Han Li lay reclined in the armchair where Doctor Mo had been wont to sit, and in his hand held a scroll whose cover bore the words "Scripture of Long Life," but whose very substance was none other than the verses of the Art of Eternal Youth, which he read with the keenest relish, and beyond all measure engrossed.
This scroll Doctor Mo had of old been wont to take up again and again, never weary of it; and this strange habit had once made Han Li wonder. Now that he had discovered its secret, he understood it well — the doctor had not been reading any arts of keeping health; plainly he had been pondering the verses of the Art of Eternal Youth! It seemed the doctor, unwilling to give over his hope of some day working magic, had not wholly believed Yu Zitong's talk of the spiritual root, but had all along been quietly seeking the truth for himself.
This secret tome, found among the other things within the hidden recess, contained not only the verses of the first six levels that Han Li had long since practiced, but also the arts of the two later levels, which he had never seen — and this unlooked-for discovery set joy in his heart for a good long while.
When Han Li perceived that what he had been cultivating all along was none other than that fabled magic which can summon wind and rain — the works of one's very own mana — his longing for the later arts of the Art of Eternal Youth grew the greater.
For who would not fain be an immortal, deathless as the gods?
Now it was the height of day, and the sun beat down warm; its pleasant light streamed in through the open skylight, and fell full upon Han Li, so that he, reading still, narrowed his eyes to a fine slit for very comfort; and, joined to the ease of his reclining posture, the whole man wore a look of exceeding laziness.
Han Li lifted his head a little, and looked upon the skylight, and deemed the light somewhat too dazzling.
Carelessly he raised the open scroll to cover his face, and shut out the white, pitiless sun.
Then he felt a darkness before his eyes, and his heart was much at ease; and this set Han Li's spirits a-stir, and he once again committed the verses of the seventh level to memory in silence.
Of late he had perceived that, what with taking the mystic herbs without respite, his Art of Eternal Youth showed signs of another breakthrough, and that ere long he should enter the sevens-stage realm; and to know somewhat in advance the arts of the lower level could not but profit him in surmounting the bottleneck.
Now, since the day of Doctor Mo's soul-possession, the better part of half a year had passed.
On the very morrow of that day, Han Li, to conceal all trace of Doctor Mo's death, had with his own hand imitated the doctor's writing, and written a false letter, saying he was bound for his native place to visit his kin, and had delivered it in the doctor's name to the elder charged with patrol of the sect.
In the letter he made free, in the doctor's own tone, to declare that he had inherited all the doctor's medical arts, and might now go forth into the world to heal the sick in the doctor's stead; and as for the doctor himself, the journey home being long and far, none could tell when he should return; wherefore he prayed the several leaders to allow Han Li to fulfill, for the time, the duties of the physician, until the doctor himself should come back.
When the letter was delivered up, the several elders who governed the sect plainly never harbored the least suspicion, for Doctor Mo, wont as he was to range afar gathering herbs, had of old gone months and years without returning to the mountain; and though in the Sect of Seven Mysteries he bore the title of patron, in truth, for that he had once saved the life of Grand Sect Leader Wang, he was but a free guest of the sect, at liberty to come and go as he pleased.
Yet the elders kept a certain reservation touching the letter's claim that Han Li had inherited all of Doctor Mo's art, and were but half-convinced.
For though Doctor Mo had of old, now and again, tended the minor ailments of the lesser disciples — colds and fevers, knife wounds and grazes — yet, his skill being so consummate, the chief of his charge lay with such persons as hall masters and elders, the great and middle figures of the sect; and for the rest, the common disciples were wont to resort to the other physicians on the mountain.
Therefore, at the outset, the elders did not at once set Han Li to the full duties of Doctor Mo, but bade him first tend the sicknesses and wounds of the lesser disciples, the better to assay his true mettle.
Han Li cared naught for the elders' misgiving touching his skill, holding him, as he did, that to heal any man was all one; the sole reason he had proposed to take up Doctor Mo's work was that he coveted the seclusion and quiet of Spirit Hands Valley, and that spacious herb garden within it.
Could he but abide in the valley, with the whole of it under his single hand, then might he, in open day and without fear, put his mysterious little bottle to use, in speeding the growth of rare herbs without stint, and need not dread that any should stumble on his secret.
And though at present this little valley was his alone to use, yet if Doctor Mo were long in returning, who could say whether some leader or elder might not, on a sudden whim, take it back again.
Wherefore Han Li, to make his medical art shine the brighter, labored with uncommon zeal in tending the many disciples, sparing not even the great store of precious herbs he had caused to sprout each day, giving them out in secret. And so, with his skill, none too weak to begin with, and the power of those rare and precious drugs, he worked the miracle, among all who sought his help, of almost every patient made whole again.
Thus it fell out even as he had looked for; his fame, as a physician whose very touch restores health, burst upon the whole Sect of Seven Mysteries like a clap of thunder from a clear sky, and every soul upon the mountain knew that the sect had brought forth another miracle doctor, young and of rare skill. This physician's art was past all telling; under his care, be it a hurt without, a wound within, or a disease past all guessing, at most three days would bring a man back whole and sound; aud beside their old physician, Doctor Mo, this youth's skill was only the greater, and in no jot the less.
In truth, Han Li's skill fell far short of Doctor Mo's; only, the doctor could not have squandered such a store of rare herbs, and so, in the matter of bringing patients back to health, he was far behind Han Li.
And so it was that, when Han Li had once more made a sore-wounded disciple hale and frisking within a few short days, the great ones above could sit idle no longer. Scarce a day had passed ere they sent for him.
He who came to see him this time was none other than Vice Sect Leader Ma, whom Han Li had met but a single time before, upon the Bone-Refining Cliff.
This Vice Sect Leader Ma had plainly, long since, forgotten all about Han Li, that inconspicuous registered disciple of former days. So, scarce had they met when he declared plainly that he would have Han Li take over the work of Doctor Mo, and enjoy all the perquisites the doctor had enjoyed. The title of patron, to be sure, was not yet to be his, for Han Li was all too young — a lad of but sixteen or seventeen summers — and could not in any way overawe the other patrons. Yet his monthly stipend was to be paid out to him at the standard of a patron.
In the end, Vice Sect Leader Ma declared further that, if there were aught in all this not to his liking, let him but speak it openly, and they would surely deal with it as the case allowed.