She is my mother-in-law, which leaves me only one response. “Yes, Lady Kuo.”
With that, she turns and leaves. I stare at Poppy on the floor. It’s devastating to know she betrayed me. I tighten my grip on the back of the chair. I want to scream. I want to cry.
“Poppy,” I manage to say. “Get up. I need you to fetch…” My mind is so clouded by emotions that I can’t think of a single thing that will help except to have her out of my sight. “Just go.”
As soon as she’s out of the room, the black wooziness returns. I sit. I put my elbows on the table and my forehead in my palms. I’ve lost Meiling, and I won’t be able to do the one thing I’m good at?
Still unsteady, I go to the shelf where I keep my books and other papers. I find an empty notebook and return to my writing table. I stare at the first blank page, hesitating. I think of my grandmother and the form and structure she uses when recording her cases. Then I begin to write:
A girl eight years old from an elite family suffered from…
When I’m done, I take the notebook to my bed, edge across the mattress to the far side, wiggle the loose panel free, tuck the notebook in with my mother’s shoes, and then secure the panel back in position. A wedge has been placed between my husband and me. I have been betrayed by Poppy. I am without friends, and I am ailing. My mother-in-law has forbidden me to write to Meiling or help the women and girls in the household. I can survive most of these blows, but I will not give up who and what I am—even if that means hiding my actions by practicing medicine in secret.
Go Back Home
“How lucky we are to live during the age of the Great Ming,” Miss Chen, Master Yang’s concubine, comments. “Our country suffered through centuries of Mongol rule, but Zhu Yuanzhang drove them out, and became the first Ming emperor. Even the word itself—ming—tells of light, brightness, and the radiance of virtue. May the first hundred years of the Great Ming continue for a thousand years and gloriously on to the end of time.”
I’m across the room, reclining on a kang, feeling so tired I could doze off, though it’s morning still. I force myself to a sitting position and pick up my embroidery. I send my needle down through the silk, pull it up and through the cloth, and drag the fuchsia-colored thread along the edge of my flower-petal design. I pretend not to listen, but my ears strain to hear the conversation between the concubines, who know so much more about the outer world than wives ever will.
“The first Ming emperor asked the populace to embrace Chinese ways once again. Men have gone back to wearing traditional Han dynasty styles, while women like us”—Miss Chen’s hand flows through the air from her hair ornaments to her gown, her fingers trailing like silk gauze lifted by a breeze—“dress in styles that call to mind the elegance of centuries past.”
Lady Kuo speaks from her circle of wives. “Life is not just about gowns and jewelry. We are fortunate not to know war—”
“Yes, we have relative peace,” the concubine interrupts as she stretches toward a platter of dried fruit and nuts that have been painstakingly arranged into a pattern of butterfly wings. She pops a melon seed in her mouth, spits out the shell, and looks from face to face to confirm that cutting off my motherin-law has escaped no one’s notice.
“My husband has told me of marauders from the north,” Lady Kuo says, proving that Master Yang confides news of the world to her as well. “We can be grateful that the Hongzhi emperor continues construction on the Great Wall to keep out barbarians.”
The conversation, which is taking an increasingly competitive turn, is suddenly interrupted by squealing laughter.
“Yining!” Second Uncle’s first concubine calls out sharply. “Quiet!”
“Yes, Mama,” the girl answers obediently, but she can barely contain her exuberance. She’s become the child I suspected she might be—full of sass and giggles. It will be a matter of only minutes before her boisterous ways get the better of her again. For now, though, the exchange between the concubine and her daughter has brought an end to what could have turned into another quarrel between Lady Kuo and Miss Chen. Oh, but I wish they’d continue their bickering, since the events of which they speak—though far removed from my life—are interesting to me.
