Chapter Eleven: The Fat Man Buying Medicine

Sister Jiu’er’s whereabouts became an unsolved riddle in my heart.

The daughter-in-law Ping, the red-masked shadow, the young man in white, the house-sized monster in the Yellow River, and the two indistinct figures carrying Jiu’er away—all appeared in my mind again and again, like scenes from a montage film.

That evening, Tong Tianwang took me to the county town, where, following an address, we found a Chinese medicine shop.

The owner of the shop was an elderly bald man in his sixties, childless and alone. When Tong Tianwang entered, he exchanged a string of peculiar words with the old man, whose face instantly changed. He hurriedly ushered Tong Tianwang inside, and the two conferred in low voices for quite some time.

Only later did I learn that this was a kind of jargon, a secret code of the underworld.

Given Tong Tianwang’s knowledge and wits, there was no way he’d know such codes himself; it must have been Sister Jiu’er who’d taught him, likely from that note she left.

I called the medicine shop owner Grandpa Guan.

After settling me in, Tong Tianwang left, handing Grandpa Guan a strange wooden chest. It had come from my home, but I had no idea what was inside. Grandpa Guan locked it straight away in the basement and wouldn’t let me see.

He was a man of few words, caring for my meals and schooling, while I helped him manage the shop.

I missed my grandmother, but Tong Tianwang didn’t allow me to visit her. He came back a few times afterward. The last time, he brought two pieces of news: my grandmother had passed away and her funeral was done, and that he himself would soon be leaving to join the army.

Grasping my last chance, I tried to ask him indirectly about Sister Jiu’er, but he wouldn’t say a word.

After Tong Tianwang left, I heard nothing more from him. It was just Grandpa Guan and me, depending on each other.

I drifted through high school with abysmal grades. By then, Grandpa Guan was very old, walking with a trembling gait. I dropped out to take care of him and keep the shop running.

He grew ever more silent, his eyes growing cloudy, his speech slurred. He spent half a year bedridden. Before he passed, he grasped my hand and muttered, “Hall Master…” Then, pointing to a medicine chest by the bed, his head fell to the side and he breathed his last.

Hall Master?

I had no idea what the old man meant. I didn’t think much of it at the time.

After his death, I made a point of opening the medicine chest he had pointed out.

My goodness!

Inside were all sorts of strange and rare medicinal ingredients, including a brown bezoar formed in a dog’s stomach.

Back when Uncle Chang Geng was dying, Sister Jiu’er led us to obtain a dog bezoar. Along with the blood-red toad skin, snowland dragon, and thousand-year night sand, she made a bowl of Heaven and Earth Soup, snatching Uncle Chang Geng back from death itself—an unforgettable memory.

The old man had hidden deep, indeed. According to Tong Tianwang’s estimation, a bezoar like that was worth as much as the whole shop—was this an inheritance for me? As for the rest, I didn’t recognize them, but they likely weren’t cheap either. I quickly closed the chest, bought a sturdy new lock, and sealed it up tight.

My blood had always been black. I dreaded hospitals, but for minor illnesses I could always find something in the shop—a convenience. These days, traditional medicine was fading, and Grandpa Guan’s half-dead shop was empty of customers. But with that chest of medicines, even if there were no buyers, at least I wasn’t anxious about starving. Every day, I switched on the ceiling fan, covered my face with a battered book, listened to comic sketches on the radio, and lived the leisure of old age ahead of time.

Until one day, my calm was shattered.

That noon, as I was about to close up and take a nap, a shifty-looking man appeared at the door.

He was about my age, big and burly, with a round head and rolls of fat, his clothes clinging to him, testament to a life of heavy eating and no restraint. He looked around the shop, shook his head, started to leave, then came back. “Hey there, do you sell any special medicinal ingredients?”

Special ingredients?

In traditional medicine, anything and everything can be used—there’s no shortage of odd formulas and ancient prescriptions. If you want to talk about rare ingredients, there are plenty. Placenta is called purple river cart, feces is human yellow, burnt dandruff is called human retreat… But nowadays, people rarely use these things—not because they don’t work, but because there are so few doctors who know how to prescribe them.

I had no idea what this fat man wanted.

