al organs in medical books. Despite painstaking thought and a variety of marvellous techniques, Hu Qingniu could not expel any of the toxins that had found its way into the boy’s Visceral Cavities. As a result, he became so stressed out by the entire episode that he had ten grey hairs in as many days.

Deeply grateful for his efforts, Zhang Wuji said, “Mr Hu, you have already done your best. Everyone on earth must die someday, so this is just an indication that my time has come. You really do not have to ruin your own health for the sake of mine.”

Hu Qingniu snorted in disdain and said, “You despise our Ming and Eagle Sects, so when have I made any efforts to save your life? But my failure to cure your illness will inevitably damage my reputation as the ‘Healing Sage of Butterfly Valley’. Thus, I must ensure that you are healed first. Then, I will have you killed.”

A involuntary chill ran down the boy’s spine, for he was aware that the physician would never overturn his own decision. “Since the toxins in my body are not dissipating, I will eventually die,” he said. “So you need not lift a finger against me. Sigh, all the people under the sun seem to have only one wish — that everyone else must die before they can be truly happy. Thus, they study the pugilistic arts just so that they could have everyone else killed.”

To his surprise, Hu Qingniu kept silent. After gazing at the sky outside his door for a long time, he said in a quiet voice, “When I was young, I put all my heart into the study of medicine and aspired to bring hope and benefit to mankind, but I soon found out how wrong I had been when a man whom I had rescued turned around and hurt me badly. He was a young fellow who was poisoned by the venom of the golden silkworm in Guizhou’s Miao Settlement. This particular venom was so potent that its victims were bound to suffer terribly painful deaths. After three sleepless days and nights of painstaking effort, I finally succeeded in curing him. Subsequently, we became sworn brothers, and I gave him the hand of my younger sister in marriage. But he eventually caused my sister’s death. Do you know who he is? He is now the reputable leader of a renowned and upright clan!”

The pain and grief on Hu Qingniu’s face began filling Zhang Wuji’s heart with an unexpected compassion for him: So it was this tragic experience that turned him into a cold-hearted man who ignores the dying. “Who is this unfaithful ingrate with the heart of a wolf and the lungs of a dog?” he asked.

The physician gnashed his teeth in anger and answered, “He … he is none other than the leader of the School of Mount Hua, Xianyu Tong.”

“Why do you not take him to task over this matter?” asked Zhang Wuji again.

“I have looked him up thrice altogether,” Hu Qingniu replied with a sigh, “but I came away defeated each time. In fact, I was almost killed in our last duel, for this man is very highly skilled in martial arts. He is also very intelligent and resourceful, so much so that he is known as ‘The Shrewd Strategist’ (Shen2 Ji1 Zi3). I am really not his match. Furthermore, as the leader of the School of Mount Hua, he has many subordinates at his beck and call. Our Ming Sect, on the other hand, has been torn apart by internal strife in recent years. All the top pugilists in our Sect have been battling one another, so there was no one who could help me then. Besides, I am too ashamed to beg others for assistance. I am afraid that this grievance will never be redressed. Sigh, my poor ill-fated sister … our parents passed away when we were young, so both of us depended on each other … ” At this point, tears began welling up in his eyes.

He is actually not a cold, sour and heartless man, thought Zhang Wuji.

Suddenly, Hu Qingniu raised his voice and said, “You must never ever bring this matter up again. If so much as a single word leaks out, I will make you suffer between life and death for the rest of your days!”

The boy opened his mouth to retort, but before he could say anything, his heart softened. After all, the physician’s tragic experiences were not beneath his own. “I will not say a thing,” he agreed at last.

Hu Qingniu stroked the boy’s hair, sighed and added, “Poor thing, poor thing!” Then, he turned and headed for the inner room.

After the unexpected failure to remove the toxins in the boy’s Three Visceral Cavities and the long conversation about his past, Hu Qingniu’s attitude towards Zhang Wuji changed. Although he made no further mention about his background and personal problems, the physician found himself developing a liking for his thoughtful young patient. He was indeed a good companion for the lonely inhabitant of the valley. Consequently, Hu Qingniu instructed Zhang Wuji daily on the Yin, the Yang and the Five Elements of medical practice as well as the methods and techniques of acupuncture, lessons which the boy devoured with all his heart. Armed with an amazing talent for medicine, Zhang Wuji made such laudable progress in the study of various books, including ‘The Xiama Manual of the Yellow Emperor’ (Huang2 Di4 Xia1 Ma Jing1), ‘Xifangzi’s Book of Acupuncture’ (Xi1 Fang1 Zi3 Ming2 Tang2 Jiu3 Jing1), ‘Beneficial Prescriptions for Great Safety’ (Tai4 Ping2 Sheng4 Hui4 Fang1), ‘The Book of Acupuncture: Volumes 1 and 2’ (Jiu4 Jia3 Yi4 Jing1) and ‘Sun Simiao’s Thousand-Gold Prescriptions’, that Hu Qingniu could not help but sigh and say, “With your intelligence and natural flair, and my knowledge and abilities as a teacher, you should be able to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the great physicians Hua Tuo and Bian Que before the age of twenty, but … sigh, what a pity, what a pity.”

