I address Yuelan and Chunlan. “Pay attention during your lessons with Grandmother Kuo, but make sure you find times to get Ailan up and walking.” I hold up a hand to prevent any words of resistance. “Yes, it will hurt her. Yes, she will cry. But you are good sisters, and this gift you give Ailan will be something she’ll carry with her forever.” After a pause, I add, “In the afternoon, take her to the courtyard. She likes that.”
The sun is still rising in the sky when I go to the front gate. The guard lifts the latch, I step over the threshold, and walk to where a palanquin and my bearers wait for me. My life is still mostly limited to the four walls of the Garden of Fragrant Delights. I have yet to go to the marketplace, let alone the Dragon Boat Festival. My grandmother’s reason for not allowing the wives and daughters of the Mansion of Golden Light to attend the festival was tied to her position as a doctor. She felt that being a physician pushed the boundaries of what was proper for a woman. Lady Kuo has a different reason. “Let the concubines go,” she says every year. “Tonight, when your husbands come home, take advantage of all they’ve felt during the day to unite Essence and Blood. Another son is the best reward for remaining inside the gate.” So for me every trip outside the gate is an opportunity. At this time of year, when the weather is fair, only gauze covers the palanquin’s windows, which allows me to see a filtered view of the town. Today the walkways are quiet.
When I arrive at the Mansion of Golden Light, I go straight to the pharmacy, where I find my grandparents seated at a table waiting for me. “Yunxian, welcome,” Grandfather calls out. He recently turned eighty. His hair and beard have thinned and gone fully white. He motions for me to sit, and Grandmother pours tea. I inquire after their health, to which Grandfather responds, “We both are well.” He takes a noisy sip from his cup and smiles appreciatively. “Tell us what you learned this week.”
“I’ve been reading old texts about cases and medical theory,” I answer.
“Which ones?” Grandmother inquires. She’ll reach seventy-six on her next birthday. Her hair has been slower to change than Grandfather’s, but streaks of gray run through it. “What can you tell us?”
And so begins an hour of instruction and discussion, including reviewing the small cases I treated this month in the Yang family compound: the concubine who complained of recurrent nosebleeds and headaches—conditions that, while mild, are dangerous for a woman who must rely on her beauty and health to protect her position; one of the old aunties asked for something to relieve pain in her hip; an eye infection that threatened to spread to all the children in the inner chambers but that I stopped at just three cases.
After the hour is done, Grandfather removes himself.
“Let me feel your pulse,” Grandmother says, reaching for my right arm, taking my wrist in her hand, and letting her fingertips alight on the first level of my pulses.
“This isn’t necessary,” I say, gently, trying to pull free.
She doesn’t let go. “I continue to worry about you.”
“Grandmother, every mother gets tired.”
“You have a long history of illness. You got sick when you first came to live here and then again when you moved to your husband’s home.” She pauses. “You nearly died after Yuelan’s birth. Weakness that comes from something like that never leaves entirely.”
“My second and third pregnancies and births were uneventful,” I say.
“Because you had Meiling and me to look after you,” she points out as she presses a bit harder on my wrist to reach the second level of my pulses. “Some women have weakness in the Liver, which, when stagnant, can result in the disharmony of the qi that presents itself as aches, pains, frustration, and moodiness. Others are born with weakness in the Kidney, which can release feelings of not wanting or being able to do certain things, of wishing to stay in bed all day, in the dark—”
“Grandmother—”
“You must always be cautious, because, as a Snake, you are prone to these sorts of imbalances.” Her fingers seek the third level of pulses. “A Snake is easily stressed. A Snake is susceptible to sicknesses of the mind. A Snake doesn’t like to eat.”
“I’ve been eating—”
“But have you been eating enough?” She doesn’t wait for me to reply. “Snakes appear beautiful on the outside, but they have flimsy souls.” She pauses. “What happened after Yuelan’s birth cannot be allowed to happen again.”
I smile to reassure her. “So what did my pulse tell you today? Was it floating, slippery, knotted, scattered, hidden—”
“Are you going to recite the twenty-eight types of pulses?” Grandmother bristles, finally dropping my wrist.
“If you want me to.”
“It’s enough for you to know I’m concerned.” With that, she changes the subject. “Your brother is well. Yifeng’s wife is pregnant again. Four sons in six years… The household is noisy with their mischievousness.”
“The Tan family line is assured,” I say.
“True, although it is a shame that your father’s wife has not given him children.”
“He’s always traveling.” I don’t know why I feel compelled to make excuses for my father, a man I haven’t seen since he triumphed in the imperial exams.
“That makes no difference!” Grandmother snaps. “This Respectful Lady sojourns with him.”
Yes, this wife’s experience is far different than what I have with my husband. “My father must care for her very deeply to keep her so close.”
Grandmother sniffs. As much as I love her, she is a mother-in-law. She’ll never be satisfied with her daughter-in-law.
“Tell me more about Yifeng,” I say. “Are his studies progressing?”
“He hopes to take the next level of examinations in two years. He will surely do well.”
I inquire after Grandfather’s three Jade concubines—all fine—and Miss Zhao, whom my father has kept within the family so as not to cause Yifeng consternation—also fine.
Inky brings two bowls of soup noodles and more hot water for tea. After lunch, Grandmother tests me on the properties of herbs and other ingredients. She presents hypothetical cases and asks what course of treatment I would employ.
“A woman has a rapid pulse—”
“A sign of Heat—”
“She’s also experiencing shortness of breath. Her complexion is red, and her body is puffy. She has no desire for food, and her tongue is pale and moist but swollen. Even though she wears a padded jacket, she can’t stop shivering. None of this would suggest Heat.”
“In this case, the rapid pulse, which ordinarily would tell of a Heat disorder, is a manifestation of extreme weakness. The patient is suffering from a Cold yin disharmony.”
“Good,” Grandmother says. She proceeds to present patients with three different types of coughs. “What does the sound of a furious cough emerging without warning tell you?”
“That would be a sign of Excess.”
“A rasping cough, calling to mind desert sands?”
“Heat. Maybe Dryness.”
“And a cough that is feeble and rattles wetly?”
“Deficiency.”
And on it goes. My mind stretches to find the answers, knowing that in our medicine there are multiple ways to arrive at diagnosis and treatment. Two hours later, the inside of my skull feels as thick and heavy as rice porridge.
“Every year your knowledge and understanding grow,” Grandmother compliments me, signaling the end of our session.
“But will I ever know enough? Will I ever be as skilled as you?”
“Never, and never!” Then she laughs. “I’m still learning! I suspect I’ll still be learning on my deathbed.”
This is something I refuse to contemplate.
“When was the last time you read Lao Tzu?” she asks.
“I don’t remember.”
“Read him again before you come next month. Be prepared to talk about his ideas about balance and harmony.” She begins to recite. “Being and non-being produce each other. Difficult and easy complete each other—”
“Long and short contrast each other,” I continue. “High and low distinguish each other.”
“In life and in medicine, we always return to harmony and disharmony.” Grandmother’s eyes shine as she adds, “Yin and yang are always in movement—buoying and changing each other.”
It’s now late afternoon, and I still have another stop to make. Grandmother tries to get me to stay. “Come with me to the inner chambers. Everyone would love to see you, Miss Zhao especially.”
I smile. “I’d like to visit with her too, but Meiling waits for me. Please give Miss Zhao my best regards and tell her I’ll see her next time.”