in detail how she would perform the needling — every step, laid out carefully — to ease his anxiety.

The golden needle cataract extraction follows Eight Methods, and the eight methods refer to eight steps: discerning the moment, illuminating the eye, restoring vision, probing the opacity, and others. She laid them out one by one, until those listening felt as though they had watched a complete extraction procedure unfold before their eyes.

Zeng Jichuan thought: Hearing it described like that, it doesn’t sound so frightening after all.

Director Ou thought: She genuinely knows what she is doing.

Zeng Yuanhang studied Lang Jiuchuan up and down. How old is she again?

With this full explanation, Lang Jiuchuan truly did ease Zeng Jichuan’s nerves considerably. Combined with the air flowing through the chamber, softly penetrating through to his very pores, leaving body and mind entirely relaxed, he rose and clasped his hands in a bow: “Then I shall trouble you, young friend.”

Lang Jiuchuan gave a soft sound of acknowledgment. “Young friend” — she found that term rather too familiar. “My Daoist name is Qingyi,” she said. “You may call me Daoist Friend Qingyi.”

Director Ou shook his head slightly. Still young after all. “Young friend” — that was the affectionate term an elder used for a favored acquaintance of the younger generation, regardless of generational difference. To earn the favorable notice of a Deputy Minister of Personnel — such a connection was something countless people would not be able to seek out however hard they tried. Yet here she was, treating it as though she needed to keep her distance.

But even as that thought arose, he found himself growing still, recalling what Lang Jiuchuan had said that day — that she was not a court physician, and thus had none of the constraints that went with such a position, and was free to act as she saw fit, saying and doing as she pleased. Did that not mean that it was precisely this purity of spirit that made people regard her in a new light?

Director Ou smiled ruefully. He had simply been entrenched in the Imperial Medical Bureau for too long, had witnessed too much of its dark intrigues. His ways of thinking and behaving had long since set like hardened clay — weighing every advantage and disadvantage before acting, and then hesitating, caught between advance and retreat.

He was not as good as a child.

Zeng Jichuan was also somewhat taken aback: “A name is a name — any will do. But this Qingyi — where does it come from?”

“The East holds the Azure Dragon, and in the heavenly stems, East belongs to Wood, designated by the stem Jia-Yi. Yi-Wood,” Lang Jiuchuan said, looking out the window where the sunlight fell just right. “As long as Yi-Wood has a patch of earth to take root in, water, and sunlight, it can grow very well. I hope to be like Yi-Wood — to grow, and grow exceedingly well.”

That meant living a long and full life, growing into a great azure dragon of a tree.

Zeng Jichuan murmured the name quietly, then said: “It is indeed a fine Daoist name. Did your master give it to you?”

Lang Jiuchuan’s eyes went briefly blank, and she happened to see Jian Lan and the others arriving with the medicinal broth and other preparations, so she said: “We may begin now.”

She looked toward Zeng Yuanhang: “Too many people in the room will muddy the air, which is not good for the patient. Please wait outside. Do not wander into other parts of the premises — the inner quarters house female members of the household.”

Zeng Yuanhang thought to himself, In truth, you just don’t want me making noise and startling you, do you?

But he did not dare refuse. He rose and went out, and outside the back hall he noticed a tree that had clearly been replanted not long ago, and stopped to look up at it. What kind of tree was this?

“Six-path wood — also called dragon-subduing wood. By the fifth month, the flowers will come,” said Fuqi, who had appeared behind him at some point without his knowing, as though he had heard the thought in Zeng Yuanhang’s mind and was answering it.

Zeng Yuanhang nearly jumped out of his skin: “Why do you walk so silently?!”

Fuqi gave him an even look, his lips parting very slightly. Naturally, because I am not a person.

Zeng Yuanhang watched him move to the doorway of the reception chamber, his face going green. This Wanshi Shop — strange everywhere you looked. And yet staying here left him feeling remarkably clear-headed and refreshed. He had been awake until dawn the night before, yet he did not feel the least bit drowsy. Truly uncanny.