Your disciple Huang Yunshao bows and wishes the Master well. My journey in medicine began under your guidance.…
Your disciple Huang Yunshao bows and wishes the Master well.
My journey in medicine began under your guidance. You once said a physician's needle should be like a painter's brush, bringing spring to withered wood and color to lifeless stillness.
Today, on the northern frontier, invaders trample our land beneath iron hooves and tear it apart with the flames of war. Wang Qing and the righteous who stand with him hold fast at Zhongdu Bridge. Hundreds of thousands have perished, and the Hutuo has become a sea of blood. The thought pierces my heart and robs me of sleep.
I understand that "one life, one price" does not speak of barter, but of upholding compassion and giving due weight to the art of healing. Yet I often ask myself: What should that "price" truly be? By saving a soldier, I may help hold an inch of ground; by saving a general, I may turn the tide of a battle. If the healing arts of the Silver Needle can win even a sliver of hope for this crumbling world, would that not be a price weightier than gold?
Therefore, your disciple makes bold to travel north and offer aid. When the dust settles, Yunshao will gladly accept any punishment.
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Your disciple Xu Zhi...