Chapter 10: The Unlikely "Barefoot Healer"
1867 Words
The village bone-setter, their revered "Living God," had shattered his own leg.
My grandfather’s handwritten journal, discovered at his deathbed, became my unlikeliest lifeline.
Sucking venom from a snakebite with my bare mouth—miracle.
Burning herbs to break a fever—divine intervention.
A child from the next village, convulsing on death’s threshold, revived by crushed fragrant leaves plucked at random.
Reputation spread like wildfire.
Neighboring villagers now barricaded my door at midnight: "Yang the Divine! Save us!"
Their fervent stares threatened to scorch me alive.
Old Zhou reclined in his creaking bamboo chair against the courtyard wall, swaying languidly. His rheumy eyes half-lidded, he tapped an ancient brass pipe, its ember pulsing like a dying star in the haze. Smoke wreathed his weathered face, etching contentment into its grooves.
"Young man," he drawled around the pipe stem, smoke curling from his lips, "in these ten villages, who dares claim mastery of bone-setting above Old Zhou?"
A gap-toothed grin split his face. "Ancestral art! Passed through blood!"
His boast still hung in the jujube leaves when he shifted to rise. A foot slipped—
*CRACK!*
The chair splintered violently.
"AI-YA!"
Old Zhou crashed onto sun-baked earth like a discarded sack. A pig-slaughter screech shredded the afternoon calm.
"My leg! Gods, my leg!" He writhed, face contorted, sweat sheening his skin. His left hand clamped his right calf—the limb bent at a sickening angle.
The old yellow hound under the tree bolted awake. Hens scattered in panic.
Inside, the cry jolted me upright. The damp towel slid from my forehead—I’d dozed over Grandfather’s thread-bound journal. Heart pounding, I stumbled into the yard.
Neighbors clustered, thick-fingered and wide-eyed. Shock froze them.
"Heavens! Old Zhou!"
"The bone—snapped clean through! See the splinters?"
"Fetch Limping Zhang from East Village! He sets bones!"
"Limping Zhang?" A white-haired matron slapped her thigh. "Froze two toes off drunk last winter! Stumbles like a newborn colt! If Old Zhou falls, even beasts with broken bones will perish!"
Her words doused their hope. Despair thickened the air.
Old Zhou’s wails crescendoed. His face blanched to plaster.
My mind buzzed, empty. Then—the journal’s hard cover bit into my palm. Grandfather’s trembling hand pushing it into mine—the weight returned. The page lay open: skeletal diagrams, brushstrokes stark as bone. His spidery calligraphy leaped out: "Bone-Setting: Steady. Precise. Swift. Assess damage. Discern displacement. Fingers read, heart understands…"
No time! Old Zhou’s twisted leg glistened with sweat.
Reduce the dislocation! Now!
"Stand back!" My voice cracked, alien to my ears.
The crowd flinched, parting. I knelt beside Old Zhou. Sun-scorched earth burned through my trousers. Sweat stung my eyes.
My right hand—damp, trembling—settled on the deformed calf. Muscle beneath felt like granite. Fingertips traced the jagged bone shift beneath skin. Ice-cold dread slithered up my arm.
I inhaled—lungs scraped raw. Grandfather’s "Steady. Precise. Swift." hammered my ribs.
Now!
Hands surged—a savage push! A wrenching pull!
*SNAP—!!!*
A sound like ice breaking over a void.
"ARGH—! DAMN YOU!" Old Zhou’s scream tore his throat. Eyes bulged. Veins corded his neck. He jackknifed, nearly levitating. Women shrieked, hands clapped over mouths.
Silence. Absolute. Breath held. Eyes riveted to the leg.
Seconds stretched into eons. Old Zhou slumped, boneless, gasping like burst bellows. The agony was gone.
He flexed the leg—once a grotesque pretzel. Bewilderment flooded his eyes. "...Huh? ...No... pain?" Voice sandpaper-rough. He tested weight. Scrabbled back against the wall.
"Heavens smile..." he rasped, staring at his leg, then at me. Lips trembled. "...Yang... boy? What... what sorcery...?"
The yard erupted.
"Healed! Truly healed!"
"Mother of gods! Yang, when did you steal Old Zhou’s magic?"
"Nonsense! Old Zhou lies there! Yang... Yang is the miracle!" The white-haired matron kowtowed.
