034 When a whale falls, a myriad of lives thrive!

By the end of October, cold air masses from Siberia once again breached the Yanshan defenses, sweeping directly into the capital.

The temperature plummeted. Overnight, snowflakes began to fall in heavy, swirling flurries. The various government offices within the inner city were in a flurry of activity, as firewood, grain, and military pay had to be transported into the capital via the Grand Canal before the sections of the river in Zhili and Shandong froze over.

The vaccination program in the Southern City was also entering its final stages. Meanwhile, Jiang Qingyun had quietly finalized the integration of the Five City Gendarmerie's forces, consisting of thirty clerks, five hundred cavalrymen in cotton armor, and five hundred auxiliary soldiers. One thousand men—enough to accomplish a few small tasks within the capital. Had it not been for the critical juncture where the Shunzhi Emperor was maneuvering to deal with Dorgon, it is highly unlikely Jiang Qingyun would have been afforded the opportunity to build his strength.

...

In early November, Wu Yong, the Director of the Imperial Medical Academy, began frequently visiting the Jiang residence in the Southern City. Their relationship progressed rapidly.

"My young friend, who is feeling unwell this time?"

"It is... it is myself."

Wu Yong chuckled, placing two fingers on his pulse. As he checked it, he asked, "The Southern City vaccinations are nearly finished, aren't they?"

"Almost."

"Make sure you tidy up the loose ends properly."

"Rest assured. The most important thing in life is to have a proper beginning and a proper end; reputation comes first."

"Young Jiang, tell me, what do you think is the most important thing for a person in officialdom?"

"Good fortune?"

"Incorrect."

"A powerful patron?"

"It is to live long enough. If you outlive all your rivals, you can leisurely do whatever you wish, and you can even lean on your cane at their graves to laugh at them loudly. You are still young, so perhaps you think terms like 'life' and 'death' are far from you. But once you pass thirty-five, your perspective will change immediately. By then, it will be too late. Like a mad horse galloping down a slope toward a cliff, the direction cannot be changed; at best, one can only delay the end by a few steps."

Wu Yong cast a meaningful glance at Jiang Qingyun, his words clearly implying something deeper. Jiang Qingyun, having lived two lifetimes, understood the subtext perfectly. *You are hinting that Dorgon is shielding those two in the Forbidden City, fighting battles everywhere, suffering from both internal and external exhaustion, and falling ill so often that he hasn't even produced a son. He is burning his candle at both ends and will be dead before forty.*

*Even Hooge, who was murdered, once openly mocked Dorgon as a sickly weakling!*

...

"The Director is right. I am seventeen this year; it is the perfect age to focus on preservation."

Wu Yong could not help but smile, rolling up his sleeves. "Bring brush and ink. Let me, your elder, teach you a few methods of preservation."

Wu Yong’s calligraphy was quite remarkable, though he had a peculiar obsession: he only wrote in wild cursive, never in regular script—perhaps a stubborn trait peculiar to the medical profession. He recited as he wrote:

"Upon entering the enemy camp, one should be like a gentle breeze brushing against willow branches, advancing slowly. When one's energy grows, one may withdraw like the ebbing tide, departing slowly. Both advance and retreat, both tension and relaxation, must harmonize with the principles of Yin and Yang.

In every breath, inhale the spirit and essence of heaven and earth. The deeper and longer the breath, the more profound the benefit to body and mind. When inhaling, one must harbor righteous energy, remaining unwavering and uncorrupted. Guard the gate of the mouth; speak no words, utter no cries. Let the nose be the path, exhaling ever so slightly. Only thus can Yin and Yang flow freely, each finding its own joy."

"Director Wu, have you shared this with the Emperor?"

"Hush. The Emperor is young, his youth has only just begun, and his bones and muscles are not yet fully developed. Moreover, with the Empress Dowager supervising, it is far too early, far too early."

...

Snowflakes drifted from the sky as the two sat in the pavilion, drinking and watching the snow.

"Brother Wu, how is the Prince Regent faring now?"

"A persistent low-grade fever, fatigue and weakness, yellowing of the eyes, and intermittent vomiting of blood. The conditions in the military camp are primitive, and the biting cold has taken its toll; it is all within expectations."

"But he still commands tens of thousands of iron cavalry. If, by any chance—"

"Young Jiang, there are no 'chances.' At this point, even if he wanted to usurp the throne, those beneath him would not follow. Everyone wants to support the new dragon, but the current dragon is dying and has no heir. Seeing no hope, naturally, no one will commit such an act of treason."

