Chapter 74 – Lung Cancer

Are all kids this whimsical in their thinking nowadays?

For once, Qin Qing couldn’t find the right words to comfort him.

The child’s face remained sad. “If we didn’t pick them, they could’ve stayed in Mama’s arms until they got old.”

Qin Qing squatted down, cupping the boy’s cheeks in her hands, and told him, “To stay alive, we humans have to pick lots of fruits and vegetables.”

The child said, “But these two fruits didn’t get to grow old naturally, and they weren’t eaten after being picked. They just died. Died for nothing. We’re terrible.”

Hiss—

Kid, aren’t you getting a little too philosophical?

You’re making it sound like I’m some kind of murderer.

Taking care of children is really hard.

To cheer him up, Qin Qing suggested, “Let’s get two pieces of paper and draw these two fruits. That way, they’ll live forever in the drawings and be remembered by everyone who sees them. Wouldn’t that mean picking them wasn’t for nothing?”

“Okay! Drawing! Baby can draw!”

There were only pencils in the monk’s quarters.

Qin Qing picked the two discarded persimmons back up and placed them on the table for the child to trace.

Each of them drew two pictures, then Qin Qing had a runner bring colored pencils up the mountain so the boy could color them in.

Honestly, even though his outlines were all squiggly, the kid seemed to have a knack for color. The finished drawings were childish but not clumsy.

Finally, the boy was consoled.

After drawing the persimmons, he even sketched half a large persimmon tree on the edge of the paper.

Qin Qing asked, “Why’d you draw a tree too?”

The child chirped, “So their mama can stay with them in the picture forever.”

Qin Qing laughed. A child’s world was so simple and straightforward.

Daoist Wuyong came back after finishing the morning lesson and called Qin Qing to eat.

“Where’d this kid come from?”

Zhang Haochen put down his colored pencil, slid off the chair on his short legs, and stood properly to greet Wuyong: “Good morning, Daoist Sister. I’m Zhang Haochen.”

“Good morning, little one.” Wuyong squatted down and asked, “How are you feeling? Anything uncomfortable?”

The child shook his head and patted his chest. “Jumping! Feeling great!”

That answer was a bit scary—what if it wasn’t jumping?

Wuyong couldn’t help but laugh, ruffling the boy’s hair. “Alright, jumping it is.”

“Your mommy and daddy are working at the Taoist temple starting this morning. I’ll take you to eat and find them, okay?”

“Mommy and Daddy are working, baby won’t fuss.” He spoke like he was reciting a truth. Then, as if remembering something, he climbed back onto the chair. “We’re still drawing persimmons. Gotta finish before we eat.”

He sprawled over the table, clutching the colored pencil to put the finishing touches on his art.

Wuyong noticed the two persimmons with bite marks still on the table.

She gasped, “You two ate them?”

Her reaction startled Qin Qing. “Are they really poisonous? They’re just from the courtyard tree, shouldn’t be that bad, right?”

“No poison,” Wuyong explained, “but they’re awful to eat like this. That tree’s been around a while—older than I am. It’s a local variety. Looks ripe but you can’t eat them straight off the tree. You have to pick them and seal them in a jar so they can sweeten naturally.”

“Seriously? You can do that?”

Wuyong gave her a look. “Of course. Otherwise, why do you think such a big tree is full of unpicked fruit?”

Qin Qing scratched her nose. “I thought it was to help you all train your Dao Heart.”

“Whose Dao Heart would be shaken by one or two persimmons?”

“You never know,” Qin Qing replied.

Wuyong didn’t argue, just said, “I’ll let the kitchen know to collect the ripe ones and store them for de-astringency. They’ll be edible in a week.”

“Oh.”

She glanced at Qin Qing. “I’ll bring some to the studio then.”

“No need to go to all that trouble. The kid kept staring at them, so I picked some to let him try—and had a taste myself.”

Wuyong just stared at her silently.