He meant to say that the boy would be dead by the time he finished his studies in medicine, so what use was there in such a display of diligence and hard work? However, Zhang Wuji had a totally different purpose in his heart. He wanted to learn the best and the most effective medical techniques, so that he could help Chang Yuchun regain the health that he had lost. In addition, he hoped that he would enable Yu Daiyan to walk without aid. These were the two greatest desires of his heart, so if he could accomplish them before his death, he would depart with no regrets.

Life in the valley was peaceful and quiet, and the days and weeks passed with ease. When Zhang Wuji marked the second anniversary of his stay in Butterfly Valley, he was already fourteen years old. During these two years, Chang Yuchun visited him several times, with news about Zhang Sanfeng and the world outside. Apparently, the elderly Taoist was so happy to hear of the boy’s progress that he instructed the boy to stay on in the valley until his recovery was complete. In addition, Zhang Sanfeng and his six disciples sent gifts of clothes and other necessities, but they could not visit the boy whom they missed dearly because of the difference in clan affiliations. Zhang Wuji missed his grandteacher and uncles too, and he almost rushed back to Mount Wudang to see them. As for the world outside the valley, the Mongolians’ oppression of the Han-Chinese worsened by the day. The common people did not have enough to eat, and rising banditry gripped the land. At the same time, the feud between the upright clans and the Evil Sect worsened. Many people were injured and killed on both sides, deepening the vendettas between them.

Chang Yuchun stayed only for a few days during each visit, for he seemed to be very busy with the affairs of the Sect.

One night, after reading Wang Haogu’s medical book entitled ‘Matters that are Difficult to Ascertain’ (Ci3 Shi4 Nan2 Zhi1), Zhang Wuji felt so tired that he went to bed without further thought. When he woke up the next day, his head hurt so badly that he thought he was coming down with a cold. As he walked into the hall in search of some anti-cold medication, he noticed that the sun was shining from the west. Shocked that it was already past noon, he thought: I must be ill to sleep for such a long time. He quickly took his own pulse, but he found nothing irregular about it. Have I finally reached the end of my days? he asked himself.

Zhang Wuji went over to Hu Qingniu’s room and found the door tightly shut. Coughing lightly to get the physician’s attention, he heard the man say: “Wuji, I am not feeling well today. My throat hurts badly, so just continue reading on your own.”

“Yes,” the boy answered, before adding out of concern: “Sir, would you allow me to take a look at your throat, please?”

“That is not necessary,” Hu Qingniu replied hoarsely. “I have looked at it with a mirror. It is nothing serious, so I have taken some powdered bezoar and rhinoceros horn (niu2 huang2 xi1 jiao3 san3).”

That evening, when one of the pages served Hu Qingniu dinner in his room, Zhang Wuji walked in and saw that the physician was lying in bed with a haggard-looking face.

“Get out quickly, all of you!” said Hu Qingniu with a wave of his hand. “Do you know what I have come down with? It is smallpox!”

Sure enough, there were little red dots all over his face and hands. Zhang Wuji knew that smallpox was a dangerous disease. A light attack would leave marks all over the face, but a serious one could very well cause death. Although Hu Qingniu was a very knowledgeable physician who could treat his own illnesses better than anyone else, Zhang Wuji found himself still feeling concerned about him.

“You must not enter my room again,” Hu Qingniu went on. “All the bowls, chopsticks, cups and plates that I have used must be sterilised in boiling water. You and the pages must not mix these utensils with your own.” After a moment’s thought, he added, “Wuji, you had better leave Butterfly Valley and stay outside for half a month or so. I do not want to pass the smallpox on to you.”

“No, that is not necessary,” answered Zhang Wuji at once. “You are ill. If I go away now, who will take care of you? After all, I am a bit more knowledgeable about medicine than these two pages.”

