Lady Kuo knows I was training to be a doctor, but she’s been adamant that I not pursue medicine or treat anyone. “You have one job,” she’s said on more than one occasion, “and that is to become full with child.” I don’t know what will happen if I disobey her directly, which is one reason I’ve done nothing to help Yining. The other reason is that Doctor Wong is in charge of the case. He’s an important man, I’ve told myself, and must know more than I do. But I can’t sit by any longer. Like me, Yining has lost weight and her lips grow whiter each day. Her smell is sweet—too sweet. She has a common enough childhood ailment, but it doesn’t come from a lack of food. The girl suffers from excessive love. She’s the only child of a concubine and overindulged in every way—from being dressed in silk to having every petition granted. She’s pampered with too many sweets and rich delicacies. As a result, she suffers from food damage, which has caused her digestion to cease working properly. If I can cure the dampness in her Spleen-Stomach qi deficiency, I feel sure she’ll recover quickly, and I can write to Grandmother of my success. But if something isn’t done soon, then Yining will continue to waste away until death steals her.
“When your mother-in-law is sitting, you should stand,” she recites just as Lady Kuo enters. My mother-in-law parks herself on a carved teakwood chair placed in a prominent spot in the room. She’s like the sun, and every woman and girl is arranged about her, each one leaning her head ever so subtly toward Lady Kuo’s radiant power. Fortunately, she doesn’t insist on the admonition against my sitting when we’re in this room. I suspect that in her own way she’s worried about my physical weakness but that her goodwill could change if she’s irritated by indigestion, if she sleeps too little or too much, if Maoren complains about me. “When your mother-in-law gives you an order,” Yining continues, “carry it out right away.”
“Very good.” I praise the girl, but I’m only half listening. I wonder what will happen to Yining when her mother’s face starts to show its age. Will they both be thrown out? Will Second Uncle keep the girl to raise as an amusement for the boys in the household or sell her to a Tooth Lady? Neither of these futures will come to pass if the girl dies. “Would your mama let you visit me in my room tomorrow?”
“I think so.”
“Why don’t you ask her?” I encourage.
I bet that Yining used to love to run, because even with her feet bound I sense restrained eagerness in her steps as she walks to the cluster of concubines. Second Uncle’s first concubine smiles when she sees her daughter. Her manner—even more than Yining’s pulse—is proof of my diagnosis.
While Yining implores her mother, I place my fingertips on my wrist. Grandmother has always said that only a fool is a doctor to herself, but what else can I do? I read the three levels of pulses and come to the same conclusion I did yesterday and the day before that. My qi and Blood are growing more deficient. With a sigh, I let my fingers fall back to my lap.
As the hours spool out, some women switch to painting, while others compose poetry. I’ve never been good at these pursuits. In the late afternoon, women begin to retire to their own chambers—the wives to make sure their children are fed, and each concubine to prepare in case she’s to be her master’s chosen one tonight. As soon as Lady Kuo leaves, I go to my room. Until Maoren comes for dinner, I’ll be alone.
In the mornings my thoughts go to Grandmother and our lessons. This time of day I spend with Meiling. In my mind, I transport myself back to my bedchamber in the Mansion of Golden Light. I see her before me clearly. I can smell her hair and the jasmine tea we were drinking. We are thirteen years old. She’s had her first monthly moon water; I haven’t. I’ve just listened to her read to me and watched her practice her calligraphy. Her voice was even in her reading, and her written characters showed improvement. When our secret lessons are finished, we go outside to our favorite spot—the bridge overlooking the stream in the fourth courtyard.
“There were acrobats and archers, storytellers and puppeteers,” Meiling recounts, her eyes wide as she tells me about a festival she and her mother attended to celebrate cherry-blossom season in the hills above Lake Tai.
I ask my favorite question. “What did you eat?”
“Scallion pancakes and grilled meat from a stand. So tasty!”
“What else did you do?”
“Mama and I walked to the pagoda.”