Qin Qing lowered her head and busied herself tidying the table. She picked up her persimmon drawing and showed it off. “Look, I drew this.”

Wuyong took one glance and said, “Pretty red persimmon.”

Then added, “If our Senior Brother finds out, he’ll probably make me bring you some too.”

“Fine then, I’ll try some,” Qin Qing said casually.

Once the child finished his drawing, the two of them brought him to the dining hall.

To get there from the monk’s quarters, they had to walk through a narrow passage lined with crabapple trees.

Wuyong pointed at the thumb-sized red fruits still hanging from the branches and said, “These are ornamental crabapples. They don’t taste good. Most crabapple skins and pits are toxic—you can’t eat them raw.”

Qin Qing squeezed the little hand she was holding. “Did you hear that? Don’t pick fruits like these. They’re poisonous.”

Wuyong gave her a meaningful look.

“What’s that look for? I’m a grown adult. You think I’d just go around picking wild fruit from the roadside?”

“Of course not. I’m just being a good host, introducing the flowers and plants of our Taoist temple.”

“Letting kids learn more about plants is a good thing,” Qin Qing replied. “This little one has a great memory. Might even have a spiritual root.”

Hearing her praise, Zhang Haochen got a little shy and focused on walking.

Breakfast was simple. The dining hall didn’t have individual seating.

It was Qin Qing’s first time there in the morning, and she realized the temple had many visitors. People had to queue for food.

Zhang Haochen’s parents were both dressed in slightly worn Taoist robes and busy working in the dining hall.

Chen Xiaoyuan was serving congee and dishing vegetables.

Zhang Songlin was clearing tables, picking up dishes, and mopping the floor.

They had no time to watch over their son, so Qin Qing and Wuyong kept him with them.

Chen Xiaoyuan was extra respectful to the Daoists who came for breakfast, and even more so when it was Qin Qing and Wuyong. She worried the boy might bother them and said, “He can eat by himself.”

After Qin Qing said she didn’t mind, Chen Xiaoyuan knelt down and gently instructed the boy to behave.

Zhang Haochen nodded obediently.

His tray had only a small amount of food.

Even considering a child’s appetite, it was still quite little.

But he didn’t complain or ask for more. He carried his tray steadily and sat down to eat with Qin Qing and Wuyong.

Just as his mother had said, he ate very well—quiet and focused.

After finishing, he queued up again to have his mom refill his tray. He did this twice, then wiped his mouth and declared he was full.

There wasn’t a single grain of rice or scrap of vegetable left on his plate.

Taoism also values frugality.

The slogans on the dining hall walls all emphasized not wasting food.

Not just the Daoists—visiting guests were also very conscientious.

After finishing, the boy sat upright in a chair a little too tall for him, small legs dangling but not swinging.

Still, he was just a child. His eyes wandered everywhere.

After a moment of observation, he leaned in, covering his mouth and whispered, “I like it here.”

“Why?”

“Mommy said lots of people in this world don’t get enough to eat. So baby must not waste food. Always take less and don’t waste.” The boy frowned. “But in kindergarten, lots of kids don’t eat well. They fight for food, waste a lot, and throw it everywhere. But here, everyone finishes.”

Chen Xiaoyuan had really taught him well.

Even Wuyong couldn’t help patting his fluffy little head again and praising him for being such a good boy.

A chubby figure carrying a large bowl came to sit next to Zhang Haochen.

In the bowl was rice porridge topped with minced pickled mustard greens.

The boy had never seen Daoist Wutun before, but seeing Wuyong greet him, he quickly followed: “Good morning, Daoist Big Brother.”

Daoist Big Brother?

Wutun was over forty. This tiny little rascal calling him “Big Brother” with such a sweet voice…

He looked at him. Then looked again.

Those clear, bright eyes were looking right back at him.

Wutun said, “Kid, call me Uncle.”

The boy was confused. “But Daoist Big Sister calls you Big Brother too…”

Is there something wrong with that?