“I think that it is better for you to go away,” said Hu Qingniu, but Zhang Wuji refused to be persuaded. Although the man had his idiosyncracries, a comfortable relationship had developed between the two of them in the past two years. Furthermore, it was unlike the boy’s character to run away in the face of trouble. Therefore, Hu Qingniu finally relented and said, “All right. But you must not step into my room.”

For the next three days, Zhang Wuji checked on Hu Qingniu once in the morning and once again in the evening. Although the physician sounded rather hoarse, he seemed to be quite alert. He also had a bigger appetite than usual, so his condition did not appear to be serious. In addition, Hu Qingniu made daily announcements of the herbs that he wanted to take, as well as their respective dosages. Then, the pages would set about decocting the various brews.

In the afternoon of the fourth day, Zhang Wuji sat down and began reading a chapter in ‘The Internal Classic of the Yellow Emperor’, which was entitled ‘A Great Discussion on the Management of the Four Forces’ (Si4 Qi4 Tiao2 Shen2 Da4 Lun4). By and by, he came to a passage that said: “Since ancient times, the sages have focused on the prevention rather than the healing of illnesses. They prefer to deal with troubles that have not erupted rather than problems that are already deep-set. Curing great illnesses that have done their damage and rectifying upheavals that have taken place are just like digging wells at the point of thirst and forging weapons at the point of battle — already too late.” Nodding in agreement, Zhang Wuji thought:These words are very true indeed, for it is really too late to dig a well when I am thirsty and forge a weapon just before I get into a fight. A chaotic country that experiences subsequent peace may have returned to its former stability, but its original power and strength would have suffered a massive depletion. Illnesses should also be treated before they break out, but Mr Hu’s smallpox is an external ailment that cannot be treated before it occurs.

Then, he recalled a passage from a chapter in the same book that was known as ‘A Great Discussion of the Responses of the Yin and the Yang’ (Yin1 Yang2 Ying4 Xiang4 Da4 Lun4): “The physician begins by treating the skin, then the flesh, then the nerves, then the Six Secondary Organs and finally the Five Primary Organs. He who treats the Five Primary Organs is left with only half a chance for success.” An able physician must begin treating an illness the moment its symptoms appear, said Zhang Wuji to himself. If he waits until the disease has eaten into the Five Primary Organs before taking action, his chances of success would have already fallen by half. As for people like me, whose internal systems are overrun by toxins, we are doomed nine times out of ten.

As he praised the wisdom of the ancient physicians and reminisced about life since his injuries, Zhang Wuji suddenly heard the sound of horses’ hooves heading into the valley. A short while later, the riders came to a stop outside the huts. A voice among them called out: “Friends from the martial arts circle seek an audience with the Sage of Healing, Mr Hu, requesting that he provides treatment for our ailments.”

Stepping out for a look, Zhang Wuji saw a swarthy man standing in front of his hut. The man had the reins of three horses in one hand, two of which carried a blood-soaked man each. The swarthy man wore a huge bloody bandage on his head, while his right arm hung from his neck in a sling. All three of them appeared to be seriously wounded.

“You have come at a most unfortunate time,” said Zhang Wuji. “Mr Hu is ill and bed-ridden, so he is unable to offer you his services. Please see another physician!”

“But we have ridden hundreds of li (1 li = 500 metres) with our lives hanging by a thread,” said the swarthy man. “We can be saved only by the Sage of Healing.”

“Mr Hu has been struck by a very serious case of smallpox,” Zhang Wuji explained. “This is the truth, for I do not dare to deceive you.”

“The three of us are gravely wounded,” said the swarthy man again. “Unless we are treated by the Healing Sage of Butterfly Valley himself, we are sure to die. Little Brother, please report to Mr Hu on our behalf and find out what his instructions are.”

“In that case, may I enquire what your esteemed surnames and names are?” asked Zhang Wuji.

“Our worthless names deserve no mention,” answered the swarthy man. “Please say that we are disciples School-Leader Xianyu from Mount Hua.” His body shook and he threw up a large mouthful of blood.

Zhang Wuji was taken aback. He knew that Xianyu Tong from the School of Mount Hua was a great enemy of Hu Qingniu, so he went over to the physician’s door and called, “Sir, there are three seriously-injured men outside who seek your services. They say that they are disciples of School-Leader Xianyu from Mount Hua.”

Hu Qingniu gasped in surprise before replying angrily: “I will not treat them! Chase them away at once!”

