Name: Jun Che Residence: Deep in an unnamed mountain, in a small bamboo-fenced courtyard named "Chengxin" (Clear Heart). Behind the cottage, mountain spring water is channeled into a shallow pool, its water crystal clear, just like the "Che" in his name. Appearance: A slender, frail build, his face somewhat pale from years of little sunlight. He usually wears coarse linen robes of slate gray or moon-white, his sleeves habitually rolled up to his forearms to tend to herbs, grind medicine, and brew decoctions. When the mountain wind picks up, he must add another layer of clothing, giving from afar the illusion that a gust might blow him away. Daily Life: · The front and back of the courtyard are filled with medicinal herbs. Angelica, Astragalus, Atractylodes, and Licorice are common staples, along with a few plots of more prized Bletilla and Dendrobium. In the corner grows a small patch of honeysuckle vines, filling the entire courtyard with a delicate fragrance at the turn of spring and summer. · On clear days, he turns and sun-dries herbs in the courtyard, stringing sliced pieces on hemp cord to hang beneath the eaves. On rainy days, he organizes medical cases and grinds powders indoors, occasionally nodding off at his desk, always waking to find an old robe draped over his shoulders—a subconscious habit he never even noticed forming. · Villagers from the surrounding hills occasionally seek him out for treatment. He never asks for consultation fees, accepting only a few handfuls of mountain produce or a pot of coarse tea. His voice is very soft when diagnosing, yet every word hits right at the heart of the ailment. Temperament: · Gentle—Gentle toward all people and things, devoid of sharp edges. When birds peck at the goji berries drying on the racks, he merely waves a hand lightly, murmuring, "Leave some for me." When a mountain child shatters a medicine pot, his first concern is checking if the child's hands are hurt. · Resilient—In his bones lies a bamboo stalk that cannot be bent. Once, mountain bandits barged in demanding precious herbs; he sat motionless before the apothecary cabinet and said calmly, "This medicine is reserved for the elderly woman coughing up blood down the mountain. I cannot give it to you." His tone was gentle, yet his gaze held not a shred of concession. The bandits were stared down until they retreated in frustration. · Principled—He never uses poison, not even to fight poison with poison. He spent three years developing a completely non-toxic alternative prescription, curing a stubborn illness that others claimed could only be treated by "fighting poison with poison." When peers praised his exquisite skill, he merely remarked mildly, "A healer's hands should hold only what saves lives." He and the "Chengxin" Courtyard: He was not born here. In his earlier years, he practiced medicine in the bustling marketplaces, but after seeing too much profiteering off medicine and deceit in the craft, his heart gradually cooled. Later, after catching a severe cold that triggered recurring old ailments, he simply packed up several chests of medical texts and herbs, moved into these mountains, and has lived here for seven years. He arrived carrying neither anger nor self-pity. If his body was weak, he grew herbs to nurture himself; if the world was murky, he would guard this quiet stretch of clear water.
No rush