Chapter 194: A Treatment System

Jian Mo washed up quickly, threw on a coat, and headed downstairs.

Yun Long raised a hand in greeting. “Doctor Jian Mo.”

Jian Mo greeted them back. “What brings you here so early? Come in, have some tea.”

As he spoke, he ruffled He Feng’s head and told the cubs, “You all go play.”

He Feng asked, “Brother Jian Mo, where’s Jiujiu?”

Jian Mo: “Probably out with Ying’ao. They’ll be back soon.”

Once they’d checked on that, the cubs ran off.

Jian Mo ushered the Mengshui tribe visitors and the fat-winged “chubs” inside, then went to the kitchen to fetch a kettle and brew tea for everyone.

After a bit of bustling about, they finally sat down to talk.

Yun Long took the lead. “We came to ask your advice about planting.”

Jian Mo understood immediately. “Your tribe planted quite a bit too. It’s not going well?”

Yun Long nodded. “No point pretending in front of you—the first year hasn’t gone very well.”

Jian Mo: “In what way?”

Yun Long gestured. “The plants are spindly and small, the leaves are few and yellow—everything looks half-dead.”

Jian Mo was surprised. “That bad?”

Wan Zheng chimed in as a witness. “It’s true. What they’ve grown looks nothing like Rainrise’s fields.”

Yun Long: “Our two tribes are close—could you come over and take a look?”

Jian Mo thought it over. “Sure.”

He was about to say they’d head out once Wu Jiong or Jiujiu returned when Wan Zheng jumped in: “Brother Jian Mo, we’ll carry you over.”

Jian Mo smiled. “Then I’ll trouble you.”

He left a note for Wu Jiong—words and little drawings—telling him he’d gone to the Mengshui tribe.

Everyone who saw the note was curious.

Jian Mo said, “I’m opening classes in winter. If you want to learn to read, come then.”

The Mengshui folks hadn’t answered yet when the chubby winged ones all shook their heads in unison, looking terrified. “Better not, Brother Jian Mo—just don’t say that to our chief.”

Jian Mo: “Seriously, you lot?”

Wan Zheng: “We just don’t want to go to class.”

Chub-feathers only yearned for the sky.

Before long, they’d packed up to leave.

With Wan Zheng carrying Jian Mo, they quickly reached the Mengshui tribe.

Yun Long and the others led Jian Mo to the newly planted beds.

Like the Riverside tribe, Mengshui had planted along the riverbank for convenient watering and harvesting.

“Our crops are the same as yours,” Yun Long said. “But somehow when we plant them here, they look half-dead.”

One look at their soil and Jian Mo couldn’t help saying, “You’re planting in sand, while we plant in clay-loam. That’s a big difference—how could it be ‘the same’?”

Yun Long: “Isn’t it all riverbank earth?”

Jian Mo: “No—this is sandy soil. It’s low in fertility and doesn’t hold water well. If you farm it long enough and ‘raise’ the soil, it can get better, but at the start you won’t grow good crops.”

Yun Long: “So that’s it.”

Jian Mo suggested, “That flatland across from your camp looks good—richer soil and close by. No need to plant everything right on the river. We plant riverside because it suits our bank; yours clearly doesn’t.”

Yun Long: “What do we do now—transplant these to the other side?”

Jian Mo gently shook a stem. “Looks like it’s too late. They’ve grown too much and won’t recover with a move. Plant new ones. I brought seedlings and seeds back—if you want, I’ll share some.”

Yun Long brightened. “That’s great. We’ll trade you supplies.”

Jian Mo: “If you’re free now, I can teach you how to ridge the beds. First till, then make raised rows—it helps the plants.”

Yun Long: “We’re free. I’ll call people to bring tools.”

They were neighboring tribes and visited often; Jian Mo didn’t take payment for showing them how to till.

The Mengshui folk were very hardworking. At Yun Long’s call, a crowd arrived with all kinds of tools. They didn’t bother with plows—just hoes. They dug up the patch across the river, cleared stones and roots, broke the clods, and formed raised rows on the spot.

In a single day, a big stretch of wasteland was opened.

Jian Mo crumbled some soil in his fingers. “It’s a bit low in fertility. If you want better growth, put down a base dressing of fertilizer first. Do you have any piled up?”

Yun Long shook his head decisively. “No.”

Jian Mo: “Then come trade for some at our tribe.”

So they all headed to Riverside.

They arrived just as the Mengshui folks were picking up their cubs from class.

At Riverside, Jian Mo took them to the compost piles fermenting behind the mountain.

“This compost includes droppings from winged beasts, pack-beasts, river-fleece beasts, and long-tailed birds,” he explained. “We’ve mixed in a lot of dry grass. It’s been piled at least half a year and is mostly done fermenting.”

The piles had been there a while; the top layer of straw had begun to rot, and all sorts of seeds blown in had sprouted into green.

Yun Long: “Why pile it outside—aren’t you afraid of rain?”

Jian Mo: “As long as it’s not days of heavy rain, it’s fine. The straw sheds some of it—that’s one reason we use so much. You can do it the same way—just heap it up to ferment.”

Yun Long: “Does it have to be six months?”

Jian Mo: “Roughly. The heating during fermentation kills parasites and pathogens, and once it’s ‘mature,’ it won’t burn young plants.”

