Chapter 993: Who Would Have Thought? (Happy Birthday, Zhu Moyan)

After glancing at her, several veteran soldiers said, “No money, no treatment!”

Pan Yun sighed regretfully: “I saw you’re soldiers, defending the country and injured in service—I couldn’t bear to see you suffer from rheumatism rekindling old wounds, so I…”

“Go away, go away! A turtle chanting sutras—I won’t listen! No money, no treatment—even if you drop dead right now, I won’t treat you!”

“Hey, I don’t believe in this nonsense! I won’t take your money—I’ll heal you anyway! Will you let me treat you or not?!”

The veteran soldiers lifted their eyelids, sizing her up with suspicion: “Where did this fool come from? Is she really not charging, or just tricking us first then billing later?”

One said, “Don’t believe her—why would cakes fall from the sky? I think she’s a fraud.”

The veteran who had just stood up sat back down.

Pan Yun snapped her fingers; a stool slid out from under one veteran’s buttocks and instantly teleported behind her.

Pan Yun straightened her robes and sat down.

The veteran who lost his stool grunted, rolled up his sleeves, and moved to attack, but someone grabbed him: “Don’t be impulsive, don’t be impulsive!”

Pan Yun looked up, studying the veteran whose stool was taken, then said: “Do you wake up every morning with a dry mouth, sore lower back, weak knees, and occasional dizziness and blurred vision at noon? Every winter and spring, your old wounds itch and swell red?”

The veteran blurted out: “How do you know?”

Pan Yun confidently stroked her chin, mimicking her senior brother’s mannerisms as she swayed her head: “Heaven’s secrets cannot be revealed—but tell me, am I right or not?”

His comrades all turned to stare at the veteran, eyes sharp.

The veteran choked for a moment, then nodded: “Yes, but…”

“If you’re right, then you’re right!” Pan Yun slapped her thigh. “Will you let me treat you? No charge!”

One veteran squinted and asked: “No charge for diagnosis, or no charge for medicine too?”

Pan Yun: “Both!”

The veteran: “What about acupuncture or other treatments—do those cost money?”

Pan Yun: “No.”

“If you can’t cure us today, what about future diagnosis, medicine, and acupuncture fees?”

Pan Yun’s face darkened: “I’m here—I won’t charge. If I’m not here, you can’t even ask.”

The veterans finally shifted their stools closer to Pan Yun: “Come, come, treat us!”

Pan Yun hummed twice, felt their pulses, then pulled out her needle case and stabbed them all into porcupines.

Soon after the needles went in, warmth rose within them; the persistent itching and numbness in their old wounds faded significantly, easing their tension.

As she treated them, Pan Yun said: “You’re overly anxious, your hearts are closed—even with medicine, your wounds won’t heal. You must learn to let go.”

The veterans sat still as she pierced them, chuckling: “Little Daoist, how old are you to tell us to let go? Wait till you’re our age—you’ll see, life’s problems don’t vanish just because you want them to.”

Pan Yun: “Then talk to someone. Speak it out—your mind will ease, and your body will benefit.”

“Wrong again,” the veteran said. “Military matters are all classified—how can we speak them to outsiders? That’s a capital offense.”

Pan Yun rolled her eyes: “Please. I just passed by—through a door I heard you cursing the Battalion Commander, saying he’s withholding your monthly grain, leaving you starving. If that’s classified, then the whole city’s drowning in secrets.”

The veteran burst out laughing: “You’re a funny little Daoist—are you trying to spy on our military?”

Pan Yun pressed his shoulder and warned: “Don’t move—if you shift the needles, you’ll die screaming.”

The veteran froze. Another veteran chuckled: “Little Daoist, if you want to ask something, just ask outright—no need to beat around the bush. You’re right—we have no secrets in our battalion.”

Pan Yun’s eyes flickered. After finishing the acupuncture, she squatted before them and smiled: “I do have a question—I want to know where the criminals exiled to Chaozhou by the court and assigned to the military are stationed.”

“Why do you ask?”

“My father offended the eunuch Wang Zhen during the Zhengtong era and was exiled to Chaozhou. I was too young to act then, but now I’ve grown up and want to find him. I went to the county office—they ignored me. I went to the Company Commander—they ignored me too. So I came here.”

The veterans relaxed and laughed: “That’s easy—I’ll check for you. I thought it was something serious. Tell me your father’s name and the year he was exiled, and I’ll look it up. Come back tomorrow.”

Pan Yun agreed immediately, chatted with them a while longer, then removed the needles. The veterans felt their bodies noticeably lighter.

Pan Yun left them two bottles of medicine and took her leave, agreeing to meet again tomorrow.

As soon as Pan Yun turned away, she left the city directly, chose a direction, and flew on her pot to Xianlong Bay.

Chaozhou grows rice; the fields had already been harvested, and the cut stalks had sprouted new green shoots.

At the eastern edge of Xianlong Bay, in Feng Bancheng—a place rumored to be military farmland—many children and teenagers wore short jackets and shorts, barefoot or in straw sandals, cutting the new green shoots, barely a palm’s length tall.

If they ate two meals a day, this would be breakfast time.

Sure enough, they gathered their harvest and headed home.

Pan Yun followed them for a long while, finally finding a clustered village in a mountain hollow.

She glanced at the banner hanging at the village entrance and knew they were military households.

Pan Yun slipped silently into the village, passing behind a kitchen.

The kitchen was a half-room built of wood; through the gaps, she saw a boy washing rice stalks, chopping them, and tossing them into a pot. The porridge inside was thin, with husks still clinging, but as the stalks went in, the vegetable gruel thickened quickly.

Pan Yun clenched her molars.

Old Zhu had once been immensely proud—he maintained a million soldiers without costing the state a single grain.

His military farming system occupied one-tenth of the nation’s farmland; he established strict garrison-farming rules: on the frontier, three-tenths guarded cities, seven-tenths farmed;

inland, two-tenths guarded cities, eight-tenths farmed.

Soldiers guarding cities had no land taxes or labor duties; military farming households each had land to till—enough to feed themselves and even support the city guards.

These military households were the recruitment pool; to ensure their strength, he gave them fertile land so they could eat well and grow robust.

He required them to train regularly during off-seasons, so when war broke out, they could adapt instantly to battle.

He established military schools so their children could learn to read, study military texts, and practice martial arts from childhood—to cultivate future generals.

He did all this—yet he could never have imagined that just seventy years after his death, his military household seedlings couldn’t even eat enough, grew yellow and emaciated, let alone enlist and fight on the frontlines—any ordinary person could knock them down. (End of chapter)