The two raised their cups and drank in one gulp. Drinking amidst the wind and snow, discussing the court and the mysteries of Yin and Yang, held a unique charm. Friends who are not officials often assume that in officialdom, everyone sits upright with solemn faces, weighing every word, but that is simply because they are not close. Once familiarity is established and interests become intertwined, they become as unrestrained as they were today.

Finally, Jiang Qingyun asked a question that seemed slightly foolish but was, in fact, critical: "Does the Imperial Medical Academy have eyes around the Prince Regent?"

Wu Yong smiled without answering, taking another small sip. "Too much, I've had too much wine."

Jiang Qingyun took the hint, pretending to be slightly tipsy as he helped Wu Yong stumble away from the pavilion, ordering two soldiers to escort his sedan chair back to the city.

Back in his room, after a cup of hot tea, his eyes instantly cleared. *Empress Dowager Xiaozhuang is no simple woman! Since ancient times, beauties have been the ruin of heroes. In the future, she is the one I must guard against the most.*

...

At the Nanyuan breeding ground, the itinerant physicians, having received their rewards, were overjoyed and pooled their money to buy a cartload of food and drink, indulging in a feast. After several rounds of drinks, they began to discuss their future plans. Some wanted to marry, some hoped to open small clinics and leave their wandering days behind, some wanted to send money home to support their families, and others dreamed of spending a fortune in the pleasure quarters.

Zhang Jing, who usually had a good rapport with everyone, remained silent, drinking his wine with his head bowed.

"Brother Zhongjing, what are your plans?"

"I... I want to leave the capital."

"You've been working the Tianqiao area for over ten years and have built up so many connections; why leave suddenly?"

The honest and upright Zhang Jing looked at them. His name was Zhang Jing, but his peers called him "Divine Physician Zhang Zhongjing" as a form of mutual flattery.

"My fellow colleagues, I heard something from a clerk near Magistrate Jiang: the imperial court is going to vaccinate the Bannermen in the inner city."

"That sounds like a good thing."

"Good? Those are the Bannermen!"

The group froze. It did sound dangerous.

"Then we won't get involved."

"Right, let's just go back to being itinerant doctors at Tianqiao."

"Brothers, when the time comes, it won't be up to us. One word from above, and we go whether we want to or not; refusing means death." Zhang Jing sighed heavily. "What’s worse, we are to work under Minister Hong Chengchou this time."

Half of those present turned pale. The itinerant physicians of the capital were no strangers to the world; they knew that when Hong Chengchou was a commander under the former Ming dynasty, he had slaughtered refugees in the Northwest by the thousands and buried them by the tens of thousands.

"Brother Zhongjing, doesn't that mean we are facing a catastrophe?"

"A tree moved dies, but a person moved lives. I am leaving today. We have learned the method of selecting mature seed and the water-seed planting technique. Whether we go to Henan, Shaanxi, Shandong, or even further to Jiangxi or Jiangsu—where can one not make a living with their hands?"

Suddenly, everyone grew excited; it seemed to make sense.

...

Zhang Jing waved his hand grandly. "When the time comes, you, the Little Hua Tuo of Suzhou and Hangzhou! You, the Sun Simiao of Dezhou! And I, the Zhang Zhongjing of Northern Shaanxi! As long as we leave the capital, we will have a bright future."

The faces of the group flushed with excitement.

"Come, let's finish this cup. We leave immediately, right now, to the places that need us."

The next day, the group braved the wind and snow, trudging away from Nanyuan. With the travel money provided by the Gendarmerie, traveling a few hundred miles was easy.

Zhang Jing stayed in Baoding for two days before sneaking back to the Southern City Gendarmerie.

"Magistrate Jiang, as you ordered, everything has been taken care of."

"Can you understand my painstaking efforts?"

"You are right, my Lord. Promoting medical skills in the countryside saves countless lives, and you have also saved these brothers from Tianqiao. My Lord, you are the true Zhongjing of this era."

Jiang Qingyun smiled. "Do not mention the past. From today on, you will remain in the Gendarmerie as an official clerk. If the brothers have any headaches, fevers, or injuries, you will handle them all."

"Thank you, my Lord."

The wind and snow intensified. Jiang Qingyun and his wives and concubines gathered around a heated kang, eating hot pot and listening to songs. A seventeen-year-old’s life was truly that pleasant.

Outside the office, a rider suddenly arrived through the snow. He reined in his horse and shouted, "An imperial decree! Summoning Magistrate Jiang Qingyun to the palace with all haste!"