Chapter 55: Compendium of Materia Medica

The unicorn seemed to possess extraordinary spiritual power. Under its guidance, Ye Xi and Miss Song were never again attacked by the assassins of the Yang family. Moreover, as the unicorn’s jade-like horn emitted a moonlight-like halo, even the venomous insects in the dense forest dared not approach.

Following the unicorn’s lead, Ye Xi finally found the Valley of the Medicine King.

The entrance to the valley was extremely concealed, appearing as a sheer cliff with no seams. But at a certain angle, it became apparent that this was merely an optical illusion. In reality, it was formed by two cliffs meeting, with a narrow, secret path hidden among vines.

Inside the valley, one saw a patchwork of thatched cottages, with rare medicinal herbs growing everywhere, and the fragrant scent of herbs filling the air. Occasionally, there were a few more finely crafted wooden houses, all styled in the manner of the Tang and Song dynasties.

Though not completely sealed off, the Valley of the Medicine King lay deep in the mountains, with little contact with the outside world, evoking the idyllic charm of the Peach Blossom Spring, where one “knows not of Han, much less Wei or Jin.”

The herb farmers in the valley were simple and honest, with uncomplicated minds; conversations were light and pleasant.

Months ago, rumors quietly spread that the valley intended to select a successor to its legendary founder, Sun Simiao. To be honored with this selection meant inheriting the unparalleled essence of the Medicine King’s medical arts, as well as bearing the responsibility of leading the valley into the future.

This news rippled like spring breezes over a lake, stirring countless young dreamers—some yearning for fame, others for power and status, some seeking wealth, many dreaming of medical mastery, and others simply hoping to broaden their horizons—to embark on a quest to find the Medicine King’s Valley.

According to Ye Xiaotian’s diary, there were many participants in this grand assembly; eventually, about a hundred found the valley within the deadline and qualified to compete for the title of Medicine King.

Ye Xiaotian himself finally triumphed over these hundred-plus rivals in a turbulent struggle worthy of a lengthy serialized novel that could sustain a troupe of storytellers through creative slumps.

Yet, in this world, due to Yang Yinglong’s relentless assassinations, the desolate mountain paths leading to the valley were strewn with corpses and haunted by restless spirits. In the end, only Ye Xi’s group and two others survived to enter the valley.

(Years ago, my grandfather was merely a frail scholar with no martial skills. Trials such as surviving a maze of venomous insects or capturing a fierce beast naturally posed mortal risks. Yet he seemed to possess some mysterious medical knowledge, enabling him to pass the toughest medical tests with ease and narrowly claim the Medicine King’s legacy.)

Each Medicine King not only required medical talent and skill but also courage and wisdom—in plain terms, one had to be both a skilled healer and a capable fighter to ensure the valley’s ongoing legacy. This made perfect sense: an organization nearly a millennium old prioritizes survival above all.

It must be noted that Ye Xi did not inherit the mysterious medical arts of Ye Tianwang, who himself had long since lost the ability to pass down his lifelong knowledge.

A strange phenomenon occurred: after eliminating Yang Yinglong, Ye Tianwang gradually began to forget the wondrous medical techniques he once mastered, retaining only the secret remedies learned within the Medicine King’s Valley.

It was as if some unseen force deemed these miraculous arts unfit for this world and forcibly erased them.

Even the vast empire Ye Tianwang had built quickly shrank after his death, reduced to the territory of Chishui alone. The Ye family of Chishui suffered a massacre by the Shuixi rebels six years ago; if it were not for Yun Zheng’s timely rescue of Ye Xi, the family legacy would have ended.

Could this be another secret power at work, erasing Ye Tianwang’s traces from history?

Yet the matchstick factory, glassworks, and silver-mirror factory established by Ye Xiaotian survived unscathed by any irresistible force.

Yun Zheng once said, “Matches aren’t necessarily much better than firesticks; glass isn’t much superior to colored glaze; and silver-plated mirrors don’t outshine bronze ones. Without a powerful force to shift customs, most people will stick to their traditional, though outdated, products. But chili peppers and sweet potatoes are different—they have the power to change human history.”

While Ye Xi was pondering this, one of the two who had entered the valley suddenly raised his hand and said, “I, Peng Ruhai, hereby withdraw.”

Mu Qiuhan, an elder of the Medicine King’s Valley who had come to greet them, showed a puzzled expression.

Mu Qiuhan’s hair was silver, with long white brows drooping to his chest, yet his skin was as smooth as a baby’s.

Peng Ruhai pointed to himself and said, “I brought a group of elite retainers into the valley but was ambushed by that damned Yang Yinglong. In the end, I was the only survivor.”

Then he gestured at Ye Xi. “And this pretty boy here, with a burden trailing behind him, managed to bring that burden here in one piece.”

“Is there even a contest? No chance of winning.”

At those words, everyone’s gaze turned to the adorably innocent-looking Song Yiyi.

“Who said I’m a burden?” Song Yiyi flushed and clenched her fists angrily. “You ugly freak! Let’s spar and see if I don’t beat you until you’re searching the ground for your teeth!”

Clearly, Miss Song was a devoted member of the Appearance Appreciation Society, thinking first of appearance-based insults when launching personal attacks.

Another person thought for a moment and also chose to withdraw, having come merely to watch and learn, not expecting to become one of the three final candidates for the Medicine King.

“I, Jin Fushou, also withdraw.”

Upon hearing this name, Ye Xi raised an eyebrow.

The white-bearded elders of the valley exchanged glances, whispered among themselves, and finally reached a conclusion:

“Since Young Master Ye Xi has already survived Yang Yinglong’s deadly ambushes, he must be a man of great wisdom and courage. Now, only the test of medical skill remains. If he fails or shows no aptitude, then the long-vacant position of Medicine King will regrettably remain empty.”

Hearing the elders’ verdict, Ye Xi knew this was a sure thing.

She had not inherited Ye Xiaotian’s medical arts. Not only had Ye Xiaotian himself forgotten the otherworldly techniques, but Ye Xi had never systematically studied the Medicine King’s traditional medical knowledge passed down to Ye Xiaotian.

But this did not mean Ye Xi lacked interest in medicine.

Her confidence stemmed from her ability to recite the Compendium of Materia Medica backward and forward.

For a healer in this era, mastering the lifetime achievements of Li Shizhen, the great Ming dynasty medical scholar, was an overwhelming advantage.

“So far, everything remains under control, except…” Ye Xi’s clear gaze flicked toward Song Yiyi, who was fiercely exchanging sharp words with Peng Ruhai nearby.

(Something about Miss Song isn’t as simple as she seems. She must harbor a hidden side. I recall several pages missing from my grandfather’s diary. Could they contain some crucial truth?)