Chapter 102: Eye Drops

Pan Yun became immersed in the Art of Gazing at Qi and the Art of Concealing Qi, and by day’s end, her fingers were nearly cramping from chanting hand seals.

But in the end, her fingers didn’t cramp—her eyes did.

After the cramping, her vision turned hazy, as if her eyesight had plummeted from 5.0 to 2.0; Pan Yun was utterly stunned.

She refused to admit it was due to her bad luck, so she stumbled over to Xuan Miao, “Fourth Sister, your technique has side effects—I can’t see anymore.”

Xuan Miao glanced at her once, then went to Tao Ji and fetched a porcelain bottle, dripping two drops into her eyes; they were cool and refreshing, like a crystal of ice sinking into still, warm water, the temperature plunging instantly, and as the ripples spread, every blemish on the lake’s surface was washed clean.

Xuan Miao: “Close your eyes and roll your eyeballs on your own. Open them after thirty breaths, and you’ll be fine.”

Pan Yun obeyed. After thirty breaths, she opened her eyes—the world was bright again.

She burst with excitement, asking, “Sister, what is this?”

“Eye drops,” Xuan Miao handed her a bottle. “Your eldest brother brewed them for your eldest nephew.”

Pan Yun curiosity piqued, she pulled the stopper and sniffed—there was no scent at all. “Is your eldest nephew’s vision bad?”

“It’s fine now, but won’t stay that way. That’s why we prepare in advance,” Xuan Miao said. “Take this bottle. If your eyes tire from practicing techniques, drop two drops—it works wonders.”

Pan Yun: “These eye drops are too effective—how are they made?”

Xuan Miao: “They’re distilled. If you want to learn, go to your eldest brother—he’ll be happy to teach you.”

Wang Feiyin was more than happy to teach—he’d been desperate for help.

When he saw Pan Yun peering around the door with a cat in her arms, he waved her in. “You lent out three hundred taels—still not unlucky?”

Pan Yun felt herself carefully, then nodded. “Today I didn’t have diarrhea or trip.”

“Then you’re not unlucky. How much money do you have now?”

Pan Yun held up two fingers. “Two hundred and twenty taels.”

Wang Feiyin frowned, baffled. “Why does your savings increase? Does the rule discriminate against us? The older you get, the more you can save, but whenever I have money, I’m cursed?”

Pan Yun was curious. “Elder Brother, how much money must you have before you get cursed?”

“Ten taels.”

Pan Yun: “That’s about what I started with.”

She told Wang Feiyin her discovery. “I’m accumulating virtue by doing good deeds. The more virtue, the luckier I become—that’s the rule’s approval. Elder Brother, you should do more good deeds.”

Wang Feiyin raised an eyebrow. “Accumulating virtue? That’s building goodwill. If that’s true, I should’ve changed too. All these years I’ve dared not cross the line—I’ll try it now.”

The money was already there—he just had to ask his son.

Wang Feiyin made up his mind and told Pan Yun to get to work. “Come on, help me stoke the fire.”

Wang Feiyin’s eye drops were distilled from medicinal herbs—the steam traveled through pipes into a large porcelain bottle, cooled, then bottled into smaller vials.

They could be dripped into the eyes or used to rinse them—especially effective before sleep.

Wang Feiyin said: “After reading all day, your eyes ache and your vision blurs. First wash them with this solution, then drop one drop before sleeping. Your sleep improves, and when you wake, your eyes are as good as new.”

“Otherwise, you’ll develop nearsightedness—and then you’ll be blind but wide-eyed, or forced to carry a magnifying lens everywhere.”

Pan Yun sighed. “If I’d had this when I studied, how wonderful it would’ve been. Nearsightedness can’t be reversed by any technique.”

Wang Feiyin: “These eye drops only prevent and relieve—they have little restorative power. To restore nearsightedness, you need acupuncture. Techniques alone can’t restore vision, but using spiritual power to stimulate acupoints during cultivation can effectively restore it.”

Pan Yun’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

“Really,” Wang Feiyin said. “Stoke the fire well, watch it closely. Later, I’ll teach you—first how to distill these eye drops, then acupuncture.”

Wang Feiyin gave freely—he wished every child in the monastery could master everything, so he could do nothing but cultivate.

So he was willing to teach them anything they wanted to learn.

Pan Yun spent one hour distilling the eye drops.

It wasn’t hard at all—the ratios were right there: wash herbs like Shijueming and antelope horn, blanch them quickly in boiling water, lift them out immediately, drain, wrap in gauze, and steam in the steamer.

The steamer was specially made—divided into two parts: steam from the left entered the right, carrying medicinal vapors upward to the middle layer, where they condensed into droplets, then re-evaporated into vapor, rising to the third layer before sliding down into the large porcelain bottle.

This steamer was also invented by Wang Feiyin.

“I originally made it for steaming ointments,” Wang Feiyin whispered. “While steaming, I thought the design was good, so I modified it—it works for eye drops now.”

“It can also be used to steam poison.”

Pan Yun gasped, her eyes suddenly aching. “Brother, Brother—did this steamer steam poison?”

“You’re stupid,” Wang Feiyin said. “Even if I were broke, I could afford a second steamer. I wouldn’t use the same one for poison and eye drops—that one over there is the poison steamer.”

