Chapter 19: The Undelivered Baby

“Yes,” the old man said through his tears. “Please let us pass.”

“How can you know she can’t be saved unless you try?” Zuo Shaoyang pleaded. “Even a dying horse deserves a last attempt. This is a person! If there’s the slightest hope, you shouldn’t give up!”

Again their crying stopped. They looked at one another.

“Who can save my wife?” the younger man asked.

“Let me take her pulse first. I’ll see whether there’s hope, then tell you.”

His apparent confidence rekindled the elder’s hopes.

“Put her down! Let him take her pulse.”

They lowered the door and folded back half the quilt. Zuo Shaoyang crouched beside it. The woman’s face was bloodless, her eyes shut.

He took her wrist.

No pulse.

His heart sank. Then he pressed at the side of her neck. Only under firm pressure did he feel a faint beat.

Relief surged through him. A pulse—she was still alive.

He reached inside his jacket and picked a small, solid grain of musk, a dangmenzi, from the pod. Holding it between two fingers, he said firmly, “Open her mouth.”

The husband hurried to prise it open. Zuo Shaoyang placed the musk beneath her tongue, told the man to close her mouth and stood back, hands behind him, to watch.

The family stared, unable to understand what he was doing. Passers-by gathered too. His mysterious movements meant nothing to them, but with a life at stake, no one ventured a comment.

A little time passed. His own anxiety was mounting when the woman suddenly groaned and opened her eyes.

“Ah… am I… dead?”

“You’re awake!” her husband cried. “How do you feel?”

A murmur ran through the crowd. They looked at Zuo Shaoyang with new eyes.

Huimin Hall had treated her all night without success. She had fallen unconscious that morning. Every medicine had vanished without effect, like a stone ox sinking into the sea. Her pulse had weakened until even her breathing could no longer be heard. Doctor Ni had declared her beyond help and told the family to take her home and prepare for her death.

Then this young man had appeared in the street, put some unknown medicine in her mouth and brought her round in moments.

Had Heaven finally taken pity?

Musk was an important medicine for reviving consciousness, with a powerful action in opening the orifices and rousing patients from coma due to various causes. Physicians before the Tang had already used it medicinally, but chiefly for its fragrance to dispel foul influences, for sudden pain and distension in the chest and abdomen, and for difficult labour or inducing miscarriage. Its use to restore consciousness and open the orifices was not recorded until Li Shizhen’s *Compendium of Materia Medica* in the Ming.

People of this age therefore knew nothing of that effect. Nor had anyone seen what marvellous remedy he carried inside his jacket.

Yet waking her did not mean curing her. Hope had returned to the family, but the young man hardly looked like a master physician.

The elder cupped his hands.

“The person you said could save my daughter-in-law—is he your teacher?”

Zuo Shaoyang recognised the distrust in their eyes. In the modern world, one of the hardest things about practising medicine was getting patients to trust the doctor, particularly a practitioner of Chinese medicine.

Western medicine relied on modern diagnostic equipment, on findings people could see and touch. The processes and judgements involved in observation, listening and smelling, questioning and pulse examination were harder to convey. Explanations of causes and mechanisms seemed mysterious and depended more on experience.

Ordinary people accordingly tied age directly to skill. The older the physician, they believed, the better he must be. Young practitioners found few patients. That was why many doctors of Chinese medicine in the modern world grew beards and dressed conservatively: it made them look older.

Zuo Shaoyang understood. Besides, avoiding direct responsibility for the treatment would spare him still more explanations to his father.

He nodded. “My father.”

“So your teacher is your father! Where is he? Please ask him to take pity and save her.”

“He’s at our medicine shop just over there. Guizhi Hall.”

An elderly woman edged forward and whispered to the old man, “I’ve been to Guizhi Hall. The physician’s surname is Zuo. His prescriptions aren’t much good. I went because I heard his medicines were cheap, but my cough didn’t improve after days of taking them. Renshou Hall finally cured it.”

“Yes,” another old man murmured. “I’ve heard that too. Cheap medicines, but the physician’s skills…”

Quiet though they were, Zuo Shaoyang heard every word. His heart fell. They distrusted him, and now they distrusted his father. If they refused to go to Guizhi Hall, he could not treat her.

He cut in quickly.

“You don’t know that Father has a secret family formula specifically for delivering a dead baby. He sent me with that medicine just now.”

Medical knowledge passed through apprenticeship, with relatively few prescriptions publicly available. Many physicians built their place in the profession on one or two inherited remedies for particular conditions.

The group began whispering again.

Seeing them hesitate, he chose to retreat.

“If you don’t trust him, never mind. No treatment can be guaranteed. She’s critically ill. All I’ve done is wake her for the moment. Before long she’ll lose consciousness again, and by the look of her, she may not survive tonight.

“I shouldn’t have interfered. Goodbye.”

He gave the suffering woman a pitying glance, sighed and slowly turned homewards with his hands behind his back.

“Father!” her husband begged. “Let Doctor Zuo try! He has a family remedy. What if it works?”

What if. An irresistible temptation. People bought lottery tickets knowing the odds were remote, all for that tiny chance.

The others nodded. The elder hurriedly called, “Young man, wait! We’ll ask your father to treat her.”

They lifted the door.

“All right.”

Zuo Shaoyang came back, lowered his voice and adopted a mysterious air.

“But Father has an odd temper. He rarely uses this formula. If you want him to help, remember three things.”

“Tell us,” the old man said, leaning closer and lowering his voice too.

“First, be sincere. He’ll say he can’t save her, that she’s too far gone. Keep begging. Once he takes pity, he’ll act. You must persist. And don’t criticise his prescription. Simple-looking remedies can work wonders.”

Everyone knew accomplished physicians were often eccentric. In the modern world it would be called individuality. They hastily agreed.

“Second, don’t mention the words ‘secret family formula’. He particularly dislikes people knowing he has this skill. Remember that.”

Possessing a treasure could bring trouble to an innocent man. It was enough for covetous people merely to know it existed. They understood and nodded again.

“Finally… the consultation fee… well… ah, never mind. Let’s save her first! Bring her and follow me.”

He had meant to settle the fee beforehand. The chance of earning enough to spare his family eviction in three days was one important reason he had dared attempt a treatment he was not sure would work.

But bargaining like this went against medical ethics. When the words reached his lips, he could not say them.

He beckoned them towards Guizhi Hall.

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