Lady Tan's Circle of Women
Lisa See
AUTHOR’S NOTE
This story begins in 1469, in the fifth year of the Chenghua emperor’s reign, when Tan Yunxian was eight years old. The title of her book has been translated different ways: The Sayings of a Woman Doctor, Miscellaneous Records of a Female Doctor, and The Comments of a Female Physician.
I’ve adhered to the English-language tradition of capitalizing certain words related to Chinese medicine that have a different semantic meaning than their lowercase equivalents, such as Blood and blood. The first system to transcribe Chinese into the Roman alphabet was created by Matteo Ricci and Michele Ruggieri between 1583 and 1588, long after the events in this novel. That being the case, I’ve used the Pinyin system of transliteration for Chinese words, which was adopted by the People’s Republic of China in 1979 and adopted internationally in 1982.
Last, you may be unfamiliar with the traditions of Chinese medicine—and I’m not here to advocate for or against them—but I hope you’ll bear in mind the larger picture of the world when the story takes place. Columbus didn’t lay sight on the Americas until thirty-one years after Tan Yunxian’s birth, while the English settlement of Jamestown wasn’t founded until fifty-one years after her death. The western tradition of medicine at the time of Tan Yunxian’s practice explained sickness as either an imbalance or a corruption of the four humors—blood, phlegm, yellow bile, and black bile, which were thought to be the principal liquids of the body—or retribution for sins committed by the patient. Most western medicines were created out of alcohol and herbs, and bloodletting with leeches was the norm.
PREFACE TO MISCELLANEOUS RECORDS OF A FEMALE DOCTOR
Our ancient land has birthed many famous doctors, some of whom were female. It is the honor of our family lineage that my cousin Lady Tan Yunxian has produced a book of heart-mind lifesaving cases. The great physician Sun Simiao wrote, “Women are ten times more difficult to treat than a man.” This is not just a matter of yin and yang or of the outside world of men and the inner chambers where women reside. It is because women become pregnant, give birth, and endure monthly loss of blood. They also suffer from having different temperaments and emotions than men. My cousin has excelled at treating women because she has shared in the losses and joys of what it means to be a female on this earth.
Ru Luan Metropolitan Graduate with Honors by Imperial Order Grand Master for Court Precedence Manager of the Royal Lancers
PART I
MILK DAYS
The Fifth Year of the Chenghua Emperor’s Reign
(1469)
To Live Is…
“A thousand years in the past, a thousand years in the future—no matter where you live or how rich or poor you are—the four phases of a woman’s life are the same,” Respectful Lady says. “You are a little girl, so you are still in milk days. When you turn fifteen, you will enter hair-pinning days. The way we style your hair will announce to the world that you are ready for marriage.” She smiles at me. “Tell me, Daughter, what comes next?”
“Rice-and-salt days,” I answer dutifully, but my mind wanders. My mother and I sit together on porcelain stools under a covered colonnade in our home’s courtyard. It’s monsoon season, so the sliver of sky I can see is heavy with clouds, making the air feel humid, suffocating. Two miniature orange trees grow side by side in matching pots. Other containers hold cymbidiums, their stalks drooping under the weight of the blossoms. Rain is coming, but until then, birds titter in the gingko tree that provides a touch of coolness on the summer day, and I can smell the sea—something I’ve only seen in paintings. The fragrance doesn’t, however, cover the unpleasant odor coming from Respectful Lady’s bound feet.
“Your thoughts are elsewhere.” Her voice sounds as frail as her body looks. “You must pay attention.” She reaches over and takes one of my hands. “Are you having pain today?” When I nod, she says, “The memories of the agony you felt during your footbinding will never leave completely. There will be days from now until you die when the anguish will visit—if you’ve stood too long or walked too far, if the weather is about to change, if you don’t take proper care of your feet.” She squeezes my hand sympathetically. “When they throb or smart, remind yourself that one day your suffering will be proof to your husband of your love. Focusing on something else will distract you from the pain.”
My mother is wise, which is why everyone in the household, including my brother, Yifeng, and I, calls her Respectful Lady, the honorary title she carries as the wife of someone with my father’s high rank. But if she can tell I’m distracted, then I can see she is too. The sound of a woman singing reaches us. Miss Zhao, my father’s concubine, must be entertaining my father and his guests.
“You know how to concentrate… when you want to,” my mother goes on at last. “This ability—to be fully absorbed—is what saves us.” She pauses for a moment as male laughter—my father’s voice distinct in the appreciative choir—swirls around us like a fog. Then she asks, “Shall we continue?”
I take a breath. “Rice-and-salt days are the most important years in a woman’s life. They are when I will be busy with wife and mother duties—”
“As I am now.” Respectful Lady gracefully tips her head, setting the gold and jade ornaments that hang from her bun to tinkle softly. How pale she is, how elegant. “Each day should begin early. I rise before dawn, cleanse my face, rinse my mouth with fragrant tea, attend to my feet, and fix my hair and makeup. Then I go to the kitchen to make sure the servants have lit the fire and begun the morning meal.”
She releases my hand and sighs, as though exhausted by the effort of getting so many words to leave her mouth. She takes a deep breath before continuing. “Memorizing these responsibilities is central to your education, but you can also learn by observing as I supervise the chores that must be done each day: bringing in fuel and water, sending a big-footed servant girl to the market, making sure clothes—including those of Miss Zhao—are washed, and so many other things that are essential to managing a household. Now, what else?”
She’s been teaching me like this for four years already, and I know the answer she likes me to give. “Learning to embroider, play the zither, and memorize sayings from Analects for Women—”
“And other texts too, so that by the time you go to your husband’s home, you will have an understanding of all you must do and all you must avoid.” She shifts on her stool. “Eventually, you will reach the time of sitting quietly. Do you know what this means?”
Maybe it’s because I’m feeling physical pain, but the thought of the sadness and loneliness of sitting quietly causes tears to well in my eyes. “This will come when I can no longer bring children into the world—”
“And extends into widowhood. You will be the one who has not died, waiting for death to reunite you with your husband. This is—”
A maid arrives with a tray of snacks, so my mother and I can continue our studies through lunch without a break. Two hours later, Respectful Lady asks me to repeat the rules we’ve covered.
“When walking, don’t turn my head,” I recite without protest. “When talking, don’t open my mouth wide. When standing, don’t rustle my skirts. When happy, don’t rejoice with loud laughter. When angry, never raise my voice. I will bury all desire to venture beyond the inner chambers. Those rooms are for women alone.”
“Very good,” Respectful Lady praises me. “Always remember your place in the world. If you follow these rules, you will establish yourself as a true and proper human being.” She closes her eyes. She’s hurting too. Only she’s too much of a lady to speak of it.
A squeal from my little brother interrupts our shared moment. Yifeng runs across the courtyard. His mother, Miss Zhao—free of her performing duties—glides behind him. Her feet are also bound, and her steps are so small they give the impression she’s floating like…
“Like a ghost,” my mother whispers as though she’s read my thoughts.
Yifeng flings himself at my mother, buries his face in her lap, and giggles. Miss Zhao may be his mother by birth, but Respectful Lady not only is his ritual mother but has formally adopted him as her son. This means Yifeng will make offerings and perform all the rites and ceremonies after my mother and our father become ancestors in the Afterworld.
My mother pulls Yifeng onto her lap, brushing the bottoms of his shoes so the soles leave no dirt or dust on her silk gown.
“That is all, Miss Zhao.”