Chapter 81: Father-Son Relationship, Zhang Fan

In the evening, the summer breeze felt strangely hot.

South City, Guaizi Alley, No. 368.

As an old district, it still retained the architectural style of low courtyard walls, with neighborhood children chasing and playing in the narrow alleys.

Following the address Jiang Hu provided, Zhang Fan arrived here; the deeper he went, the more flashes of memory surfaced in his mind.

He knew he had definitely been here before.

“No. 368… this is the place…”

Zhang Fan stood before a small courtyard, the ancient wooden door weathered with faded patterns, pasted with traditional peach charms; the bronze ring held in the lion’s mouth clanged against the door, echoing a deep “dong dong.”

“Anyone home?”

Zhang Fan’s gaze sharpened, and he knocked twice more.

“Who is it?”

At that moment, the door opened just a crack; through the gap, Zhang Fan saw a beautiful girl standing inside, her long hair reaching her waist, braided into a single plait, her eyes like autumn water, her loose short sleeves revealing slender white arms.

“I’m looking for Master Ming…” Zhang Fan said through the gap.

“My grandfather isn’t home,” the girl said, and moved to close the door.

“How can I reach him?”

At once, Zhang Fan blocked the closing door and spoke urgently.

“What are you doing?” The girl frowned, watching him warily.

“Uh… I mean no harm… I just need to ask Master Ming something… I think I came here as a child for treatment, but I don’t remember…” Zhang Fan didn’t know how to explain.

“You… your surname is Zhang!?” the girl suddenly asked.

“How do you know?” Zhang Fan froze.

“Zhang Fan!?” the girl said, startling him by naming him outright.

“Huh!?”

Zhang Fan’s eyes widened; he stared through the gap, studying the girl from head to toe.

“You really came.”

The girl’s expression turned understanding, and she opened the door fully, inviting Zhang Fan inside.

“Have we met before? Do you know me?” Zhang Fan eyed her suspiciously.

“I’m Ming Yunxia. Don’t you remember me?”

“Huh!?” Zhang Fan frowned, his face filled with confusion.

“When you were twelve, your father brought you here for treatment…” Ming Yunxia said.

“Twelve… twelve…” Zhang Fan pondered.

That year, he suffered the greatest upheaval of his life—his mother died in a car accident, and the trauma triggered traumatic selective amnesia…

Zhang Fan remembered that initially, Zhang Lingzong took him to many major hospitals…

Later, he did bring him to see an old Chinese physician…

“This is the place,” Zhang Fan seemed to recall something.

“You’ve changed a lot since childhood… back then you were a bit aggressive, didn’t speak much—I tried to play with you, but you ignored me,” Ming Yunxia said.

“I have a faint memory… you’re Yunxia-jie…”

Zhang Fan vaguely recalled that back then, his emotions were extremely unstable, even aggressive; in this courtyard, there had been a young girl who always played with him.

Every time he came for treatment, it was this girl who stayed by his side.

“Come in.”

As she spoke, Ming Yunxia led Zhang Fan into the inner hall; a strong medicinal scent filled the room, walls hung with human meridian charts, shelves around lined with herbs and medical tools. “Yunxia-jie, where’s Master Ming?”

Zhang Fan walked to the corner, gazing at a strange painting, and asked casually.

“He went to Diannan to search for herbs.”

As she spoke, Ming Yunxia stepped beside Zhang Fan and pointed to the painting: it depicted a milky-white mushroom rooted in yellow soil, its cap bearing a human face.

“Is this a herb?”

“It’s called Beauty Mushroom,” Ming Yunxia explained.

Since ancient times, building bridges and repairing roads carried many taboos, as they involved disturbing the earth and water, altering dragon veins and shifting earth qi.

Legend says that long ago, while constructing a road along the Diannan border, mountain villagers unearthed a human face halfway up a cliff.

The face was fleshy, slightly pale, with eyes, nose, and mouth; its eyes were tightly shut, as if grown into the rock, its lips constantly writhing, occasionally emitting a sound like distant thunder—deeply terrifying.

The villagers were terrified; some claimed they had broken the earth and accidentally dug into the mountain god’s dwelling, and that this face was the mountain spirit guarding it.

Others said the face was the vengeful soul of someone who died unjustly in the mountains; if it opened its eyes, it would steal the soul.

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In any case, various rumors spread, until an elder led the villagers to rebury the road and seal it with massive stones; after that, no one ever saw such a thing again.

Many years later, a wandering Daoist passed through the area, heard the tale, and sighed in regret. He said the face was called “Beauty Mushroom,” a rare herb whose roots plunged into the Youminghuangquan ; if someone collected a single tear from the face and swallowed it, they could commune with spirits and ghosts, and live beyond a hundred years. As for other uses, the Daoist refused to speak further, then settled permanently in the mountains, built a temple, and lived to the age of 123 before dying peacefully.

“There really is such a herb?” Zhang Fan murmured in wonder.

But now he understood: Ming Chengjun was no ordinary Chinese physician—he was a Daoist healer, born into the Yinshan Sect, and his methods, even his stored herbs, were extraordinary and highly effective.

“Grandfather has searched for this herb for half his life… every summer, he travels to Diannan,” Ming Yunxia said solemnly.

“Have you and your father mended your relationship?”

At that moment, Ming Yunxia suddenly asked.

“What do you mean?” Zhang Fan blinked.

“I remember when you were a child… your relationship with your father was terrible… the two of you often fought violently in my house.”

“What!? I fought with my dad? At twelve?” Zhang Fan looked incredulous.

In his memory, he had always respected Zhang Lingzong, never dared raise his voice, let alone curse—he even thought Zhang Lingzong believed he didn’t know how to swear.

Fight? Are you joking!?

“Did you see it with your own eyes?” Zhang Fan couldn’t help asking.

“No… but every time you two were being examined in the inner hall, I could hear you—terribly loud,” Ming Yunxia’s eyes grew distant with memory.

“I thought then—if I were your father, with a son like you, I’d just strangle you.”

“What!?”

Zhang Fan stared, feeling as if he were listening to someone else’s story.

“By the way…”

At that moment, Ming Yunxia changed the subject and asked suddenly: “Has your father recovered?”

“My father’s illness?” Zhang Fan paused.

“Yes—every time your father brought you here, it was for treatment,” Ming Yunxia said softly but seriously.

“Wait… wasn’t it me who was sick?”

“No,” Ming Yunxia shook her head. “My grandfather said… your father was ill… he had a serious illness…”

“But he also said…”

“What!?” Zhang Fan pressed.

“He said… you are his illness.” Ming Yunxia’s expression turned strange.

(End of Chapter)