Chapter 18: A Dying Mother

Watching his father rage over a formula, Zuo Shaoyang found it rather funny. He considered telling him some of the famous prescriptions developed after the Tang, which he could not possibly know. But that would only raise more questions and make his lie harder to sustain.

Better to keep his mouth shut.

After a few more remarks met with silence, Zuo Gui lost interest and returned to his table without another word.

Near noon, Madam Liang gave her son two wen to buy a small bundle of firewood for cooking.

He took the coins with a bitter smile. They were so short of money that even fuel had to be bought a little at a time.

Hands tucked into his sleeves, he went to the market, where small articles were sold. Rows of firewood loads stood in the snow. Behind each, a woodcutter crouched, shivering as he waited for customers. At an approaching figure, eager eyes would rise, though no one dared step forward to solicit trade. When the passer-by moved on, the light faded.

Zuo Shaoyang asked a few prices. The loads varied: seven wen for the larger ones, three even for the smallest. He had only two. Seeing how hard it was for the men waiting in the cold, he had no heart to bargain. He walked on, looking for something smaller.

One load consisted of two enormous bundles, among the largest there, with branches as thick as a broad drinking cup. It reminded him of the dark-skinned girl with the few freckles beside her nose. Her load had been that size.

He sighed and was about to pass when a familiar scent reached him.

Faint, fresh grass. Tender spring shoots.

There could be no such scent in this wintry market. Only one explanation: the girl was nearby.

He looked about. Behind the high bundles showed a corner of an embroidered kudzu-and-hemp skirt—the same clothes she had worn when they first met.

Delighted, he patted the firewood.

“Miss!”

A head appeared from behind the load: dark skin, large shining eyes and faint freckles beside the nose.

It was her.

“Oh, it’s you! Selling firewood?”

She nodded. Her cheeks were flushed, though whether from cold or shyness he could not tell.

“How much for the load?”

“Eight wen.”

It was the first time he had heard her speak. Her voice was soft and beautifully rounded, like two clear pearls falling onto a jade dish.

“Eight?”

Inside his sleeve he squeezed his pitiful two coins. If only they could turn themselves into eight, he could buy the load and spare her this freezing wait.

She watched him. When he seemed unwilling to buy, a little disappointment entered her eyes.

Afraid she would misunderstand, he showed her the coins.

“I… well, I’ve only got two wen. Not enough for your wood.”

She smiled slightly, as if to say it did not matter.

After hesitating, he asked quietly, “Could I buy just two wen’s worth? Take a few pieces out for me?”

Still smiling, she nodded. She deftly untied the vine binding and drew out a pile of branches.

He saw that it was more than a third of the whole load—surely at least three wen’s worth.

“That’s too much! I only want two wen’s worth.”

As though she had not heard, she tied the little bundle with a thin vine and laid it before him. Then she took the two coins from his hand and gave him a radiant smile.

“Well… thank you. That’s very kind.”

He bent to lift the wood, but she stepped in first, picked it up and gently settled it on his shoulder.

He shifted beneath the weight. Even this fraction was heavy. How did that small frame bear the full load?

Smiling his thanks, he started home. He had to rest twice before he managed to get it there.

Madam Liang was delighted.

“You’ve made a good purchase, Zhong! A bundle that size should cost three or four wen!”

He smiled too, picturing those bright dark eyes and the shy smile beneath them.

After lunch, still no patients came. By evening the family were sitting in hopeless silence, staring at one another. If things went on like this until New Year’s Eve, there was no chance of finding the nine thousand wen.

Huixiang arrived towards dusk with a small bag of coarse rice. The yamen had distributed a dou to each clerk and runner for New Year, she said. Her husband had sent part of his share to her parents.

Zuo Shaoyang had not expected ancient yamen employees to receive holiday benefits. Little though it was, it was better than nothing.

His sister first asked about his injury. Learning that he was unhurt, and that last night’s illness had already passed, she relaxed and joined her mother in the kitchen.

He and his father stayed in the hall. Zuo Gui’s expression grew gloomier. Zuo Shaoyang knew he was thinking about the looming rent deadline. It had occupied his own mind all day, without producing a single useful idea.

Then came a distant sound of weeping.

It seemed familiar. Where had he heard it?

The crying drew nearer. Pedestrians outside stepped to the sides of the street, pointing and talking. Seven or eight people passed slowly, carrying a quilt-covered shape on a door.

Now he remembered. They were the people who had rushed the woman in difficult labour to Huimin Hall the previous night.

The quilt concealed everything beneath it, but their grief made its burden easy to guess.

Had she died?

His heart sank. Zuo Gui went to the entrance to watch, and he followed from behind the medicine counter.

Fresh blood still dripped onto the paving as the door went by.

His spirits leapt. If she was still bleeding, she must still be alive!

He took two steps forward to offer help, then stopped.

He was not confident he could treat a retained dead baby either. Huimin Hall’s head physician was a famous doctor from the capital, a man who had treated princes and chief ministers. If even he had failed, could a beginner succeed? And would the family trust him?

He watched helplessly as they moved away. Zuo Gui sighed deeply and went back inside.

Zuo Shaoyang was about to follow when a thought struck him.

He knew quite a few formulas for difficult labour and expelling a dead baby. Surely one of them might work. Even if he failed, that was no reason not to try. How much worse could the outcome be?

And if he let this chance pass, perhaps all that remained was to wait until New Year’s Eve and be thrown out.

The impulse seized him.

“Father, I’m going to have a look!”

Before Zuo Gui could respond, he raced out.

The group was already some way ahead. He dared not call out, but chased them along a whole street before catching up. Breathless, he stepped in front.

“Everyone! I know someone who can treat her difficult labour!”

They stopped at once. The old man leading them and a younger man beside him broke off their weeping. Seeing only a young fellow before them, however, they looked doubtful.

“What did you say?” the elder asked.

Zuo Shaoyang caught his breath.

“I was at Huimin Hall last night when you brought her in. I know the baby has died, but hasn’t been delivered, and that it’s threatening her life. Seeing you all so distressed, I suppose Huimin Hall couldn’t help. Is that right? I know someone who can!”

The old man and the younger one exchanged a look, then glanced at the men and women behind them.

An old woman sobbed, “Even Doctor Ni says there’s no hope. Who else could save her?”

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