I take her hand and hold it over my heart. We stay this way in quiet companionship, listening to the trickle of water over rocks in the stream and the breeze soughing through the trees.
“It’s been a while since our last visit,” she says at last. “Are you ready for me to feed your nightmares?”
“I never have nightmares!” I protest, although her stories do make my imagination spin.
She laughs. “I’m just teasing you.” And then she begins. “A servant was found hanging from a beam in a building outside a compound not far from here.”
“Life is difficult for servants,” I say. “I bet many want to escape.”
“That’s what her master said, but what someone says and what is physically left behind can be quite different. Mama and I helped the coroner cut down the body, but not before he showed us what he found. If the servant had killed herself, the rope would have stayed in place when she dropped. Instead, the dust on the beam on either side of the rope was disturbed.”
I consider the detail. “This told you that she’d been moved after her death and her body lifted to the beam, which caused the dust to shift.”
“Correct! It turned out the family rehung the girl outside the gates to distract from what had happened inside the gates.”
Meiling and her mother studied whether the victim’s eyes were found open or closed, the hands in tight balls or loose, the tongue pressed against the teeth or protruding from the mouth.
“All this helped us to determine if the girl had indeed died from suicide, if someone had strangled her, or if there was an entirely different cause of death. What do you think occurred?”
Again, I put my mind to work…
I remember that day clearly and how each time Meiling told me a story like this, it brought me closer to her. Our minds were linked, even though we led very different lives. Perhaps this is what Grandmother wanted all along. For my intellect to be sparked, to stretch beyond the walls of a compound, and to learn to use the Four Examinations not just for medical symptoms but in all facets of life—whether in dealing with murder or suicide or in navigating the complexities of life in my husband’s home. I sigh, missing my friend with my whole heart. I’ll try writing to her again…
I sit at the table, dip the tip of the brush in ink, and bring it to the paper.
Dear Meiling,
You said you would visit me, but I have yet to be honored by your presence. Perhaps a baby now lives in your child palace, and you are staying safe at home. If this is so, I hope you are feeling well. If you are not and need anything, please send word to either Grandmother Ru or me.
I’ve written to you many times these past months, but not once have you replied. Your silence is like rain on my worries, feeding and growing them. I cannot conceive of what has happened. Have I done something to hurt or anger you? Do the worries of which you spoke on my wedding day still trouble you? If you could know—truly know—how lonely I am, you would come to me. I’m sure of it.
I’m confused. I feel myself swirling down, down, down.
I will forever be your friend, Yunxian
I reread the letter, making sure I haven’t written a character Meiling won’t recognize. Next, I write to Grandmother, telling her that I’m well—I don’t want her to be concerned about my welfare—letting her know how I’d like to treat Yining, and including a list of the ingredients I’d like her to send so I can make a formula, if I’m correct, and some extra herbs for me that won’t alert Grandmother to my condition and will confuse Lady Kuo if I’m caught.
“Poppy,” I call, “take these to Grandmother. She’ll get the letter to Meiling.”
I anticipate that Poppy will return with a note from my grandmother saying the usual things—that all is fine, that Miss Zhao has been helping her in the pharmacy, and that Yifeng is studying hard—along with the herbs I requested. But will she bring a letter from Meiling?
* * *
A husband is Heaven to his wife. I want to please Maoren. I want to make him happy. I want us to create a life that parallels all the scenes of marital bliss that are in the silk paintings and tiny carvings that surround my bed, but Maoren and I don’t spend much time together. He’s busy during the day with his tutors. Many nights he continues his studies in his library and doesn’t come to me at all. And soon Maoren will leave the compound for his final push before taking the municipal exam to become a scholar of the juren level. Although our hours together are scant, I believe in my heart that he likes me. I like him too. In time, our affection will grow, I hope, into the deep-heart love the concubines are always talking about.
Tonight, since Poppy has yet to return from her errand, I serve my husband a simple meal of a soup, duck glazed with kumquat, water spinach sautéed in ginger and garlic, and tofu with black mushrooms and pickled turnip. When I pour his wine, he touches my hand.