activa-t Chapter 38 Gathering Herbs in the Mountains
Chapter 38 Gathering Herbs in the Mountains
In early May of the ninth year of the Zhenguan era, before dawn, Wang Zhihuan awoke.
I wasn't woken up by the crowing of chickens. The few yellow-feathered chickens in the yard were still curled up in their coop, fast asleep, without making a sound.
He was awakened by the chirping of birds from the back hill, which came in waves through the window, one chirp after another, clear and urgent, as if urging him to get up quickly.
Opening my eyes and looking up, I saw a coarse linen curtain hanging overhead. The knots at the corners of the curtain had been loosened by Huihui last night, and now they hung loosely, swaying slightly.
Huihui curled up in a ball beside the pillow, her soft snores rising and falling evenly, blending with the sound of the stream flowing over the blue stones in the distance.
Hua Hua had somehow crawled into bed, only half of her little ear showing, the tip of which was trembling slightly, and she was sleeping soundly.
Wang Zhihuan reached out and gently lifted Huahua out of the blanket. The kitten meowed in dissatisfaction, rolled over, and remained curled up and motionless.
He put on his clothes, slipped on his cloth shoes, and went to the kitchen to fetch well water to wash his face. The cool water splashed on his face, instantly washing away his sleepiness and waking him up immediately.
We should go up to the back mountain today.
Mrs. Li drank the herbal tea for almost a month, but the licorice and dried tangerine peel could only relieve the surface symptoms, treating the symptoms but not the root cause.
In those days, folk medicine in the Tang Dynasty was still rudimentary. Ordinary doctors mostly treated the symptoms rather than the root cause of the illness.
When ordinary people get a cough or asthma, they either have to tough it out or just grab a handful of herbs to treat it. Even wealthy families find it hard to find a good doctor who knows how to diagnose and treat the condition.
Madam Li's illness stemmed from a deficiency of lung yin and internal heat. Late spring and early summer was the perfect time to change her prescription for treatment.
A few days ago, while flipping through medical books, he took a liking to two kinds of medicines—Ophiopogon japonicus and Adenophora stricta.
Ophiopogon japonicus can nourish yin and moisten the lungs, while Adenophora stricta can clear the lungs and relieve cough. The combination of these two herbs is more effective than using tangerine peel and licorice, and their medicinal properties are also milder.
However, these two medicines can only be found by going into the mountains.
I quickly made breakfast in the kitchen.
I sliced the leftover steamed buns from yesterday, pan-fried them until both sides were slightly browned, then coated them with beaten egg, fried them in oil until golden brown, sprinkled them with a little coarse salt, and served with a bowl of leftover rice porridge. It was simple, but enough to fill me up.
The fragrance spread, and Hua Hua slowly strolled out of the house, squatted at his feet, looked up, and called softly.
Grey followed behind, quiet and still, sitting peacefully on the threshold, its tail tip gently tapping the ground.
Wang Zhi also broke off half a steamed bun, soaked it until soft, and gave it to the two cats. He then scooped up half a bowl of broken rice porridge and placed it under the jujube tree. Ah Huang was already wagging its tail and waiting, while Xiao Hei crawled out from under the stone bench. The two dogs buried their heads in their food, wagging their tails incessantly.
"I'm going into the mountains to gather herbs today," Wang Zhihuan said, squatting down and rubbing Ah Huang's head. "You stay home and watch the yard, don't let the chickens run out of their coop."
Ah Huang lifted her face and licked his palm, as if to say yes.
The mountain behind the farm is called Qingshi Ridge. It is about three or four miles away. The mountain is not very high, but the trees grow very densely.
At the foot of the mountain, there are patches of shrubs and wild grasses, and you have to walk half a mile uphill to see patches of tall trees.
Further in, the overlapping canopies of trees blocked out the sunlight, and the ground was covered with a thick layer of rotten leaves that sank softly underfoot.
Wang Zhi carried a bamboo basket on his back and leaned on a wooden stick, walking uphill along the mountain stream.
May is the perfect time to gather medicinal herbs. The dampness in the forest carries the faint, sweet-smelling scent of decaying leaves; one breath and your chest and abdomen feel refreshed.