"Miracle-worker!" A man bellowed, rubbing his eyes. "Yang the Divine! Our village has a living god!"
The title ignited them.
"Yang the Divine!"
"Yang the Divine!"
The cries—relief, reverence—hammered my ears. I stood paralyzed, tongue glued to my palate. Grandfather’s journal, musty and thin, crumpled in my sweat-slick grip.
Before the fervor faded, a new scream—raw, blood-chilling—ripped through the dusk.
"Save us! Death comes!"
A figure tumbled through the gate—Li Dazhuang, a man of flint, now chalk-faced, trembling like storm-tossed chaff. He clutched his six-year-old, Tiedan.
"Tiedan! My Tiedan!" His voice shredded. "Viper! Neck bite! Dying!"
The crowd surged, recoiled. The child hung limp. A coin-sized, livid bite marred his neck. Skin ballooned, gleaming purple-black. His face was tallow, lips cyanotic. Eyes sealed. Only the faintest flutter at his nostrils betrayed life.
Icy dread seized the yard. "Divine" fell silent. Only Li Dazhuang’s ragged sobs remained.
"Yang... Yang the Divine!" Li Dazhuang’s bull-like eyes held shattered hope. He crashed to his knees, child cradled. Dust puffed. "Save Tiedan! You are divine! Save him!"
Their stares branded me. Throat parched. Fists clenched, nails biting palms. Grandfather’s journal... beyond bone sketches, scribbled snakes, rough herbs...
Snake venom! Panic flared. Suck it out! NOW!
I lunged, knees hitting hard earth. Grabbed Tiedan’s icy arm. Terror spiked. No hesitation! I bent, mouth sealed over the festering wound. Foul sweetness. Sucked hard!
*Hssss—!*
Thick, salty-sweet filth flooded my mouth. I spat. Black-purple slime stained the dirt.
Again!
Again!
Bitter gall coated my tongue. Each suck a poison chalice. Spit. Suck. Spit. The venom lightened—black-purple yielding to murky red.
Tiedan whimpered—a kitten’s gasp. The death-hue faded fractionally.
Onlookers gaped. Women gagged behind hands. An old man’s pipe clattered.
"Sweet heavens... sucking venom bare-mouthed?!"
"Madness... sheer madness..."
Li Dazhuang stared, transfixed—horror warring with desperate hope.
I spat the last gulp, ignoring the sludge on my lips. Eyes raked the weed-choked yard. Venom mostly cleared, but toxins swam in his blood. Grandfather’s journal... corner sketches... "venom antidote"... "fever breaker"... Which? Green... slender... leaves...
There! By the damp ditch wall—clumps of narrow, saw-toothed leaves!
Fragrant Leaf! Faint characters beside it: "Venom Drawer"!
No time for doubt! I sprang, ripped the plants free—roots, dirt, and all. Crammed the bitter, gritty mass into my mouth. Chewed savagely!
Taste—unbearable! Bitter! Astringent! Earthy! Like swallowing sand. Jaws ached. Green, acrid juice dribbled down my chin.
Chewed! Pulverized!
Spit the sodden, slimy green pulp onto Tiedan’s wound. Smeared the saliva-slicked mash over his swollen neck.
Stared. Air thickened. Gazes seared my back.
One second... Two...
No change. Face still waxen.
Li Dazhuang’s throat worked. Despair drowned his features.
Wrong herb? Ice shot down my spine.
Then—
Tiedan’s eyelid flickered.
A leaf in a breeze.
A tiny frown. A weak, guttural—"Nnngh..."
Silent. Thunderous.
"He moved! MOVED!" A woman shrieked, pointing.
"Alive! BREATHING! Chest rising!" A man bellowed, waving arms.
Li Dazhuang jolted. Looked down. Grey pallor vanished, replaced by crimson. Tears welled, splashed his son’s face.
"Alive! ALIVE!"
"Divine! Truly divine art!"
"Fragrant Leaf! Chewed paste... stole life from Death’s grip!"
"Yang the Divine! YANG THE DIVINE!"
The cry ignited. "YANG THE DIVINE—!" Roars of worship shook the jujube tree. Their stares—incandescent—threatened to consume me.
I wiped venom-slime and leaf-muck from my chin. Hand cold. Face burning. Grandfather’s journal pressed against my ribs through thin cloth—a hard, insistent ache.
The frenzy boiled over. "Yang the Divine!" chants pounded my skull. I stumbled back, heel catching rubble.