I return to my embroidery. At one time different women tried to lure me into their particular circles—every person here wanting to gain strategic advantage—but ever since the incident three months ago with Yining and my letters to Meiling, I’m so clearly an irritant to my motherin-law that I should be avoided at all costs. Should be avoided is not the same as avoiding, however. Several women have noticed Yining’s recovery, while my motherin-law does a good job of pretending not to see any difference in the girl’s health. As Grandmother predicted, once others saw my skill, a couple of wives and concubines have quietly sought advice on how to treat the ailments that strike their children, and Spinster Aunt has asked what to do about her insomnia. For any and all these requests, I write to Grandmother first with my ideas for treatment. And I continue to be careful—very careful—not to get caught.
I’m getting by even as I continue to be lonely. Late at night, when my husband is asleep or if he’s returned to his library to study, I like to stand by an open window to pass the solitary hours. I’ve learned to recognize the singing voices of individual concubines, the honeyed tones insinuating themselves through the courtyards. Now, when one of those women approaches me during the day, I have a face to put to the voice. I’m still not fully myself, but I have recovered from what ailed me when I first arrived, although I have new symptoms, all of which have gone unnoticed by the wives and concubines. Sometimes we see only what we want to see and what will serve our own purposes.
Second Uncle’s first concubine drifts across the room toward me. “May I sit?”
“Yes, of course.”
“I’m pleased with how well Yining is doing,” she says. “And I’ve continued to follow your advice about her diet, but what shall I do about her unruliness?”
I smile. “Her Blood is vigorous at this moment. It will settle in time.” I put a reassuring hand on the concubine’s sleeve. “Later, when she’s older, it will return again. With so much vitality, she and her husband will easily produce an heir.”
“Hmmm…”
It’s then I realize she hasn’t come to speak about Yining. My suspicion is confirmed when she glances in the direction of the circle of concubines before asking, “Miss Chen is also demonstrating boisterous Blood, wouldn’t you say?” She pauses. Then, “She would like you to confirm her condition.”
I assume Miss Chen thinks she’s pregnant. I can understand why she wouldn’t want to tell Lady Kuo, because the news might not be met with good cheer.
“Perhaps Miss Chen would like to join me this afternoon for tea,” I suggest.
“She would be forever grateful.”
Later that day, after my motherin-law leaves to review the number of bags of grain and other foodstuffs in the storage room, I retire to my room. It’s not long before Miss Chen arrives. She has the same pale look that I see when I gaze in the mirror.
“May I feel your pulse?” I ask. She wordlessly extends her arm. My fingertips seek an answer for her. Once I have it, I release her wrist. “I was looking for what we call striking yin and salient yang. This occurs when the pulse thrums against my fingertips. These two unique features tell me that Blood and Essence have successfully combined. You are with child.”
Miss Chen blinks. “What should I do?”
“Your first responsibility is to tell Lady Kuo.” When Miss Chen hesitates, I ask, “Would you like me to go with you?”
She’s a smart one, and I can see her weighing what my offer might mean. From her perspective, she came to me, which is bound to upset Lady Kuo. I also gave the concubine a diagnosis when Lady Kuo has explicitly ordered me not to use my medical skills. Of the two of us, Miss Chen must think Lady Kuo’s anger will fall on me, because she says, “I would be honored and grateful for you to accompany me.”
Early the next morning, Miss Chen meets me outside my room so we can go together to Lady Kuo’s chambers. My motherin-law tries to hide her surprise when the two of us enter, but she remains silent as I pour her tea. Then I position myself next to Miss Chen. The concubine tucks her hands up her sleeves, and I do the same, so we look like a pair of matching puppets.
“Miss Chen would like you to know that a resident is dwelling in her child palace,” I announce. My motherin-law flushes. I suspect she’s angry. Before she can start to yell, I add news of my own. “I too am with child.”
Lady Kuo startles. “You’re full with child?” She gives me a flinty look. “How do you know?”
“I have not had my monthly moon water in three months.”
“Three months!” She flushes another shade darker. “And you’re only just telling me?”