The stream leaps and flows among the stones, splashing up tiny droplets, while small fish dart in and out of the crevices.
Birdsong echoed through the woods, near and far. Woodpeckers tapped away at the bark of trees overhead, tapping intermittently, their sounds reverberating through the forest.
Ophiopogon japonicus prefers damp, shady environments and mostly takes root in the crevices of rocks along streams. He walked slowly, his eyes constantly searching along the stream bank.
The leaves of the liriope are as thin as chives and are dark green. They grow in clumps along the damp stones, and if you're not careful, they can easily blend in with the weeds.
After walking for about half an hour, he came to a bend in the stream and stopped.
The bluestone was covered with moss, and a small green plant with slightly wide leaves grew from the cracks in the stone. Its roots were spindle-shaped tubers wrapped in a light yellow skin.
He squatted down and pulled up a plant; its tuber was slender, and it was a wild Ophiopogon japonicus.
They vary in size, some as small as grains of rice, others as large as peanuts. That's how things that grow in the mountains are naturally; they're not as neat and orderly as those grown at home, but their medicinal properties are actually stronger.
He picked up a small shovel and carefully dug it out along the roots, shook off the soil, and put it all into a bamboo basket. The plants were growing very vigorously, and after working for half an hour, a thick layer of soil had been laid at the bottom of the basket.
This wild Ophiopogon japonicus, with its excellent medicinal properties, grew rampantly in the mountains and fields during the Zhenguan era, yet no one recognized it, resulting in a complete waste.
It should be noted that at this time, even the Imperial Medical Bureau valued expensive medicinal herbs more than these inexpensive and effective medicines from the mountains and fields. Few folk doctors recognized them either, which explains why Madam Li's chronic illness dragged on for so long.
Adenophora stricta is easier to find; it prefers sunny hillsides and mostly grows in open areas at the edges of forests.
He left the valley and walked up the hillside. The trees gradually thinned out, sunlight filtered through the gaps, and the vegetation on the ground changed.
Ferns gradually decreased, replaced by waist-high weeds and flowering shrubs.
Walking to a gentle south-facing slope, I immediately spotted the sand ginseng.
The stems stand upright, the leaves are opposite, and the pale purple bell-shaped flowers stand out prominently among the green grass.
The roots don't grow very deep; they can be easily pulled up. The rhizome is round and straight, with a light yellow outer skin and snow-white flesh inside.
I casually picked a dozen or so plants, then drove around for a while and came across a large patch of sand ginseng.
The sun had already climbed high, shining obliquely through the tree canopy; it was probably almost 9 AM.
He found a flat bluestone by the stream, sat down, and took out the extra slices of steamed buns he had fried that morning.
It's cooled down a bit, but the outer layer is still crispy, and every bite is full of caramelized flavor.
I bent down, scooped up a handful of spring water, and drank it. It was refreshingly cool and had a lingering sweet aftertaste.
After finishing his dry rations, he didn't rush to set off.
The mountains were so quiet that only the sounds of the wind and water could be heard, with the occasional soft snapping of a branch, probably from a wild rabbit or other small mountain animal foraging in the forest.
Sunlight filters through the branches and leaves, casting dappled shadows that sway and move slowly in the breeze.
He suddenly remembered his grandfather from his previous life.
My grandfather also loved to go into the mountains to collect herbs. Every autumn, he would carry a bamboo basket up the mountain and the herbs he collected could cover half of the yard.
When he was a child, he only thought that the withered branches and fallen leaves were ugly and smelled pungent. But his grandfather would spread them out on the bamboo tray to dry, muttering about the medicinal properties and effects of each herb.
He was just squatting to the side catching grasshoppers and playing around, not taking it to heart at all.
Later, my grandfather passed away, and those prescriptions, pharmacology, and processing methods all sank into the depths of my memory.
Now, standing in the mountains of the Tang Dynasty, with the mountain breeze caressing my face and the stream flowing gently, old memories are slowly surfacing, as clear as if they were yesterday.
That's probably how fate works in this world. It's never truly severed; it just changes to a different place and continues the previous connection.