“Yes,” answered the boy. Then, he returned to the wounded men and said, “Mr Hu is too ill to see anyone. Please forgive us.”

The swarthy man frowned and opened his mouth to plead for help, but before he could say anything, a thin and small-sized fellow, who had been slumped on one of the horses, lifted his head and threw something into the hut. A golden light flashed past Zhang Wuji before coming to a stop on the table. “Take this golden flower and show it to ‘The One who Ignores the Dying’,” said the thin man. “Tell him that we have been hurt by the owner of the golden flower. Now, this person is about to come and cause him trouble as well. If ‘The One who Ignores the Dying’ can cure our ailments, the three of us will stay behind and help him to fight the enemy. Our pugilistic skills are not great, but three additional helpers are better than none.”

Zhang Wuji found the thin man rather rude, unlike the swarthy fellow who was more polite. Walking over to the table, he saw that the golden flower was actually a type of projectile. Made entirely from yellow gold, it was exactly the same size and shape as a real plum blossom. The handiwork was so exquisite that the bloom even had pistils that were fashioned from platinum. Zhang Wuji reached to pick it up, only to discover that the thin man had thrown it with so much force that it had become embedded in the table. As he prised it out with a pair of tweezers, he thought: This skinny fellow seems rather skilled in martial arts, but he ended up being hurt so badly by the owner of the golden flower. I had better tell Mr Hu that this formidable person is coming to cause trouble. Holding the little flower in his hand, he stood outside the physician’s room and repeated what the thin man had told him.

“Show me the weapon,” said Hu Qingniu.

Pushing the door open and gently sweeping the door-curtain aside, Zhang Wuji found the physician’s room as dark as night. He knew that smallpox sufferers were afraid of wind and light, so it was only expected that the windows were all sealed up. Hu Qingniu had a piece of black cloth wrapped around his face, revealing only a pair of eyes. Zhang Wuji was shocked: I wonder how the blisters are under that cloth. Would they leave scars on his face?

“Put the golden flower on the table and leave quickly,” Hu Qingniu said.

Zhang Wuji did as he was told and stepped out of the room. But before he could close the door, Hu Qingniu spoke again: “The lives and deaths of the three have absolutely nothing to do with me. They also need not worry whether I am dead or alive.” The golden flower flew across the room, sliced through the door-curtain and landed on the floor with a thud. In the past two years, Zhang Wuji had never seen the physician practise any martial arts. Yet, this cultured man had turned out to be a highly skilled pugilist as well. Although he was ill, he had lost none of his pugilistic abilities.

The boy picked up the golden flower, returned it to the thin man, shook his head and said, “Mr Hu is really very ill … ”

Suddenly, the sounds of hooves and wheels were heard. A horse-drawn carriage rolled into the valley.

As the carriage came to a stop outside the row of huts, Zhang Wuji saw that it was driven by a sallow-looking young man. The man lifted a bald elderly fellow out of the carriage and asked, “Is the Healing Sage of Butterfly Valley, Mr Hu, at home? The Sacred Hands of the Buddhist Temple (Sheng4 Shou3 Qie2 Lan2) Jian Jie of the Kongdong School has come from afar to seek treatment … ” Before he could say more, he collapsed, dragging the bald elderly man to the ground with him. By a stroke of coincidence, the two horses that had drawn the carriage fell as well, foaming in their mouths.

The condition of these two newcomers and their horses was sufficient proof that they had travelled a long way without rest, just so that they could seek treatment from Hu Qingniu. The mention of the ‘Kongdong School’ rekindled Zhang Wuji’s memories of his parents’ suicides on Mount Wudang two years earlier. The elders of Kongdong were among those who had forced the couple to their deaths, and although this particular bald man had not been present that day, he was probably not a good fellow. Yet, before Zhang Wuji could refuse his request and send him away, four or five more people entered the valley. Some of them had crutches, while others leaned on one another for support. They all looked as if they were also wounded.

Knitting his brows into a frown, the boy did not wait for the latest group to approach him. Instead, he announced in a loud voice: “Mr Hu has contracted smallpox. He cannot even help himself at this moment, so he is unable to treat your ailments. Please seek another physician as soon as possible, so that your treatments are not delayed.”

When the latest group finally reached the row of huts, Zhang Wuji saw that it consisted of five men. Looking as pale as paper, without any visible wounds on their bodies or patches of blood on their clothes, the men had probably suffered internal injuries. Their leader, a tall and fat fellow, nodded at the bald Jian Jie and the thin man who threw the golden flower. Then, the three of them exchanged a bitter laugh.

