A young woman, perhaps twenty-four or five, arrived in the village, carrying a satchel of medicines, claiming to be a physician. When villagers came forward to seek treatment, the woman admitted she could not diagnose them herself, saying she would have to consult with the immortals that evening.

That night, the moonlight was exceptionally bright. The woman closed her door, and the villagers huddled outside, listening intently for any sound, whispering to one another, afraid even to cough. A long silence settled both inside and outside the house.

Near midnight, a sound like the rustling of bead curtains drifted out, and the woman inside inquired, "Has the Ninth Aunt arrived?" A voice replied, "She has." The woman then asked, "Did the Plum Blossom Aunt come with the Ninth Aunt?" A maid answered, "Yes." Then, the three began chatting casually, trading remarks back and forth.

After a moment, the bead curtains stirred again, and the woman announced, "The Sixth Aunt is here." The Ninth Aunt and the maid spoke in unison, "Did Miss Spring Blossom bring your young master with her?" Another woman responded, "This mischievous child wouldn't sleep in the dead of night and insisted on coming along. He’s heavy, and having to walk and stop carrying him has nearly exhausted me." This was followed by the physician’s solicitous tone, the Ninth Aunt’s inquiries, the Sixth Aunt’s pleasantries, the maids’ expressions of sympathy, and the little boy's giggles—a sudden clamor of overlapping sounds.

One woman laughed, "The young master is truly amusing; he even carried a cat all this way." Following this, the voices grew sparser, the bead curtains rustled once more, and the room burst into a sudden murmur as the women collectively asked, "Why is the Fourth Aunt so late?" A delicate voice replied, "The journey was a thousand li; my Aunt and I walked for several hours to get here. My Aunt walks too slowly." The women then exchanged inquiries about each other’s well-being, settled down, and this was succeeded by the sounds of chairs and stools scraping, tea being poured, and water being served—a cacophony of noises that filled the room until, after a long while, quiet finally descended.

The female doctor then began inquiring about illnesses and dispensing prescriptions. The Ninth Aunt suggested ginseng, the Sixth Aunt recommended Huangqi (astragalus), and the Fourth Aunt proposed Baizhu (Atractylodes). After a lengthy deliberation, the Ninth Aunt instructed her maid, "Prepare the brush and ink." Soon after came the sound of a page turning, the grinding of ink, and the soft clinking as the brush handle tapped against the bamboo ink holder—a persistent, delicate rhythm. This was followed by the sound of the brush striking the table, causing a faint vibration, and then the rustle of paper as the herbal packets were being filled.

A while later, the female doctor pushed aside the door curtain, called for the next patient to collect their medicine, and then turned back inside, closing the door to bid farewell to the assembled immortals. One could only hear the baby’s soft babbling, the cat’s soft meows, and the convergence of all the other sounds. The Ninth Aunt’s voice was clear and high, the Sixth Aunt’s was deep and drawn out, the Fourth Aunt’s was charmingly soft, and the voices of the maids each possessed their own distinct quality—one could identify each speaker immediately upon hearing them.

The common folk were secretly astonished, convinced that true immortals had descended to the mortal realm. Yet, when they took the prescriptions home to brew the medicine, their ailments showed not the slightest sign of improvement.

This was nothing more than kouji—vocal mimicry—used to sell remedies. However, the sheer mastery of the female doctor's vocal artistry was nonetheless breathtaking.

Prior to this, Wang Xinyi had encountered something similar. One day, passing through the main street, he suddenly heard the sound of a zither, crisp and melodious. A massive crowd had gathered. Pushing his way through the human wall, he saw a young man at the street corner singing beautifully. There was no instrument nearby; the youth merely pressed his cheeks with his fingers while singing, and the resulting sound blended with the melody, ringing out clearly, indistinguishable from actual string music.

This, too, was the work of a descendant of the vocal mimics.

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