The azure light within the Spirit Inquiry Crystal did not simply fade. It deepened, thickened like sap, then began to shift. From its radiant blue core, a thread of vibrant, living green spiraled out—the exact shade of new leaves, of the robe Han Li wore. Then, as the gathered crowd watched in breathless, disbelieving silence, the light within the stone fractured further. Hues of earthy umber, molten amber, clear quartz-white, and the original deep river-blue bloomed and intertwined, dancing around the central green. The crystal pulsed with a soft, harmonious, five-colored radiance, painting the faces of the nearest onlookers in fleeting rainbows.
Physician Xiao stood up.
The movement was not sudden, but it carried a seismic finality. The perpetual mask of detached assessment—the look of a man evaluating livestock or peculiar rocks—melted from his gaunt features. It was replaced by a look of profound, unguarded, almost hungry satisfaction. A genuine, startling smile touched his eyes first, then his lips, carving deep lines of pleasure at their corners. To the villagers, this transformation was more shocking than the kaleidoscope crystal.
A susurrus of excitement, sharp as breaking ice, shattered the silence.
"Itchanged! The colors!"
"Five lights!I counted five!"
"Look at the Physician's face!He's pleased!"
"Is he chosen?Is it settled?"
Physician Xiao's gaze swept past Han Li, who stood as motionless as a carving before the table, his hand still resting on the now-gentling crystal. The old man's eyes, alight with new interest, scanned the front ranks of the crowd, seeking not a face but a connection.
"Where are his parents?" Xiao's voice, though still measured, now carried a resonant, warm timbre that had been absent before. "The guardians of this young man. Come forward."
Han Li's uncle and aunt, still anchored in the shock of the luminous display, exchanged a single glance filled with sudden, overwhelming vulnerability. They stepped out of the protective press of bodies, their patched, humble clothes a stark, honest contrast to the moment's grandeur. They bowed deeply, their forms stiff with a lifetime's habit of deference to any form of authority.
"Senior Physician," his uncle said, his voice steady but thick, as if pushed through gravel. "We are his guardians. His aunt and uncle."
Xiao studied them for a long moment, his smile softening into something approaching gentleness. "You have nourished a remarkable seed. You should know the terms clearly. The family of the one I accept as my final disciple is granted one hundred taels of pure silver. A betrothal gift to the family, to secure your future and sever the disciple's worldly concerns. It is tradition."
He paused, letting the number—a fortune that could buy a large farm, a tile-roofed house, and a lifetime of full bellies—hang in the air, almost visible in the dust motes. Then he continued, the warmth in his voice spiking with unmistakable pride. "But today… today, I am pleased beyond modest expectation. The crystal's five-colored light signifies a rare and balanced potential. A foundation of great promise. Therefore, the gift shall reflect that promise. It shall be two hundred taels."
A wave of sound—part gasped inhalation, part disbelieving roar—swept through the square like a wind.
"Twohundred?"
"Did my ears betray me?"
"He said two hundred taels of silver!"
"By the ancestors and all the little gods…a king's ransom!"
Han Li's aunt swayed slightly, her hand flying to her heart. His uncle's calloused hands, which had felled trees and hauled stone, clenched into white-knuckled fists at his sides. They were not avaricious people; their dreams had been measured in sacks of grain, not chests of silver. The sheer, impossible scale of the number was a physical shock, a tidal wave of security so vast it threatened to drown their capacity to feel.
With a fluid, practiced motion, Physician Xiao produced two heavy, bulging pouches of stout grey cloth from within his wide sleeve. They clinked with a solid, meaty music. He placed them firmly into the uncle's trembling, outstretched hands. The weight of them—the profound, undeniable realness—seemed to pull the older man's shoulders down, a welcome, tangible anchor in a whirling world.
Throughout this transaction, Han Li had remained silent, his eyes watching the exchange that was, in truth, purchasing his future. The silver was not merely a gift or a reward. It was an exchange. Their son, their labor, their future care, for their eternal security. The math of it was brutal and beautiful in its stark simplicity. It was the first, most fundamental law of the world he was entering: everything has a value; everything can be traded.
Finally, he found his voice, low but clear. "Physician Xiao… does this mean I am selected?"
The old man turned back to him, and his expression was one of pure, unalloyed approval. "Not 'Physician Xiao.' From this moment, you will call me Master."
The words, simple and irrevocable, landed upon the three of them like a blessing carved in stone and a verdict from which there was no appeal. Han Li felt a sudden, fierce, confusing heat prick behind his eyes. His aunt stifled a wet sob, a hand pressed to her mouth. Instinct and a lifetime of stories took over. Han Li moved to drop to his knees in the full, formal kowtow—forehead to the earth—the ultimate gesture of gratitude and submission from disciple to master.
