Chapter 16: Hot Porridge to Strengthen Yang

The door of the left-hand room creaked open. Zuo Gui emerged, slowly and slightly stooped.

Zuo Shaoyang hurried over. “You’re up, Father?”

“Mm.”

His father stopped and looked him over.

“Are you… feeling better?”

“Your Ephedra Decoction made me sweat. I’m quite well now!”

“Good.”

Zuo Gui took two slow steps, stopped again and considered.

“So you knew to add cocklebur fruit and magnolia buds to Ephedra Decoction for a blocked, runny nose with greater-yang cold damage. Not bad. Keep studying your books.”

“I will.”

Zuo Shaoyang glanced into the bedroom and stiffened.

“Father! Why isn’t there a quilt on your bed?”

The answer came to him as soon as he asked.

They had given him their own quilt. In that bitter cold, the old couple must have sat up in their clothes all night, unable to sleep.

Guilt swept through him.

“You gave me your quilt! You must have been freezing. I’ll make you some ginger broth.”

“No need.” Hands behind his back, Zuo Gui walked to the entrance. “I’m not as delicate as you. Well—what a snowfall!”

The two ribbons of the futou on his small head fluttered above his loose lined robe.

“It’s draughty here, Father. Come inside.”

“Moving about in the morning keeps a man healthy.”

Zuo Gui stretched his arms and loosened his waist before slowly returning to the long fir table with its peeling finish.

Madam Liang brought hot water for them to wash, then brewed tea for her husband. He cradled the cup, blew gently, took a leisurely sip and set it down with a long, contented breath.

After a little hesitation, Zuo Shaoyang asked his mother quietly, “Isn’t there… any breakfast?”

“Breakfast?”

She had not expected the question. Keeping the family fed twice a day was difficult enough. Where was the money for a third meal?

Then she remembered that he had been ill. Some hot porridge in the morning ought to help him recover.

“Yes, of course. I’ll make it now.”

“Make what?” Zuo Gui asked coldly. “We have only so much food. An extra meal for you means one less for the family later. What are we to do then?”

“But he was ill last night…”

“And being ill gives him leave to squander food? Are we to go on living or not? What do you know? Get on with your work!”

She said nothing, rubbing her apron between her hands.

“I’m not really hungry,” Zuo Shaoyang said awkwardly. “I was only asking. It doesn’t matter.”

His mother gave him a guilty look and sighed. Head down, she returned to the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed with her sewing. From time to time she looked out at the empty shop and sighed again.

He stood behind the medicine counter, hands in his sleeves, watching the passers-by. Not one came in.

A medicine shop could not tout for customers at the door or invite people inside with excessive enthusiasm. All they could do was wait. Even when a patient arrived, too warm a welcome might seem like pleasure in someone else’s misfortune.

Snowfall was cold; thawing snow colder. This day was much colder than the last. A hazy sun shone, but the shop faced north and received no warmth. He shivered.

His father sat dutifully at the table waiting for patients. Zuo Shaoyang dared not go and stand in the sunshine. He remained behind the counter, stamping his feet for warmth.

With nothing else to do, he examined the contents of the medicine drawers, one by one. He wanted to know what they stocked and match each ingredient to its label, for many of the names were unfamiliar.

All were cheap, common medicines. There was not a single costly ingredient, ginseng included. Naturally: had they possessed anything valuable, they could have sold some and stopped worrying about rent.

Even the common ingredients were incomplete. Several everyday medicines were missing. Business must be bad indeed.

By comparing the contents with the labels, he soon memorised the unfamiliar aliases. Then he found the price list and began learning that too. It would make calculating bills easier.

Near noon, as Madam Liang went into the kitchen to cook, a patient finally came in.

The middle-aged man entered timidly. Zuo Gui’s face brightened, then settled back into composure.

“Sit,” he said at length. “You want a consultation?”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“What’s troubling you?”

“I feel cold. I’ve got a fever and a headache.”

“A cough?”

“No… no cough.”

Zuo Gui nodded. “Sweating?”

“A little, I think.”

He asked about food, urination and bowel movements, then examined the pulse and tongue.

“Nothing serious. I’ll give you a prescription to decoct at home.”

“What illness is it, Doctor?”

“The weather’s freezing. You’ve caught a cold. A dose of medicine will put you right.”

“Thank you.”

Zuo Gui wrote the prescription and handed it to his son to dispense.

As Zuo Shaoyang wrapped the medicines, he addressed the patient.

“Your symptoms call for Cinnamon Twig Decoction. Do you know how to prepare and take it?”

“Boil it in water and drink it, isn’t that all?”

“Not quite.” He smiled. “Put seven sheng of water into an earthenware pot and simmer it gently. Cook about one sheng of thin porridge at the same time. When the decoction has reduced to three sheng, skim it and pour it into a bowl. Let it cool, drink one sheng, then have the hot porridge.”

“Why the porridge?”

“For two reasons. First, it supplies the fluid needed for sweating. With cold damage, we want to bring on sweat, but the body must have fluid available to produce it. Second, Cinnamon Twig Decoction is strong at supporting the body’s healthy qi, but relatively mild at inducing sweat. The porridge’s heat helps it along. The stomach is in the middle burner; the greater-yang’s yang qi replenishes the middle burner. Hot porridge rouses stomach yang, which in turn strengthens defensive yang and helps drive out pathogenic wind.”

“I see.”

“After the first serving, lie under a quilt for about two hours. That helps the defensive yang. Don’t cover yourself too heavily, though, or you’ll sweat too much. It needs to be a light sweat over the whole body, hands and feet included. Don’t feel a little dampness on your forehead, throw off the quilt and announce that you’re cured!”

He chuckled.

“But you mustn’t be drenched as though you’d been running. That would cost too much fluid and harm the healthy qi.”

“All right. I’ll remember.”

“If the first serving and a rest bring on a light sweat all over, and it continues for two hours, that’s enough. Stop taking the medicine. Don’t drink the rest just because you’re afraid of wasting it. More sweating then would do harm. We call that stopping once the treatment has reached its aim.

“But if there’s no sweat after two hours, take the second serving straight away.”

“Only two hours apart?” the man asked in surprise.

“Yes. If another two hours pass after the second without any sweating, take the third at once. Don’t delay. If there’s still none two hours later, take a fourth. Keep the intervals to no more than two hours. It’s noon now. In other words, between now and nightfall, if you haven’t sweated after each two-hour interval, you should take three servings in succession.”

“Three times in six hours? Isn’t that… rather rushed?”

“With sweating, earlier is better,” Zuo Shaoyang said with a smile. “For this sort of cold, it must be induced promptly. Pathogenic wind enters as swiftly as a sudden storm. It must be driven out while it is still at the skin and surface. Once it penetrates the sinews and vessels, or even the internal organs, it’s no longer a little cold. It can become a serious illness and be much harder to treat. That’s why, at the onset, we give substantial doses in quick succession: strike hard while the pathogen is still at the surface, before it can get deeper and cause trouble.”

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