“Sit with me tonight,” he says. “Let me feed you.”
It’s hardly proper. Wives don’t eat with their husbands, but no one is here to see what we’re doing. He uses his chopsticks to lift a sliver of duck. With his other hand cupped beneath the morsel, he guides it to my mouth. The way he watches me chew causes my cheeks to flush, which seems to please him even more. I’m equally fascinated by him: the precision with which he picks up a slice of mushroom, the gentleness with which he places it between my lips, the look in his eyes as he takes in my features. He’s the first man, apart from my father and grandfather, with whom I’ve spent time alone; I suspect—but can’t be sure—that I’m the first woman with whom Maoren has enjoyed the luxury of soaking in every mark of beauty and every flaw. When we’re like this, I feel more exposed than when we’re naked together.
Poppy returns in time to clear the dishes. When Maoren disappears into my marriage bed, she gives me a letter and a packet from Grandmother, which I tuck in a drawer. Then she removes the layers of my daywear, holds up my favorite silk sleeping gown for me to slip my arms into, and then ties the sash loosely at my hip. Last, Poppy helps me change into a pair of bound-foot slippers on which I’ve embroidered lilies in bloom. Poppy leads me to the bed, supporting me as I step into the first antechamber. As I cross through the dressing room, Poppy reaches in to place a lantern on the bench.
“I’ll be right here, Little Miss,” she says with a bow. By the time I’m under the quilts with Maoren, Poppy has rolled out her bedding in the first antechamber and lain down. I do not know—nor do I want to know—what she thinks of the sounds Maoren and I make as we begin to perform bedchamber affairs.
He takes one of my feet in the palm of his hand. He caresses the silk. He admires the embroidery, saying, “When I see the beautiful petals you stitched, I’m reminded that in every step you take your golden lilies bloom beneath you.” He brings my slippered foot to his nose so he can appreciate its aroma. But mostly it’s as I’ve always been told. My feet are physical proof of the pain I suffered to give him this treasure so dear to him. He’ll never see them naked, but he knows from the books that taught him about bedroom affairs that hidden beneath the binding cloth is the deep cleft formed where my toes meet my heel. I could not have known this when Respectful Lady told me about the importance of this attribute when I was a girl, but now I understand that the shape and depth of this fissure are titillating to my husband.
I have not yet needed to twist myself into the strange positions I saw in the books Miss Zhao showed me before marriage, but Maoren must have seen or read some of those same volumes, because he’s attentive to my desires and makes sure I find pleasure. Afterward, as we lie curled together, our Blood and Essence mingled, I have the courage to ask, “Would you allow me to invite my friend Meiling for a visit?”
He answers as he always does—with patience and the exact same words: “That is for my mother to decide.”
Tonight, I press him further. “I miss sharing confidences with Meiling. For many years, our hearts beat together as one.”
“My mother would say that now your heart should only beat with mine,” he says sympathetically. After a moment, he adds, “But I will speak to her.”
* * *
The next morning, I complete all the usual rituals for my mother-in-law and then return to my room. I take the package Poppy brought to me from my drawer. Grandmother has written a short note: You are correct in your diagnosis and plan for treatment. Proceed.
I mix the ingredients and set the pot on the brazier to brew. The medicinal smell that fills the room instantly carries me to my grandparents’ pharmacy. The aroma both lightens and deepens my homesickness. I return my attention to the other items I requested from Grandmother. By the time Yining enters, I have everything ready.
“I want to share a secret with you,” I say. “I’m a young doctor.”
She giggles. “That’s not a secret. Everyone knows.”
This must mean Lady Kuo has forbidden others to talk to me about this or seek my help. That makes me nervous, but I won’t be deterred. Yining will benefit from my medicine.
“I plan to attack your illness from different directions,” I tell her. “First I’d like to do moxibustion. Do you know what this is?” When she shakes her head, I hold up a small cone made from pressed ground mugwort. “I’m going to place these on your body and burn them.”
Her eyes widen.
“I promise moxibustion doesn’t hurt,” I say, but she remains unconvinced. To soothe her, I add, “I only want what’s best for you.”
I take her to the kang I use during the day for lounging and reading. She sheds her tunic and lies on her stomach. I place five cones on spots on her back known to help with digestive disorders and light them as I would incense. A new, and to me familiarly wonderful, aroma now blends with that of the remedy percolating on the brazier.
“Are you all right, Yining?”
“It feels warm…”
“That warmth is opening meridians that will stimulate your qi.”
She rests quietly as the cones burn down. Before they reach her skin, I pluck them off and place the remains on a saucer. She sits up and puts on her tunic. I give her Pills to Preserve Harmony, which are made from seven ingredients. Of these, three are the most beneficial in this situation. Poria, an herb thought to be in union with the pine tree, will tranquilize Yining’s heart and pacify her restless spirit. The fruit of the forsythia will dispel Heat, remove toxins, and disperse the accumulations that have so plagued her. The essence of radish seeds will promote Yining’s digestion and strengthen her stomach.
“You’re going to feel better soon,” I assure her, “and your constant visits to the honeypot will end.”
Just as the girl swallows the pills, the door flings open. Lady Kuo enters. Her arms are folded across her body with her hands hidden up her sleeves—the model of calm and decorum—but her expression is as wily as that of a fox that’s cornered a rabbit. Poppy comes in behind her and drops to the floor in a position of absolute and total obeisance.
“What is that stink?” Lady Kuo demands.
“I’m making a remedy for myself,” I answer, rising from the kang and bowing my head in respect.
“Doctor Wong takes care of the women in this household. He is a brilliant man—the first in his family to become a physician. Even if he wasn’t the Yang family physician, I would never allow a daughter-in-law, especially one as young and inexperienced as you, to make her own medicine.”
“But my grandmother taught—”
“Stop speaking! In this household you are a daughter-in-law, not a doctor. Do you understand?”
I don’t, because I thought my skills were among the attributes that made me a good prospect as a wife for her son, but I nod anyway.
In the silence, Lady Kuo takes in Yining. “I heard you were here. I came to see for myself.”
Yining is an insignificant child so has probably never been addressed by Lady Kuo. Still, as the daughter of a concubine, Yining understands her lowly place and the importance of keeping secrets.
“I like to visit Auntie. She’s been helping me with my lessons.” She answers so smoothly that she’s almost believable. Almost…
When Lady Kuo sees the remains of the moxibustion on the saucer, her cheeks go ten shades darker. To Yining, she says, “Get out.” Once the girl leaves, my mother-in-law focuses on me. “You treated a child?” When I don’t respond, her eyes narrow as she continues to scrutinize me. “And you treated her without asking her mother?”
“I didn’t ask the concubine directly. No.”
Lady Kuo’s breath flows through her teeth. She could beat me. She could deprive me of the privilege of leaving this room.
“You should know,” she says as she seems to regain control, “that I did not come solely to see if what the gossips said was true.”
She slowly pulls her right hand out from her left sleeve. She holds a packet of letters. I recognize them as the missives I’ve written to Meiling during the months I’ve been here. Seeing them, my vision goes black, and my legs begin to tremble.
“Your maid has been bringing them to me,” Lady Kuo says, putting into words the only possible explanation.
From the floor, Poppy weeps her misery.
“I didn’t think I would ever have to show them to you, and eventually you would stop writing them,” Lady Kuo continues. “But today you left me no choice. You need to learn the ways of this household. You will never again use my son to supplicate on your behalf. Furthermore, a midwife is not the kind of person to be a friend to my son’s wife. This is even worse than a wife using her husband to beg or a wife trying to practice medicine. You will not write to the midwife again. Do you understand?”