Was he the windfall customer I’d been wishing for? But judging by his clothes, he didn’t look rich. So I replied, “I have a few. What are you looking for?”

He frowned. “Do you have a dog bezoar?”

The moment he said it, I felt a jolt.

“What do you want a dog bezoar for?” I asked, intrigued.

He made himself comfortable, poured himself some tea, gulped it down, wiped his mouth, and said, “Catching ghosts!”

Dog bezoars are medicinal, but I’d never heard of them being used for catching ghosts.

I sized him up, wondering if he was insane.

He caught my look and explained, “Just tell me if you have it! I know I’m in great shape, but I’m not into guys.”

Clearly insane!

“No, get lost!” I didn’t want to do business with him and showed him the door.

He stared in surprise, then said, “Don’t play dumb. I saw your eyes flicker, your nostrils flare, your mouth twitch in disdain. You’re lying—there’s definitely a dog bezoar here. And you think I’m crazy, so you don’t want to sell. Am I right?!”

How did he know all that?

“You’ve got some nerve—you’re right, but I’m still not selling!” I said, pushing him out.

He grabbed the doorframe, clung to my hand, and with a fawning smile said, “Come on, don’t be like that! Saving a life is a virtue. I’ve been to every pharmacy in town and finally found yours—why not sell it to me?”

Saving a life?

He seemed sincere, so I asked him to explain before I made up my mind.

He introduced himself.

His surname was Zuo, given name Panlong. He was a Taoist priest.

I couldn’t help but laugh. Zuo Panlong is also the name of a medicinal ingredient—pigeon droppings, to be precise. Pigeons usually defecate in a leftward spiral, resembling a dragon when seen up close, so the ancients gave it that name.

He asked why I was laughing.

I said, “Nothing—good name.”

He rolled his eyes and continued.

A few days before, he’d received a call from a fellow exorcist who’d gone out to catch a ghost, only to be severely injured—left bedridden and unable to move. When Zuo Panlong went to see him, he found the man covered in bloody welts and in a terrible state. Unable to handle it, his colleague passed the job to Zuo Panlong, asking him to avenge him, and offered a high price to do so.

His colleague was skilled, yet went to catch a ghost and ended up like that, never even seeing the ghost itself. Zuo Panlong became wary and spent the day searching pharmacies for a dog bezoar.

“Go catch your ghost, but what do you need a dog bezoar for?” I asked.

“Ghosts fear dogs. The dog bezoar is the king of canine spirits. Wearing it protects me—even if I can’t defeat the ghost, it won’t dare harm me. In our line of work, sometimes you get beaten up by ghosts. Buying this is like buying a bulletproof vest. This ghost is just too powerful… but you wouldn’t understand,” he said.

Dog bezoars as bulletproof vests against ghosts?

“I’m offering this much—fifty thousand,” Zuo Panlong said, raising his palm.

I was stunned.

Ordinarily, I was stingy about even a cheap lunch, and here this fatso was offering fifty thousand for the thing!

“Sixty thousand,” I said, raising another finger.

“Deal! A good item is worth the price. Let me see it,” he replied without hesitation.

Immediately, I felt as though I’d sold a treasure for a pittance, and wanted to slap myself. But the words were out, so I had to go through with it. I opened the drawer and took out the dog bezoar.

He took it, his beady eyes shining with excitement. “Damn, it’s an old one—what a find!” he muttered.

I wanted to slap myself even more.

“Pay up!” I held out my hand.

His face took on a strange look. “I don’t have the money on me.”

“Then what the hell are you doing? Is this a joke?” I snatched the bezoar back.

“Don’t get mad—who carries that much cash? I’ll go get it with you now.” He kept his eyes glued to the bezoar.

“There are two rules here: money and goods change hands at the same time, and the price is good only now—miss it, it’s gone,” I said, walking back to put the bezoar away.

He sneered, crossed his legs, and drummed his fingers on the table. “What stupid rules. You just regret selling it cheap, don’t you? Seventy thousand! Let’s close up and get the cash now. I’m telling you, only I’d pay that price. If you don’t sell, I’ll walk, and if I say another word, I’m your grandson!”

This guy had seen right through me.

I dragged him out, closed the shop, and went with him to get the money.

I never imagined that walk would be the beginning of my destiny.