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Edelweiss and I were equally confused when Zhang Zhigui pointed at his own nose, grimacing with a smile. Suddenly, a rosy-red patch blazed on his cheeks and suddenly he was silent, giving only a tacit response.

"Come on, Zhigui," Yan Jishi, the expletive-vending machine roared with laughter, "Did you not always brag about how strong your sense of smell can be? How did you fail this time?"

As it turned out, that was Zhang Zhigui that we saw from the top of the hill, reaching a hand into the noxious and miasmic haze before he took out some face masks and applied some medicine on it. From atop the crest of the hill, that was all that we saw. What we did not know was, Zhigui had sniffed at the smell of the haze, hoping that he might know something about it.

Unlike the conventional methods of "Watching, Listening, Inquiring, and Examining" of traditional Chinese medicine, the healing skills Zhang Zhigui learned included smelling, which ironically

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