They know one another! thought Zhang Wuji in surprise. His curiosity aroused, he asked: “Did all of you fall victim to the owner of the golden flower as well?”

“That is correct,” answered the fat man.

Then, the swarthy man, who had been the first to arrive, added, “What is your name, Little Brother? How are you related to Mr Hu?”

“I am Mr Hu’s patient,” Zhang Wuji replied. “When Mr Hu says that he will not treat you, he really means it. Thus, there is no purpose for you to continue hanging around here.”

As they spoke, four more people arrived. Some came in carriages, while others rode horses, but all of them requested an audience with Hu Qingniu.

Zhang Wuji became even more puzzled: The Butterfly Valley is so remote that besides the members of the Evil Sect, very few people in the realm of the rivers and lakes know about its location. These fellows come from Kongdong and Mount Hua, so they are definitely not related to the Sect. How did all of them end up being injured at the same time? And how did all of them find their way here with such coincidence? Then, another thought entered his mind: Since the owner of the golden flower is such a formidable pugilist, it would not have been difficult for him to take these people’s lives. But why did he just wound them grievously?

Some of the wounded visitors continued to plead for help, while others remained totally quiet, but all fourteen of them flatly refused to leave. As evening fell around them, they crowded into one of the huts for shelter. When one of the pages served Zhang Wuji his dinner, the boy went ahead and ate it without bothering about the visitors. Then, he lit an oil lamp and resumed his reading. Turning a blind eye to the fourteen, he said to himself:Since I am learning Mr Hu’s methods and techniques of treatment, I may as well copy him and ignore the dying too.

Quiet settled on Butterfly Valley. Except for the occasional sound of Zhang Wuji turning a page of his book and the heavy breathing of the wounded visitors, no other noises were heard. Suddenly, light footfalls sounded along the path outside as two people walked slowly towards the row of huts.

A moment later, the clear, crisp voice of a girl cut through the stillness of the night: “Mother, there is a light in the house ahead. We have arrived.” Her high pitch indicated that she was very young in age.

By and by, an older voice asked, “Child, are you tired?”

“No, I am not,” the little girl replied. “Mother, you will not hurt after the physician cures your illness.”

“Yes,” answered the woman. “But I do not know if the physician is willing to treat me.”

Zhang Wuji was taken aback: The woman’s voice is very familiar! She sounds like Auntie Ji Xiaofu!

At that moment, the little girl spoke again: “The physician will definitely treat you. Mother, do not be afraid. Are you feeling better yet?”

“Just a little better,” said the woman. “Sigh, my poor long-suffering child … ”

By then, Zhang Wuji had no more doubts. He rushed to the door of the hut and called out: “Auntie Ji, is that you? Are you wounded too?”

A woman dressed in blue came into view, holding a little girl by the hand. She was indeed the Lady Warrior Ji Xiaofu of the E-mei School. When she last saw Zhang Wuji on Mount Wudang, he was not even ten years old. Almost five years had passed since then, and the little boy had grown into a teenager. Thus, she could hardly recognise him.

“Auntie Ji, do you still remember me?” asked the boy again. “I am Zhang Wuji. We met once on Mount Wudang, when my parents passed away.”

Ji Xiaofu gasped in shocked, for she had never expected to run into him in this isolated valley. Suddenly very conscious about her status as an unwed mother, she turned very red with shame. After all, Zhang Wuji was the nephew of her fiancé, Yin Liting. Although he was young, it was still very difficult for her to explain herself. Unfortunately, the emotional turmoil caused by this unexpected meeting was too much for her weakened body, so she collapsed.

Her daughter grabbed her arm at once, but what could a eight- or nine-year-old child do to stop the fall of an adult? As a result, both mother and child crumpled to the ground in a heap.

Zhang Wuji quickly propped Ji Xiaofu up by the shoulders and said, “Auntie Ji, please take a rest inside.” Helping her indoors, he soon saw that her left shoulder and arm had been slashed several times. Blood was still seeping through the bandages that she had put over the wounds, and a light but persistent cough accompanied her throughout. By then, Zhang Wuji’s abilities in treating illnesses had surpassed those of the so-called ‘renowned physicians’, so he could tell immediately from her coughs that her lungs had been hurt. “Auntie Ji, you hurt the Taiyin Channel of the Lung when you used your right palm against your opponent’s hand,” he said.

