Chapter Six: The Elixir of Heaven and Earth

Sister Jiu’er’s move was impressive—it struck right at the old village chief’s sore spot.

He hurriedly called for the villagers to lower their tools, his hoarse voice asking, “How do you know?”

That was exactly what I wanted to ask.

The old chief’s son was named Changgeng—a good name, but the boy was frail, bedridden for over ten years. He should have long since joined the King of Hell for a game of mahjong, but the old chief had some means and kept his son alive, hanging by a thread with ginseng. Recently, word was that he was about to die.

But Sister Jiu’er had only just arrived in the village—how could she know the chief’s son was on his last legs? Unless she was not only skilled with her fists, but could also divine fate?

Sister Jiu’er smoothed her skirt and said seriously, “Don’t worry about how I know. Tonight, I will treat your son. If I cure him, you’ll give me three days.”

The old chief’s face changed in a strange way, and after a long silence, he replied, “Alright, I’ll let you try.”

Jun’s parents were so furious their faces turned red. “Chief, don’t listen to this witch—”

The old chief cut them off roughly, “Enough of that nonsense! Your son’s life matters but mine doesn’t? Give them time—they won’t get away!”

The old chief was the village authority. He wanted to save his own son—who could blame him? Jun’s parents could only fall silent.

Two villagers stayed behind, each holding a homemade shotgun, keeping a close eye on us. The rest muttered as they dispersed. With those dark gun barrels pointed at us, I felt like exposed spies caught in the village.

But Sister Jiu’er was unbothered and asked if we had any rice at home. I nodded.

The three of us cooked breakfast and wolfed it down hungrily.

The two villagers keeping watch—whom I called Third Uncle and End Uncle—usually would eat with us, but now sat sternly, ignoring my invitation.

After we ate, Sister Jiu’er turned to me, “Xiao Pi, today I’ll show you the craft of southern treasure hunters.”

Tong Tianwang’s eyes lit up.

Sister Jiu’er led us around the village, and after a while, stopped at Third Uncle’s house. She asked, “Will you sell your dog?”

I thought she wanted to eat dog meat and quickly stopped her, “Sis, that’s an old dog, mangy and covered in fleas—no meat to speak of.”

She flicked my forehead, “Greedy boy, who said anything about eating it?”

“Then why buy it?”

Third Uncle eyed her curiously, “What do you want with the dog?”

Tong Tianwang seemed to know what she was after. “Don’t ask—just say if you’ll sell.”

Third Uncle rolled his eyes, “One hundred yuan!”

In those days, a hundred yuan could buy a dozen piglets—he was clearly asking a ridiculous price.

Sister Jiu’er simply pulled out a hundred yuan and told Tong Tianwang to fetch the dog.

He found a rope, made a loop, and crouched by the dog’s den, shaking the noose—hesitating but not moving. Sister Jiu’er urged him to hurry, and he whined, “I’m afraid it’ll bite.”

She pushed him aside, grabbed the rope, and with a flick of her small hand, the loop darted into the den. A wild bark erupted, and out she pulled an old dog, nearly hairless, skin mottled and drool hanging from its mouth.

The dog, seeing Sister Jiu’er, trembled in terror, collapsed on the ground, unable to move, and even soiled itself in fright.

Once its neck was secured, Tong Tianwang wasn’t afraid and dragged the dog back to my house.

Once home, Sister Jiu’er told the two villagers, “Wait outside.” She shut the gate with a bang.

Tong Tianwang fetched a mattock, raising it to kill the dog.

Sister Jiu’er stopped him in alarm. “Kill it and the treasure will be gone.”

“Treasure?”

Tong Tianwang scratched his head in embarrassment. “Don’t mind me, Jiu’er. I’m just a novice—I don’t know these things.”

She shot him a look and pulled out a hook.

The hook was silver, coldly glinting, with a rounded tip, like an oversized, elongated ear scoop. Strangely, it could also bend freely, as if made of some mysterious material.

Seeing my curiosity, Tong Tianwang boasted, “Xiao Pi, you don’t know what this is. It’s a ‘treasure scoop,’ used to extract precious things from animals. If you want to be a grave-hunter, there’s lots to learn!”