Nope. Made perfect sense, actually.

Wutun fell silent.

Wuyong patted the child and smiled. “He’s right. Call him Daoist Big Brother.”

Wutun quickly slurped down his bowl of porridge. As he stood, he casually asked, “What do you want to eat for lunch?”

Qin Qing didn’t immediately realize he was talking to her until Wu Tun furrowed his brows and asked again, “Not eating lunch at the temple?”

“You’re asking me?”

Wu Tun was clearly a bit impatient. “Who else? You think I’d cook separately for anyone else here? Whatever I eat, they eat.”

Did the sun rise from the west today?

Was this really the same Daoist Wu Tun who had fought her for food at the table just yesterday?

Was this… his way of being friendly? It must be, right?

“Well, have you decided? What do you want to eat?”

“Dumplings!” Qin Qing answered reflexively. “Eggplant dumplings.” Ever since she’d tasted them last time, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about them.

There were neighbors in her old complex who were good cooks. During family gatherings, she had once suggested making eggplant dumplings. The result? A complete disaster.

“Mm.”

Having gotten an answer, Wu Tun left with his bowl in hand.

Before he disappeared, he said lightly, “The kid’s responding well.”

And just like that, he was gone.

So quickly that Qin Qing almost wondered if she’d imagined the whole thing.

Thinking of what he said, Qin Qing curled her lips into a smile. She patted Zhang Haochen’s little head. “Kiddo, eat well and get better soon, okay?”

Since there would be dumplings for lunch, Qin Qing wasn’t in a rush to leave. She took the child for a walk around the Taoist temple.

Both of them were dressed in Taoist robes, walking hand in hand. It was a rare sight, and many tourists stopped to take pictures of them.

Qin Qing used her sleeve to shield the child’s face and led him toward a quieter area with fewer people.

As they passed the Three Pure Ones Hall, she spotted a pitch-black system panel standing out amid the crowd.

She paused for a closer look.

And the closer she looked, the more startled she became.

The panel belonged to a tall man.

Very thin, and bald.

There were a lot of people inside the Three Pure Ones Hall, but he didn’t go in. He just stood before the large incense burner at the entrance, holding three sticks of incense above his head, eyes closed, standing still for a long time.

Beside him stood a woman bundled tightly in clothing, only reaching his shoulder, mirroring his posture.

The two of them were sincerely offering incense.

Such a scene wasn’t unusual in the temple. What shocked Qin Qing was who they were.

The man was a legendary figure in the music world—Cheng Ling.

People of Qin Qing’s generation had grown up listening to his songs; he’d been a sensation during her school days.

Cheng Ling was a true musical genius. He composed, wrote lyrics, and sang his own songs. Every time he released a new track, it would dominate the music charts, crushing all competition.

But in recent years, he had seemingly retreated from the spotlight to focus on his family. It had been years since she’d heard any new work from him.

Any news of him these days was always about charitable donations—another school he and his wife had funded in a rural village, or a major disaster relief contribution.

His wife, Yun Rui, was an acclaimed film actress.

The couple had always been low-key. No scandals, no reality shows. Their public image was pristine.

Qin Qing remembered they were both from Shanyu City—childhood sweethearts. They had even donated books and lab equipment to her high school. The school had proudly displayed a banner about it.

Now, Cheng Ling’s face was completely unhidden, but only faint traces of his once-handsome features remained. He no longer had any of the charisma he used to exude on stage.

His health score had dropped to the low twenties. The panel clearly displayed his diagnosis: squamous cell carcinoma of the lung.

Cheng Ling had started young. Even now, he was only in his thirties. But he didn’t have much time left.

And he knew it.

That was why Yun Rui had accompanied him back to their hometown. The couple wanted to spend his remaining days on the land where they were born and raised.

Perhaps Qin Qing had stared too long. Cheng Ling opened his eyes. Still holding the incense, he locked his gaze precisely in her direction.