“You must protect your daughter against drafts and dampness, because a baby’s qi is, by its nature, young and weak.” I know this, but it reassures me to hear it repeated. “Her bones are soft and not fully formed, which means you must handle her carefully. Keep the protective band tied around her belly so Wind and other venomous elements don’t enter through her healing umbilicus.”
I repeat something my grandmother taught me. “Every infant—whether a boy or a girl—is like a bubble floating on water or a wisp of cloud in the sky, easily swept away.”
Yuelan burbles, and Spinster Aunt gently rubs her tummy.
“You should start making bound-foot shoes for the girl,” she suggests.
“Her binding is still years away,” I say.
“Ah, but you must make many pairs! She’ll need new shoes for each stage of her binding.” Spinster Aunt extends a gnarled finger. “I’m going to teach you how to make a proper shoe—from mixing the paste and layering the soles to sewing on the decorative outer covers. But first, while you’re doing the month, you can start by learning embroidery skills that will elevate your standing as a wife and mother…”
My mind drifts, imagining Yuelan and me making offerings to the Tiny-Footed Maiden, imploring her to make my daughter’s feet as perfect for her future husband as mine are to Maoren. Spinster Aunt’s voice jolts me back to the present. “We’ll begin today as though you’ve never before set a needle through cloth.”
She leaves the marriage bed, hands the baby to Poppy, and returns with embroidery supplies. I prop myself up against some pillows and listen to her instructions.
“I plan to teach you how to embroider a bat to look like it’s flying.” Spinster Aunt nods to herself, pleased with the idea. “And how to make a peach look as though it’s freshly picked.”
I smile. Fu, the word for bat, sounds like good fortune. But a bat is not just a symbol of happiness and good luck, it also embodies the male principle, especially when paired with a peach, which represents the female principle. Spinster Aunt is encouraging me to begin looking forward to my next child.
An hour later, we’re still working quietly together, with Yuelan napping against my thigh, when my motherin-law enters. She stands at the entrance to my marriage bed and holds up a hand.
“You don’t need to stand,” she says. After I bow my head in thanks, she goes on. “The young midwife told me you are nearly recovered. I’m glad to see her assessment is correct.”
“My heart lifts to hear that you’ve been speaking to Shi Meiling. I hope she’s proven herself to you,” I say.
“She has, and her mother too.” Then she makes a brusque announcement. “At Doctor Wong’s suggestion, we will begin to use them to care for the pregnant and laboring women in the Garden of Fragrant Delights.”
Which means Meiling and her mother will become regular visitors. I brighten at the news.
“However, the fact remains that a friendship between the two of you cannot be allowed.” Lady Kuo turns her gaze to Spinster Aunt. “Since Yunxian is doing so well and you have so much experience, you can finish seeing her through doing the month.” Before I can object, Lady Kuo addresses me directly. “There will be no arguments. I gave you this temporary gift, and you should be grateful. Now you will turn your gratitude to Spinster Aunt. She is fully capable of tending to you now that your bleeding has ended.”
Later, Spinster Aunt shows yet another side of herself when she comforts me as I cry. Meiling and I haven’t even been given a chance to say goodbye to each other.
* * *
Three days later, on Yuelan’s sixteenth day of breathing the air of this world, I’m awakened by her birdlike cries. Poppy brings her to me, and I open my gown so my baby can nurse. When she latches on and my milk lets down, I suddenly start to shiver. By the time she’s finished with my first breast, my temperature has shifted and I’m sweating. I have a moment of panic, thinking I might be developing infant-cord rigidity, but my back is fine, my jaw remains loose, and I haven’t been attacked by convulsions.
When the baby’s done nursing, I have a desire to get up and walk with her as I burp her. It’s my first time out of my marriage bed since my labor began. I feel surprisingly weak. Again, heat rises in me, and I begin to sweat so fast and so much that the room swims around me. I quickly give Yuelan to Poppy and stumble back to the bed.
