“May I listen to your pulse?” I ask. I’ve been studying medicine and treating women for years now. I feel confident, but I take my time, palpating to reach the three levels on both her wrists. Her pulse is as I expect. Thin, like fine thread, yet distinct and clear. I mull over her symptoms—the constant spotting, especially—and possibilities for treatment, knowing I can never ask Grandmother’s advice on this case.
“You’re suffering from Spleen qi deficiency and injured Kidney yin caused by taxation from toil,” I offer. “This type of deep fatigue can come from too much work or from extreme mental doings like studying too hard.”
“I sleep—”
“A single night of sleep will not allow your body to catch up. Taxation from toil is deep. Look what it has already done to you. If I write you a prescription, will you be able to fill it?”
“Oriole can go where she wants,” Meiling answers on behalf of the brickmaker.
“Then here is what I would like you to do. First, please have the herbalist make you a Decoction to Supplement the Center and Boost Qi.” I don’t know if any of this will matter to Oriole, but I take the time to explain anyway. “This is a classic remedy from a book called Profound Formulas. My grandmother says she has the last copy in existence.” Oriole’s eyes widen as she absorbs this information. “The most important ingredient is one that we women rely on. Astragalus will help your fatigue and Blood prostration. I’m adding my own ideas to your prescription. Skullcap root purges Fire and inflammation. Nut grass rhizome not only has cooling properties, but it is well known to help with moon-water problems, weight loss, and sleep disorders. Japanese thistle is one of the best substances to stop runaway bleeding.”
“Will it be expensive?” Oriole asks.
“There are no extraordinary ingredients here,” I answer.
“You will be fine,” Meiling adds soothingly.
“When you’ve finished this remedy, I want you to take Pill to Greatly Supplement Yin,” I go on. “It includes among its many ingredients freshwater turtle shell and cork-tree bark.”
“And I’ll get better?”
“You will,” I answer. “I’ll send Young Midwife to make sure you’re recovering. If you have other problems, she will bring me here.”
I make this offer because I’m confident enough in my treatment plan to be sure I won’t need to return. The pill is one I’ve used before. While it’s known to quell Fire in the yin and supplement the Kidney, it also helps with turbulent emotions. Oriole is polite and hospitable, but her bitterness about her life radiates from her as the entire brickyard radiates heat. Her anger is far more deep-seated and difficult to treat than her weeping womb, but my remedy will work on this too.
Meiling and I say goodbye and retrace our steps to her home, where we’re able to sneak back upstairs unobserved. I’m exhausted, and my feet are in more pain than when they were first bound. I bite my lips to keep from moaning as Meiling pulls off the boots. I struggle to compose myself as I change back into my clothes. The layers of underskirt, overskirt, tunic, and leggings feel suffocating.
The bearers do not regard me with suspicion when I step out the front door, which relieves my mind. Once we reach the Garden of Fragrant Delights, I step over the threshold and begin threading my way through the compound. I need tea. I need to change my clothes and put on fresh makeup. I need most of all to lie down and rest my throbbing feet. To do any of these things would cast suspicion on me, however. Each step sends streaks of pain up my legs, but I try to keep my expression placid.
I find the girls and women of the household in the last courtyard. Some are reading, others embroidering and painting. My mother-in-law sits with wives of her age but below her station. All of them sip rice wine from jade cups to help draw attention away from Lady Kuo’s newfound need to quench the thirsty thing living inside her. From the pavilion comes the click-click of mahjong tiles; the aunties must be in another of their furious games. I pass the knot of concubines. I nod to Miss Chen, and she nods back. I’m a wife; she’s a concubine. We are not friends, but we are polite to each other.