Then—Auntie "Thunder-Voice" from West End barreled through. "Yang the Divine! My Damao! Burning up! Raving! Convulsing! Eyes rolling! Save him!"
She gasped, bosom heaving, finger trembling westward.
The crowd stilled.
"Fever! Convulsions? Deadly!"
"Lost... surely lost..."
"Yang the Divine... even he might fail..." Doubt chilled the air.
My mind raced. Snakebite, now fever-fits? Grandfather’s scrawls... fever breakers... leaf shapes...
Chaos. Then—a scent. East wind carried a faint, sharp, cooling tang. Clearing.
That’s it! The journal’s faded corner sketch! Slender leaves, serrated edges. Brushstrokes: "Huoxiang—for Wind-Heat Convulsions!"
Yes! That scent!
"Wait!" I barked at Thunder-Voice. Eyes scanned. Not in the yard. Field path...
I vaulted the broken fence. By the fetid ditch—thickets of deep green, saw-toothed leaves. Wind lifted their pungent, medicinal aroma.
Confirmed!
I tore handfuls free—roots, clinging soil. Rushed back. Grabbed Damao—face scarlet, eyes white, froth at his lips—and crushed the Huoxiang leaves between my palms!
Rubbed fiercely! Red lines scored my skin. Pungent green fragrance burst forth.
Smeared the pulped, muddy green sludge onto Damao’s blazing forehead. Juice trickled down. Shoved the remaining mash into his convulsing mouth!
The yard froze. Necks craned. Eyes bulged at the child, at the green poultice.
"Gack... cough!" A harsh retch!
Damao spasmed, coughed violently, spewing green paste and bile.
"Damao!" Thunder-Voice wailed.
"Wa... water..." the child whimpered, eyelids fluttering open. Dull, but the frantic fire dimmed.
Then—clearly—his frantic gasps slowed.
A long, shuddering inhale.
A slower, deeper exhale...
His rigid body softened...
"Gods above..." someone breathed.
"Miracle... true miracle..."
"Look! Sweat! On his brow!"
Indeed! Beneath the green slime, beads of sweat pricked his scorched forehead.
"Damao?" Thunder-Voice touched his brow. Trembled. Heat... receding? She looked up, tear-swollen eyes blazing with worship. "Yang the Divine! Bodhisattva! Cooled! Truly cooled! Convulsions ceased! Heavens be praised!"
Silence. Profound.
Then—
*ROAR!*
The crowd detonated. Shouts, sobs, thanks—a tsunami of sound!
"Divine! Utterly divine!"
"Fragrant Leaf for venom! Wild herbs for fever! Death flees Yang the Divine!"
"Healer! Yang the Healer!"
"Yang the Divine! Savior!" Elders wept, bending knees.
"Living Divinity! True Divinity!"
The titles—Yang the Divine, Yang the Healer, Living Divinity—hammered my mind. Dizzy. Unsteady.
Sunset bled into dusk, staining clouds bruised purple and crimson.
Woodsmoke and coarse grain scents rose from village huts. Farmers trudged home, voices buzzing with the day’s marvels.
As I pushed my creaking gate open, shadows deepened. From the encroaching dark, frantic footsteps and a raw, terror-laced shriek tore the night:
"Yang the Divine! Save us! Mercy!"
Figures surged, blocking the gate. Torchlight danced wildly on faces contorted by fear, sweat gleaming. Men from neighboring Wang Village—patched tunics, dust-caked—stood panting.
"Yang the Divine!" The leader, muscle-bound but trembling. "Mercy! My wife! Labor! A day and night! Stuck! Midwife surrendered! Blood... rivers of blood... she fades..."
He faltered, knees buckling. Another man supported him, bellowing: "Yang the Divine! Blacksmith Li’s boy! Ten winters! Fell through ice! Barely breathes! Eyes white! Silent! Death’s grip! Two lives! Please! Haste!"
Their pleas—choked, bestial—hung in the air, thick with imagined blood and death’s chill.
Behind me, my parents and lingering neighbors spilled out. Torchlight cast gnarled tree shadows like grasping specters.
The men—two villages, two desperate pleas—locked their burning gazes on me. Flames flickered in every watching eye.
The world held its breath.
The weight of it settled—crushing, inevitable. Grandfather’s journal pressed against my chest, its edges worn dark by sweat, a silent, demanding weight.
- Writer