Pan Yun turned and saw another large rack in the corner beside the alchemy furnace, holding another set of steamers.

She exhaled in relief. “Good, good. Brother, what poison do you usually steam?”

Wang Feiyin: “Many kinds—gut-rotting, fatal within three steps, brain-burning, turning people into fools.”

Pan Yun looked at him differently. “Elder Brother, who are you giving these poisons to?”

“To demons and monsters—for your brothers, sisters, and nephews to defend themselves,” Wang Feiyin said. “If you can’t win with skill, use poison. It’s a last resort.”

Pan Yun: “Are there many demons and monsters in the world?”

“Not many—but you’ll encounter them if you cultivate.”

Pan Yun: “If they’re rare, the odds should be low—why must you meet them?”

“Because you practice Daoist arts,” Wang Feiyin said. “Constables always find injustice. Coroner always see corpses. That’s a rule too.”

“That’s because of their duties.”

Wang Feiyin: “You’re a Daoist—a Daoist who practices arts. Subduing demons and eliminating evils is your natural duty.”

Pan Yun pondered. “Is that so?”

Wang Feiyin taught her to control the flame: “This eye drops must not use great fire, nor small fire.”

Wang Feiyin taught her to control the fire. “Eye drops can’t use strong fire or weak fire.”

“Weak fire won’t release the essence. Strong fire—even with slow evaporation—will make the medicinal vapors surge upward and ruin the efficacy,” Wang Feiyin said. “Remember, fire itself is an ingredient. So are the materials of the steamer.”

“Extending from this, alchemy is the same—fire is vital, and the alchemy furnace is vital,” Wang Feiyin said. “A good furnace, the right fire—these increase the chance of successful pills and enhance their potency.”

After the autumn harvest ended, all of Mount Sanqing entered the learning season; Wang Cong immersed himself in cultivation and study, having decided to take the examination at Guangxin Prefecture next June.

After the autumn harvest, Mount Sanqing entered its learning season. Wang Cong immersed himself in cultivation and study—he had decided to take the Guangxin Prefecture examination next June.

He had only one chance. Miss it, and next time he’d be beaten with a cane.

Wang Cong had no desire to be beaten, so he rose before dawn each day, performed morning rituals, trained in martial arts, cultivated, then read books after sunrise. He rested at noon, taught them half an hour in the afternoon, then returned to his own reading.

Yes, the eldest nephew not only prepared for his own exam—he also taught them.

They studied classics, histories, philosophers, and poetry. He didn’t teach like the scholars below the mountain, starting with the Three Character Classic or the Analects. He began with the Records of the Grand Historian, saying, “We’re not taking the imperial examination—no need to follow Confucian texts step by step.”

He said: “We must know where we come from—so we study history.”

To study history, start with the simplest: the Records of the Grand Historian.

Yes, the eldest nephew considered the Records of the Grand Historian the simplest history book. He added: “Don’t take it as truth—just skim it. Learn how literati generally view history. To understand true history? That takes years of study.”

Pan Yun pitied him, and turned to the idle Tao Ji. “Third Brother, can’t you teach us instead of Elder Brother?”

Tao Ji said: “Me? Don’t you know this is his relaxation? Little sister, you’re cruel. Your eldest nephew only gets half an hour to rest each day.”

Pan Yun was stunned. “This is relaxation?”

“Yes. Look at what he’s reading now—teaching you the Records of the Grand Historian is like telling you a bedtime story. What else is relaxation?”

Tao Ji pointed to Tao Yanbai, who looked miserable. “Do you know why he can only learn basic medicine and will become a physician when he leaves the mountain, not cultivate with us?”

Pan Yun: “Why?”

“Because even reading the Records of the Grand Historian requires effort for him to understand.”

Pan Yun fell silent.

Tao Ji: “Do you find reading the Records of the Grand Historian hard?”

Pan Yun: “It’s just listening to stories—how hard is that?”

Tao Ji looked at Tao Yanbai. “Exactly—just stories. How hard is that?”

Tao Yanbai nearly cried. “Third Uncle…”

Tao Ji chuckled. “Next year, you’ll study the Spring and Autumn Annals, the I Ching, the Comprehensive Mirror for Aid in Government—it’ll get harder.”

Pan Yun: “Is the Comprehensive Mirror for Aid in Government harder than the Records of the Grand Historian?”

Tao Ji said with depth: “Both tell stories, but the Comprehensive Mirror for Aid in Government covers later events. After seeing what came before, later generations did far more complex things. To understand the hidden struggles behind the stories—to truly read them—that’s difficult.”

Tao Ji reached out and patted Pan Yun: “Hard, isn’t it? But the Dao requires seeing the essence—penetrating the essence of people, the essence of things, the essence of this world, and the essence of the universe.”

Tao Ji patted her shoulder. “Hard, isn’t it? But cultivation means seeing essence—seeing the essence of people, things, the world, and the universe.”

“The Dao that can be spoken is not the eternal Dao. The name that can be named is not the eternal name. Nameless, it is the origin of heaven and earth. Named, it is the mother of all things. We spend our lives pondering these two lines. The five thousand characters after the Dao De Jing explain this truth.”

Tao Ji stood, clapped his hands. “I’ve thought about this for years and found nothing useful. I leave it to you.”

Today’s lucky number ends in 1

[90] (End of Chapter)