A strong, dry, warm hand caught his elbow, stopping his descent an inch from the dirt. "No, my good disciple," Xiao said, his grip firm but not unkind. "Between a true master and a chosen disciple, respect is carried in the heart and shown through diligence in the Way. It is woven into every action, every breath. There is no need for such prostration here. Save your knees for the arduous path ahead."
The crowd's murmur shifted in tone, the initial shock of wealth warming into a swelling, communal pride. "He is chosen! A dragon was hidden in our village!"
"Good fortune on the Han family!The boy was always respectful, never caused trouble."
"Heaven's will has brushed our dirt!"
His aunt could contain herself no longer. Propriety and awe dissolved before a deeper tide. She rushed forward, ignoring the master, the crowd, everything, and wrapped Han Li in a tight, desperate, silent embrace. It was not a hug of celebration, but of clinging, a momentary, fierce reclaiming of the child she had raised, who was being formally taken from her by a power greater than any lord. Her shoulders shook once, a silent, seismic tremor of impending loss passing through her before she mastered it, drawing on a reservoir of strength Han Li had always known was there.
When she released him, her eyes were red-rimmed, but her chin was high, her gaze steady. Physician Xiao watched this, his expression unreadable once more, then addressed them all, his tone settling back into its practical, melodic rhythm.
"Now that this is settled, I will return in two days' time, at dawn, to collect my disciple. Use this time. Say your farewells properly. Mend what needs mending. Speak what needs speaking." His gaze drifted over their heads, toward the distant, mist-wreathed mountains that hunched like sleeping giants. "The path he is about to walk… it exists apart from this world of seasons, harvests, and generations. It is a path of different cycles. His studies will not be measured in days or moons, but in years. In decades, perhaps. You must understand this. You must make your peace with it."
The words—years, decades—echoed in the silent, hollow space they created. Han Li looked at his aunt's lined, beloved face, at his uncle's stoic strength now shadowed with a new kind of pain. His mind, ever the practical strategist, calculated coldly. They had the hidden silver from the ginseng. Now they had this immense, transformative gift. It was enough. More than enough. They would live in comfort, free from the gnawing specter of hunger and the back-breaking fear of a bad season. This security, purchased with his potential, was his first and greatest act of filial piety from his new, uncharted path.
And the path itself? A structured way to grasp the mysteries that had only brushed against him—the intelligence in the spirit wolf's eyes, the cryptic cold of the pendant against his chest, the deep, humming well of power he had felt in the crystal. A door of polished jade had swung open in a wall he hadn't fully seen. He would be a fool, and ingrate to fate, not to step through.
He met his new master's eyes, held them, and bowed, just his head and shoulders, the clean, respectful bow of a disciple to his teacher. "Yes, Master. I understand. I will be ready."
Physician Xiao gave a final, approving nod, a teacher pleased with his student's first, correct answer. "Two days." With that, he turned, his grey robes flowing around him like water, and walked from the square without a backward glance, leaving the village to its simmering cauldron of gossip, awe, and burgeoning myth.
The walk home was a surreal blur. The path itself seemed different, the familiar ruts and stones viewed through a new lens. Neighbors called out congratulations, their voices mixing into a single, buzzing hum. Hands patted his back, touched his sleeve. Han Li's uncle carried the two pouches before him like sacred relics, his posture a fortress, his eyes missing nothing. The silver seemed to radiate a psychic heat, changing the very density of the air around them as they passed, attracting and repelling in equal measure.
It was only later, in the deep, familiar quiet of their home with the door barred firmly against the excited world, that the true, sobering gravity of the day settled upon them like fine ash. The single oil lamp flickered on the table, casting long, dancing, uncertain shadows. The two hundred taels were hidden away with the first hundred, a new, unimaginable foundation resting beneath the floorboards.
His aunt and uncle sat Han Li down at the table, as they had for countless meals. But no food was laid. Their faces were solemn, stripped bare of the day's public emotion. The celebratory air was gone, vanquished by a deeper, more intimate solemnity. The light played over the lines on their faces, highlighting the years of worry now, miraculously, alleviated.
"Li'er," his uncle began, his voice low and gravelly with the weight of what he had to say. He stared at the grain of the wood table as if reading a text there. "Before you go… there is a secret we must tell you. A duty we have carried since the day you were left with us, a swaddled babe in the storm. We swore to speak of it only when you were on the cusp of manhood, or when your path led you away from us. It seems both conditions have been met tonight."
Han Li's breath caught in his throat. The world, which had already tilted on its axis, seemed to lurch once more into unknown stars.
His aunt reached across the table, her work-worn hand covering his. Her touch was warm, but it trembled, a leaf in a sudden breeze. "It is about your origin," she whispered, the words so hushed they seemed to absorb the lamplight. "About your true parents. And about the price they paid to give you this life."