Then, he took seven gold needles out and inserted them through her clothes into the Yun Men acupoint on her shoulder, the Hua Gai (Hua2 Gai4) acupoint on her chest, the Chi Ze acupoint on her elbow and four other points along the Taiyin Channel of the Lung. His skills had improvedly vastly since the day he treated Chang Yuchun, for he had spent the past two years in diligent study under the tutelage of Hu Qingniu. While his ability to diagnose ailments and prescribe medication was still limited by experience, his skill in acupunture had reached seven- or eight-tenths of the prowess of the Healing Sage.

Ji Xiaofu was somewhat apprehensive when she saw the gold needles, but Zhang Wuji was so fast with his hands that the needles entered her acupoints in the blink of an eye, granting immediate relief for the congestion in her chest. Startled but delighted, Ji Xiaofu said, “Dear child, I never expected to see you here, much less with this marvellous set of skills.”

Years ago on Mount Wudang, Ji Xiaofu had witnessed the double-suicide of Zhang Cuishan and Yin Susu. Overcome with compassion for the little orphan that the couple left behind, she had comforted the child and offered him her necklace of gold. However, Zhang Wuji had been so angry and upset that he had blamed all the visitors for his parents’ deaths. Therefore, he had rejected Ji Xiaofu’s gift and left her standing in embarrassment. As he grew older, he found out that his father and uncles had originally planned to join hands with the warriors of E-mei against their opponents. Thus, he finally learnt that the E-mei School was a friend, not a foe. As for Ji Xiaofu, he had often recalled her kindness towards him with a grateful heart.

More recently, Zhang Wuji and Chang Yuchun had seen how Ji Xiaofu had taken a great risk in rescuing Monk Peng (i.e. Peng Yingyu). Therefore, in his mind, this Auntie Ji was a very good person. He was too young to understand the details behind her being an unwed mother or judge whether she had done his Uncle Yin wrong, so he had not retained the information that he had heard in the woods that night. Unfortunately, Ji Xiaofu had been carrying a guilty conscience all this time, so she found this sudden meeting with someone who knew Yin Liting terribly embarrassing. She did not know that Zhang Wuji had heard everything about her from Ding Minjun two years earlier. Since he saw Ding Minjun as a wicked woman, the things that she had said were probably not as bad as she had made them out to be.

Zhang Wuji turned his attention to the little girl beside Ji Xiaofu. Pretty as a picture, the girl stared curiously at him with a pair of big and dark eyes before whispering, “Mother, is this boy the physician?”

The word ‘Mother’ caused Ji Xiaofu to redden at once. But there was really nothing more that she could do to keep the matter under wraps. So, she replied awkwardly, “This is an older brother from the Zhang family. His father was a friend of mine.” Then, she turned to Zhang Wuji and said, “She … she is called ‘Buhui’.” After a pause, she added, “Her surname is Yang … Yang Buhui!”

Zhang Wuji laughed and said, “That is great. Little Sister, your name is very similar to mine. I am called Zhang Wuji – ‘No Resentments’ – while you are Yang Buhui – ‘No Regrets’.”

Seeing that Zhang Wuji did not react to her introduction of her daughter with shock or accusation, Ji Xiaofu heaved a silent sigh of relief. Then, she said to her daughter, “Elder Brother Wuji is very skilful. I do not hurt very much anymore.”

Yang Buhui’s lively eyes regarded Zhang Wuji for a moment. Then, she went forward, gave the boy a big hug and kissed him on the cheek. Besides her mother, she had never seen anyone else all her life. Therefore, she was very grateful that Zhang Wuji had reduced the pain and discomfort that her mother felt. Since she had always expressed joy and gratitude towards her mother by hugging and kissing her, she had done the same to the boy.

Ji Xiaofu smiled and said, “Bu- er, do not do that. Brother Wuji does not like it.”

Yang Buhui opened her eyes wide in surprise, turned to Zhang Wuji and asked, “You do not like it? Why do you not want me to be nice to you?”

Laughing in amusement, the boy replied, “I like it. I want to be nice to you too.” He leaned forward and gave her a gentle peck on the cheek.

Yang Buhui clapped her hands. “Little Physician,” she said, “quickly make my mother completely well again and I will give you another kiss.”

Zhang Wuji found the innocent and lively little girl very adorable. All his life, he had known only people who were old enough to be his uncles. Although he treated Chang Yuchun as a brother and vice-versa, the man was still eight years older than he. Other than Zhou Zhiruo whom he had met for barely a day, he had never had any friends of his age. Therefore, he