“You’re supposed to stay in bed when you do the month,” Poppy chastises me as though I’m still a little girl.
I start to shiver. “I think something’s wrong,” I say. “Can you get Spinster Aunt?”
Poppy nestles Yuelan in the crook of my arm and then runs from the room. She returns a few minutes later. “Miss Chen’s baby is coming. Spinster Aunt is with her.”
I lift my head off the pillow, momentarily filled with hope. “Did Midwife Shi come? Is Meiling here?”
“Midwife Shi is with Miss Chen. Meiling is delivering a baby—by herself—in another part of Wuxi.”
“By herself,” I echo. This is Meiling’s first time to catch a baby unsupervised. I’m proud of my friend and happy for her, but I wish she were here. “Let me know what’s happening with Miss Chen. After her baby is born, ask Spinster Aunt or Midwife Shi to visit me.”
“Doctor Wong is here—”
“I would prefer to talk to a woman.”
All day I wait. I can’t eat, and I don’t want to drink. I feel my qi ebbing. I’m a doctor. I should do something. But I feel too awful to think properly. I drift in and out of sleep. Poppy has to shake me awake to feed my baby. While Yuelan sucks, I try to do the Four Examinations on myself. Fever, chills, lack of appetite… I give Yuelan back to Poppy and immediately I fall back asleep.
The crackling sounds of firecrackers jolt me awake. I hear cymbals, drums, and raucous cries too. Poppy hovers above me. “Miss Chen had her baby. It’s a son. Master Yang is joyous. He’s named the child Manzi. The entire household is celebrating.”
I’m pommeled by dark thoughts. This son of Miss Chen’s… What will Manzi’s presence mean? Will my motherin-law claim him as a ritual son? If so—and in my fevered state I can’t be sure—I think this would mean that he’d be next in the line of succession should something unforetold happen to Maoren. And my condition is worsening, but everyone is occupied elsewhere.
Spinster Aunt visits in the early evening. I should tell her how I’m feeling, but she’s so subdued I’m afraid to trouble her. If I were feeling better, I’d inquire about Miss Chen’s labor and delivery, but I don’t. Spinster Aunt volunteers nothing about it either, although in ordinary circumstances she might have revealed that the concubine hollered about the unfairness of her fate, cried that her childbirth gate might never resume the happy state that once captivated Master Yang, or—and this is the worst in my imaginings—that she rejoiced at bringing a son into the world when I only gave birth to a daughter.
“You don’t seem yourself tonight,” I manage to say. “Can I have Poppy pour you a cup of tea? Would you care for some watermelon seeds? I know they’re your favorite.”
“Don’t worry about me,” she replies. “This is a time when all concern should be directed to you.”
Except that she seems oblivious to my physical state. This tells me her mind is truly troubled. Ignoring my own symptoms, I reach inside myself to see if I can help her.
“You’ve done so much for me,” I say. “Is there something I can do for you?”
Keeping her eyes down, she worries the edge of her tunic.
I force myself to ask, “Did something happen during Miss Chen’s labor?”
Spinster Aunt’s eyes flash for a moment, but all she will say is “Finish doing the month, and then we’ll talk.”
I attempt two more times to get her to reveal what’s bothering her, but she evades my questions. I don’t feel well enough to keep trying, and I don’t want to trouble her by confiding how bad I’m feeling. For her part, she’s too distracted by whatever is bothering her to notice that something is wrong with me.
After a few more minutes, she slowly rises. “I’ll come tomorrow.”
The next morning, I open my eyes early enough that Poppy is still asleep in the first antechamber of my marriage bed. The light coming through the shuttered windows is muted, telling me the sun has not yet risen. I’m neither hot nor cold, which is good. I shift on the mattress. I feel wetness between my legs. I pull back the bed linens and find them stained with blood. It’s too soon after Yuelan’s birth for the first arrival of monthly moon water, and it’s too late after the birth for it to be noxious dew. I shouldn’t get up. I shouldn’t walk. But I need to find padding.