Chapter 75: Old Yan’s Calligraphy Copybook

Li Xuemei shook her head with amusement. “Traditional Chinese medicine is vast and profound. I don’t have such grand ambitions. Just taking pulse diagnosis as an example—without a teacher to guide you, relying on self-study alone is impossible.

I was thinking, I shouldn’t waste this book. At the very least, I should understand the types and uses of medicinal herbs, which prescriptions to use for certain symptoms, any contraindications, and whether dietary adjustments are needed.

After briefly going through the book, I noticed that for a single illness, there are often multiple prescriptions. Is it because of the severity of the condition? Or is it that different medicines can be substituted based on their effects…

In ancient times, medical conditions were poor—no precise diagnostic equipment, no scientific verification methods. Everything relied on master-apprentice transmission. Good prescriptions were held by a select few, and we had no access to skilled doctors. If we didn’t make an effort ourselves, we’d be placing our family’s lives in the hands of a stranger… That thought scares me.”

Li Xuemei voiced her concerns, though she didn’t elaborate on everything. Whether she liked it or not, social hierarchy existed in this world. No matter how high Old Yan might rise in the future, for now, they were still ordinary folk at the very bottom.

Doctor Cui’s medical skills were sufficient for minor ailments, but if a complicated illness arose, he might not even dare to prescribe a treatment.

Take her pregnancy, for example. In modern times, C-sections greatly improved survival rates for both mother and child. But here, the only help she could rely on was a midwife.

How could she not be afraid?

What if the baby was in the wrong position? What if the umbilical cord was wrapped around its neck? What if there was insufficient amniotic fluid…

Having already given birth once, she was even more aware of the dangers involved.

Yan Yu grew serious as well.

People eat grain and drink water—how could they not fall ill?

“Mother, you’re right. Even a little knowledge is better than none. If we ever encounter an incompetent doctor, at least we’ll have a basic understanding—whether to switch doctors or call for a second opinion…

We don’t know how to diagnose through observation, listening, questioning, or pulse reading, and it’s hard to find someone to teach us. But we can memorize prescriptions. If someone in the family gets sick, we can compare their symptoms with the records, check the prescriptions, and discuss the differences with the doctor. We’re not trying to profit from this—these remedies save lives, and more people should know about them.”

Having decided to study the book seriously, they planned to make two copies—one for Li Xuemei and one for Yan Yu.

Yan Yu stared at the dense, tiny characters, then suddenly realized something and wailed, “Mother! Can’t we just copy our own? There are too many words!”

Wouldn’t it be faster if both of them copied together?

Making her do it alone would break her wrist!

Li Xuemei looked over at Yan Lao’er.

Yan Lao’er immediately understood.

“Daughter, count me in. From today on, the three of us will learn together. You two will teach me to read and write, and I’ll cover for you when needed.”

A real man takes responsibility!

Li Xuemei smiled, her eyes curving with amusement. She placed his hand on her belly.

“This little one is about three months old, and our eldest is only seven. The children are still young. If we want our small family to have a better future, we, as parents, must work harder.”

Yan Lao’er felt invigorated.

His first action was to seek out Old Yan for a calligraphy copybook.

“Big Brother, could you write me a copybook? I’ll practice by copying it.” He had his own little scheme—rather than imitating the original owner’s handwriting, it was better to learn Old Yan’s.

First, it would avoid the issue of his handwriting looking different from before.

Second, if his handwriting was poor, he had an excuse—he was switching styles and wasn’t yet proficient.

Yan Huaiwen was shocked!

Had the sun risen in the west today?

His younger brother, Tianyou, was actually asking him for a calligraphy copybook?

Yan Huaiwen solemnly agreed.

Watching his younger brother’s departing figure, he turned serious and called for his son to fetch water and set up the desk.

Personally, he washed his brush, ground the ink, and carefully laid out the treasured mulberry paper he had been reluctant to use.

Yan Xiangheng, seeing his father’s solemn attitude, thought he was about to compose an extraordinary essay.

He didn’t dare breathe too loudly.

But then he saw his father meticulously folding the paper again and again.

Once he unfolded it, evenly spaced square grids appeared.

Yan Xiangheng’s eyes nearly popped out.

A copybook?!

Using mulberry paper?!

In wealthy households, this type of paper might not be significant. But in their family, they usually used the cheapest bamboo or hemp paper.

He clearly remembered this stack of paper—it was a gift from a wealthy family in town when their child was accepted into an academy.

Yan Huaiwen thought for a moment and decided to use the Taige style, which he was second-best at.

As for his best style, running script, he set it aside.

He still hoped Tianyou would pursue a scholarly path. The Taige style, though lacking in distinctiveness, was widely used. If he practiced diligently, he could even secure a clerical job copying official documents.

With his decision made, Yan Huaiwen’s brush moved effortlessly.

Throughout his life, he had written this style the most.

Official documents, memorials, administrative decrees—all in this script.

Once finished, he carefully examined his work and nodded in satisfaction.

Not bad—his skill hadn’t deteriorated with age.

Yan Xiangheng was delighted.

This copybook captured the essence of the Taige style: elegant, refined, and harmoniously structured!

He earnestly requested, “Father, may I have this copybook? I will practice diligently and not waste it.”

Yan Huaiwen glanced at him and thought, Since my son wants it, I can just write another.

But this one was for Tianyou.

He nodded, “Wait a moment.”

Carefully setting aside the first copybook, he laid out another sheet of paper.

This time, he didn’t fold it—just started writing immediately.

Once he finished in a single stroke, he set his brush down. “This one is for you.”

Yan Xiangheng: …

For some reason, he felt a little… disappointed.

The same handwriting, same content, same paper—

But somehow, this one felt less special.

He couldn’t help but ask, “Father, who is the first copybook for?”

Yan Huaiwen sighed, his tone filled with sentiment. “Tianyou asked for it. He wasted many years without prioritizing his studies, but today, he came to me for a copybook. That truly comforts me. As long as one is willing, it’s never too late to learn.”

Yan Xiangheng suddenly understood.

So it was for Second Uncle.

In that case, never mind.

That little discomfort vanished instantly.

Instead, he felt happy.

Though it wasn’t his place to judge an elder, Second Uncle had… well, a history.

Now that he was improving and willing to return to his studies, no wonder Father treated it so seriously.

Even he felt genuinely happy.

Second Uncle was finally on the right path.

Meanwhile, Yan Lao’er had no idea that simply asking for a calligraphy copybook had made the father and son completely misunderstand him!

First, he sought out the Qi brothers, planning to make some charcoal over the next few days.

Then, he visited Doctor Cui to have him check on his wife’s condition.

After all the fatigue of the journey, it was reassuring to have a doctor examine her.