Hearing this, Yun Long and the others looked conflicted—their faces said they didn’t fully get it.

Jian Mo knew they hadn’t followed the theory and switched to the practical. “I’m not crystal clear on the principles either. Just do it this way—it works. If you don’t believe me, try raw manure side-by-side and you’ll see why we ferment.”

Yun Long nodded.

Jian Mo added, “If it’s too much trouble or you’re in a hurry, you can layer manure over straw—straw, then manure, then set it alight. After the fire’s out and the ash has cooled, use the whole pile, ash included. That should work too.”

Yun Long: “Does it have to be winged-beast droppings? We ordered a winged beast from Tianning, but it won’t be delivered soon.”

Jian Mo: “Not necessary. Pack-beasts and the like are fine. Any animal manure works.”

Yun Long: “Got it.”

Since they were there, Jian Mo gave them a share of compost, seedlings, and seeds to take back, and helped plant them that very night. They’d keep in touch about any follow-up problems.

Yun Long agreed and said he’d bring supplies over tomorrow in return.

Word that Jian Mo and Wu Jiong were back spread quickly.

A lot of people came to trade for scar-removal plasters.

Jian Mo handed them out readily and received plenty of goods in return, including lots of food.

With some downtime, he used those ingredients to make a pile of snacks. When writing teaching materials, he’d brew a pot of tea and nibble as he worked.

He’d made more than enough, and even had the chub-feathers deliver some to Ji Xun and Zhiu Zhi. Both were pregnant and easily hungry—snacks would make them more comfortable.

After receiving his snacks, Ji Xun had Mo’a send back a basket of assorted nuts as a return gift.

Zhiu Zhi sent dried greens and candied fruit via the chub-feathers to express thanks.

Another day, a group arrived after a long trip to trade for scar plasters and common remedies.

Jian Mo had also cooked up a medicinal oil for bruises and sprains—very popular for everyday use.

As for salves for venomous bites, their version couldn’t beat the Mengshui tribe’s specialized balm. Once Jian Mo realized that, he stopped making it; now, anyone wanting anti-bite salve was directed to Mengshui. They were on good terms anyway and didn’t charge much.

This group wanted quite a few plasters. Jian Mo did a count and told them, “I put some upstairs. Give me a moment—I’ll go get them.”

“No problem,” they said. “We’ll wait here—it’s not urgent.”

Jian Mo smiled. “Have some tea.”

He went upstairs to gather the plasters. When he came down with a basket, he overheard them gossiping about nearby tribes—something about a cub.

He didn’t catch the details, only that the cub was in poor health. “What’s wrong with the cub? Why is the health bad?”

“Don’t know. They say it was born weak—very scrawny, nothing like a normal cub.”

“And it’s a little beastman—no idea if it’ll make it.”

“Congenital deficiency?” Jian Mo asked.

“Maybe. The Sharp-tooth tribe doesn’t like to talk about it. I only heard a bit in passing.”

Jian Mo hadn’t expected it to be a Sharp-tooth cub.

They’d stayed with Sharp-tooth while doing business on the road. He’d even pierced a lot of ears there.

His impression of them was good—warm, forthright people.

“Then why don’t they bring the cub here?” he asked.

“Can you come in for ‘just being weak’? They say there’s no illness, just frailty. It’s happened before—some people give birth to weak cubs. If you can raise them, you do; if you can’t, then that’s that.”

“I heard that long ago, when resources were scarce, some tribes would even abandon such cubs—said they’d only grow up weak anyway, so better not to raise them.”

That could happen in lean times—but things weren’t like that anymore.

“Looking fine on the surface doesn’t mean there’s no illness,” Jian Mo said. “You only know after a careful exam. Many weak cubs have congenital underdevelopment—it can be treated.”

Thinking of that fragile life, he emphasized, “I can’t promise a cure, but bringing the cub in is better than doing nothing. If it’s not too much trouble, please pass the word: ask the Sharp-tooth tribe to bring the cub to me.”

These visitors were from the Shanming tribe, which was just north of Sharp-tooth. On the way home they could easily swing past Sharp-tooth’s settlement.

Jian Mo asked them personally. They readily agreed to pass the message, though they couldn’t guarantee Sharp-tooth would send the cub.

To thank them, Jian Mo gifted some bruise-and-sprain oil.

They were pleased and promised to help persuade them.

When Qing Kuo heard, he came to ask Jian Mo, “Since when do you treat cubs? Isn’t pediatrics especially troublesome—different from treating adults?”

“It is different,” Jian Mo said, “but there are overlaps. I’m a proper witch-doctor now; I have my own understanding of many illnesses and have formed a treatment framework of my own. I can give it a try.”

Then he asked curiously, “What made you come ask me out of the blue?”

“For any tribe, cubs are the top priority,” Qing Kuo said. “I was worried you might not feel confident.”

Jian Mo thought a moment. “Confidence depends on the case. Without seeing the cub, I can’t say. If it really looks beyond me, we can make another trip to the Star-Store tribe—or refer Sharp-tooth to go there. It’s a young life; we can’t drag our feet.”

Qing Kuo sighed with feeling. “You really are what you called a healer with a benevolent heart.”

Jian Mo smiled. “I’m not that noble. It’s just—if it’s a tribe we know, and I can lend a hand, I will.”