Miss Chen is Doctor Wong’s greatest success, since together they have given the Yang clan a second heir. Manzi, now thirteen, attends the household school with other boys. My mother-in-law dotes on the boy, spoiling him with dates and sweetmeats. He’s in position to become her ritual son. On some days, this seems like it has lessened intrigues in the inner chambers; on other days, Second Aunt can be particularly biting about the unfairness of it all. But tradition is tradition, and blood is blood. Succession is set by Heaven, and nothing will change for Second Uncle unless something happens to both my husband and Manzi. For now, though, Manzi has an elevated status. This being true, the matchmaker has already arranged a betrothal between Manzi and the daughter of a salt merchant of great wealth, solidifying both families’ riches and power. All this has earned Miss Chen the position of empress of the concubines. She’s also given birth to four daughters, the youngest of whom is not yet three years old. Her other girls—ages ten, nine, and seven—have exquisitely bound feet. (Who better to bind a child’s feet than a Thin Horse? And, of course, they all have their mother’s beauty.) All in all, Miss Chen has no cause for worry. She’s so confident of her position that she’s even allowed weight to gather around her waist—what little is left of it after birthing five children—and under her chin.
I spot Yuelan and Chunlan on either side of their little sister, walking her along a pathway embedded with pebbles. For men, the pebbles massage the acupuncture points on the bottoms of their feet; for women, the pebbles are cause for caution. A wrong step or a loss of balance can bring about a fall. For a girl undergoing footbinding, the pebbles push and prod her most painful parts.
“Mama,” Ailan calls out when she sees me. The sheen of sweat on her brow and upper lip tell me of her anguish. Her bravery helps me to keep my own discomfort hidden.
I commend her for being so courageous and thank my older daughters for helping her. Then I ask, “Shall we play our special game? Yuelan and Chunlan, if you gather the leaves and flowers, I’ll look after your sister.”
I hold Ailan’s elbow as she takes excruciating step after excruciating step along the pebble walkway and up onto the stone bridge. The two older girls join us, their palms held together like bowls, with petals and leaves piled high. The four of us line up side by side, our skirts swishing together. We each hold out a leaf. We let Ailan do the count.
“One, two, three, and away!” Our leaves swirl down, hit the water, and float under the bridge. Again I hold Ailan’s elbow as we cross to the other side of the bridge. We’re halfway across when I hear a loud crack. With a sudden intake of breath, Ailan pulls her leg up at the knee, then slowly lowers it to the ground. She wobbles, and I steady her.
“Another bone has broken,” I say with pride. “Every day you make progress.”
Her complexion goes as white as the underbelly of a fish. She swallows the hurt, steadies herself, and takes six more steps—each of which must be agony—to the balustrade. She grasps the stone handrail, leans over, and peers down to the water. She tries to hide her tears, but the current of the stream is calm enough that they hit the surface like raindrops. When the time comes, I’ll make sure to tell the matchmaker that each tiny splash was a sign of the type of wife Ailan will become—diligent, uncomplaining, and obedient.
When her leaf appears first, she looks up at me. Her eyes have the faraway look that suffering brings, but the corners of her lips lift as she announces, “Look, Mama. I won.”
Later that night, I write in my notebook about the brickmaker’s case. I detail the basics, leaving out my feelings about the condition of her feet. I finish my entry as I usually do with the recipes for the basic prescriptions and the additions that will make them extra potent. When I’m done, I go to my bed. I look around at the tiny carved pearwood vignettes that capture moments of domestic bliss. Just the idea of playing an erhu by a stream… I finger the panel that has been loose since I was a girl. Jiggling it just so, I free it from its frame. I slip the notebook through the opening, set it on the small shelf with my mother’s shoes, and then fit the panel back into place.
Finally, I can rest. My mother-in-law knows I’m continuing my studies with my grandparents. This is one more way she holds power over me—what keeps me obediently under her thumb. But if she knew I visited Meiling, she would put an immediate stop to it. I see no circumstance in which Lady Kuo would allow it, let alone the treatment of a working woman. But secrets exact an emotional price. So, in addition to the usual weariness brought about by a typical rice-and-salt day, my body and mind are utterly fatigued. For no reason that I can identify, the silent tears come.
The Hundred Pulses