I muttered, “I don’t want to be a grave-hunter!”

Sister Jiu’er tightened the rope, the dog choking and gasping, its mouth agape, limbs quivering and groaning. She slid the scoop into the dog’s mouth, her small hands working deftly, her face shifting between confusion, delight, and concentration as she maneuvered the tool.

After a while, she called, “Up!”

The scoop emerged, holding a brown, oval object like a small stone, streaked with blood and mucus—it was disgusting.

Tong Tianwang, however, was ecstatic, not minding the filth, and rushed to wash the scoop and the treasure.

Later, I learned that what Sister Jiu’er retrieved was called a “dog bezoar”—a true treasure.

Dog bezoar, ox gallstone, and horse bezoar are considered the three great treasures of Chinese medicine, capable of treating stomach cancer.

A high-quality dog bezoar is worth its weight in gold at a herbalist’s shop.

Not every dog has one; only old dogs with chronic gastrointestinal illness for about ten years, unable to eat, form it from accumulated stomach acid. By rights, such a dog should die, but as long as it has a spirited bezoar inside, it clings to life.

Once cleaned, Tong Tianwang handed it to Sister Jiu’er.

She examined it. “It’ll do.” Then she gathered her things and opened the gate, releasing the old dog. The dog staggered a few steps out the door, then collapsed and died.

Tong Tianwang asked, puzzled, “Jiu’er, you want to cure Changgeng with the Elixir of Heaven and Earth, but you’re still missing three ingredients.”

She replied, “I have red toad skin and thousand-year night sand on me. Now we have dog bezoar—only snowland earthworm remains.”

Tong Tianwang frowned, “My grandfather said snowland earthworm comes from the snowy mountains—only those buried in ice for decades turn pure white. We have just one day—where can we find one?”

Sister Jiu’er shook her head. “Xie the Biscuit didn’t tell you everything. Yes, snowland earthworm comes from places of extreme cold. Snow and ice are an external chill, but internal chill can also produce them.”

Tong Tianwang’s eyes widened in confusion.

She continued, “There’s a place of intense cold right by the village.”

He slapped his thigh. “You mean the Grave of the Hen Woman?!”

She nodded. “Tonight, we’ll go there and retrieve the snowland earthworm.”

When I heard we were going to the Hen Woman’s grave, my scalp tingled. “I’m not going! If I go, Jun will play that marble game with me—too scary.”

Sister Jiu’er chuckled, taking my hand in hers. “That’s not Jun; it’s the Hen Woman showing you an illusion. Don’t worry, I’m with you.”

Her hand was warm and smooth, like silk. Looking into her steady eyes, I felt a strange certainty and safety, as if all my fears had evaporated.

The day passed without incident.

At dinner, Third Uncle’s wife brought food for the two villagers watching us and also carried in a basin of dog meat, asking if we wanted any.

Villagers are always an odd mix of ignorance and simplicity.

They believed my family had offended the River God and killed a local child, and were set on sinking me in the Yellow River. But since Sister Jiu’er had bought the dog, they felt we deserved the dog meat.

It seemed contradictory, but in fact, it wasn’t.

Sister Jiu’er refused, and I certainly didn’t dare eat any, though Tong Tianwang was drooling. Still, we told her to take it back.

The moon climbed above the treetops.

At the grave, Third Uncle and End Uncle balked at going in, calling it unlucky.

Tong Tianwang told them to wait at the road.

There was only one way out; they weren’t afraid we’d flee, and stood guard outside with their guns.

As soon as I entered the graveyard, a piercing chill wrapped around me, making my teeth chatter. Unconsciously, I grabbed Sister Jiu’er’s hand. She glanced at me with a reassuring smile.

The moonlight was thin and misty.

The graveyard was utterly silent.

But beneath a tree, I saw a figure leaning against the trunk, dressed in black with a crimson, ghastly mask. The lower half of the body seemed to fade into nothing, as if there were no legs at all.

I jumped in fright and stammered, “Sis, there’s a ghost over there.”

Sister Jiu’er followed my pointing finger, frowned, and called out, “Four flowers at the mountain gate—cousin, which family do you hail from? Show yourself and clear the way!”