“Let’s go to the herb hill!” suggested Chunli.

So they all went to the hill.

The hill was bare again because the herbs had just been harvested. Yang was sitting on the hill smoking a cigarette. Next to him were Uncle Ling and Grandpa Onion.

“Mia, we’re here to celebrate with you,” Yang said.

He handed the tortoise to Milan as a reward for him and his parents.

“We owe you a thousand thanks, Yang,” Mia said.

Milan was playing with the tortoise.

Everyone’s expression grew serious, for they heard the whistling in the air. They turned their faces toward Blue Mountain. The whistling went round the hill and away again. Old Onion nodded his head and repeatedly said, “Good, good . . .”

“Grandpa Onion, whom do you see?” Mia asked nervously.

“Who else could it be? Dr. Lin Baoguang, the father of Chinese herbal medicine,” Onion answered. His eyes were closed.

Mia remembered that Angelica had been looking for an old doctor named Lin Baoguang. She craned her neck to peer into the distance. She felt herself standing on a pontoon bridge, her hand clutching Lohan.

“Dr. Lin Baoguang is a legend in this area,” Yang spoke up. His eyes were closed, too.

They sat for a long while on the hillside, feeling an aura building up around them, then fading away. It was a long time before they woke up.

Onion was the first to leave, saying, “Shameful, shameful . . .” He soon disappeared in the distance.

“He was speaking of himself.” Yang explained, “He was ashamed because he couldn’t understand the message that Dr. Lin Baoguang was sending. In fact, I didn’t fully understand, either. Nobody can.”

Yang thought for a moment and then added, “He is sort of a mountain god.”

Mia was excited by this, and her face reddened.

“I really want to meet Dr. Lin Baoguang,” she murmured.

“According to the information I’ve received, the girl Angelica has contacted him. Of course she can’t meet him in person, for they’re in two different places . . .”

Yang seemed to hesitate when he said this. Now as they walked down the hill, they all lowered their voices talking about what had just happened. There was no more whistling in the air, but there was stirring again inside the mountain. Everyone heard the noise—the cries and shouts of people and animals. Milan was beside himself with joy, for his precious tortoise was silent at the sound of the noise inside the mountain. Probably it was also listening.

Mia’s second patient had migraines. She was about thirty years old and had a pretty, baby-doll face. She didn’t seem to care whether she would be cured or not. She was observant and analytical. She described her medical history this way: “Illness hits me like an avalanche and then subsides, like spinning silk. This is my life.”

Mia asked her if she wrote poetry, and she shook her head. Mia went into the back room and took out a bag of herbal powder for her. The patient, Plum, beamed with joy.