“Ten thousand,” someone across the room murmurs.
“In the right conditions, the son of a concubine can become the next emperor if the empress does not produce a son,” Widow Bao adds innocuously. My mother-in-law glances in my direction to remind me that this situation could be in my future too.
“Every care must be taken that the empress and all other women in the palace are protected and saved—to a one—for the emperor,” Lady Liu picks up. “This means—”
“No male arrows,” Widow Bao finishes with a sly wink. “So we have eunuchs who can be trusted for their unique inability to perform their Confucian duty as men—produce sons.” Her eyes gleam. “Knifers who do the cutting have shops and stalls just outside the Forbidden City. A man or boy walks inside with his three precious things attached. Once they’re removed, they’re sealed in a jar and stored on a shelf to be reunited with a eunuch’s body upon death.”
“And why should this happen?” Lady Kuo inquires, drawn in.
“To trick the demons in the Afterworld into believing he is still a man.” Widow Bao allows herself an unladylike cackle. “If he is not reunited with his three precious things, he will be reborn as a she-mule.”
A silence falls over us as we consider the indignity of such a fate.
Widow Bao’s tone changes. “Many things are different since the Hongzhi emperor ascended the throne two years ago. As we travel with my son, my daughter-in-law and I are looking for—”
Lady Liu interrupts, leaving me, and I bet many others, to suspect she doesn’t want certain facts divulged. “The boy eunuchs are playthings. Toys, if you will, to keep women happy. They do not shy away from even the most private requests.”
My mother-in-law looks uncomfortable, as though ants are crawling under her gown.
“Senior eunuchs often conduct the search for those who might like to join them in this life,” Lady Liu continues, “but the emperor and those who run the Department of Service agree it is wise periodically to send someone who has all his parts and is without reproach to the local bureaus to make sure all is being conducted in a forthright manner. While it’s not against the law for a poor father to sell a second, third, or fourth son into duty, my husband seeks to prove that the proper sums are not only changing hands but changing into the correct hands.”
This room usually hums with conversation and activity. Not today. All the wives’ ears are tuned to our visitors’ voices. Such a novelty. Beneath the silence, I sense a deeper listening from the concubines, maids, and servants, each of whom probably followed a path similar to that of the boys who eventually became eunuchs, only the girls’ fathers sold them to a Tooth Lady or some other procurer. For so many on the edges of this room, the worthless branch on the family tree gained value only when she was sold to help keep her family alive.
“We’ve been told there’s a doctor in your household,” Widow Bao comments.
“Ah, yes, he will be visiting today. Would you care to meet him?” Lady Kuo asks.
“I meant a woman doctor,” Widow Bao clarifies.
“We only use Doctor Wong in the Garden of Fragrant Delights,” my mother-in-law says stiffly. “I can guarantee he’s a man.”
“That’s not what your son says. The first time we met, he said his wife has been training to be a doctor since she was eight years old.” The widow glances in my direction. “I assume he was speaking of you.”
A Dragon is always loyal to his loved ones. I am not the sort of woman to crow, however.
“Doctor Wong is known to be the best physician in Wuxi,” Lady Kuo says. “He has published a book of his cases.”
The widow sniffs. “We’ve seen it.”
“He’s clearly seeking a certain kind of clientele,” Lady Liu comments. “Many people want to align themselves with the wealthy. The rich, in turn, want what they perceive to be the best money can bring them—”
“My concern is,” Widow Bao interrupts, “he is not a doctor solely for women.”
My mother-in-law bridles. “Doctor Wong has long overseen fertility issues in our household.”
Our two guests listen politely: the younger one with twitchy energy, the older one with forced patience.
“Our party detoured to Wuxi to see…” Widow Bao slips a hand out from under her sleeve and rolls her wrist in my direction. “We’re traveling with my son because we love him and don’t want him to be lonely, but my daughter-in-law and I have other business. You could say double business. My daughter lives in Nanjing. We saw her when we were there. She’s been quite ill.”
“Her doctor says she might die,” Lady Liu says, “but your son has given us new hope in the form of his wife.”
“Do not take our request as simply women’s folly,” the widow adds. “My son insisted we come here, for he loves his sister very much and would like to do what he can to reverse the course of her illness. Great rewards can come to a family such as yours in gratitude for your hospitality, guidance, and good deeds.”
Lady Kuo remains silent. I can’t imagine her thoughts.
“Just think of the morality stories we’ve heard since childhood.” Widow Bao holds out her right hand to give an example. “A poor man helps a beggar by the side of the road. The beggar turns out to be a god or an emperor in disguise, and many gifts are bestowed on the poor man for his kindness and generosity when he himself had so little.” She extends her left hand for her second example. “A family of great wealth and distinction, with storerooms overflowing, refuses to put even a single morsel in a beggar’s bowl. Many years later, after the family has suffered from fires, drought, and bad luck at gambling, who should arrive in a grand procession? We all know the end of the story.”
Lady Kuo clicks her fingernails against each other. I take this as an order to speak.
“I suggest you visit my grandmother. She is well known in Wuxi for her sublime treatments.”
“We’ve heard of her,” Lady Liu says, “but my mother-in-law and I agree that someone young might have fresher ideas. And your husband tells us you’ve had quiet successes.”
“I’ve never treated a woman from a distance,” I admit.
My mother-in-law settles the matter by saying, “Now you will.”
“Then I’ll try to do my best.” I turn to our guests. “We can speak here, but perhaps you’d prefer to come to my chambers.”
“Please stay. We would all like to hear what you have to say.” Lady Kuo sounds solicitous, but our guests are not fooled.
“Your room sounds lovely,” the widow says. “Let us retire there.”
We walk slowly through the covered colonnades, stopping here and there so the visitors can enjoy the scent of jasmine and admire the plumes of a caged bird, while Poppy runs ahead to prepare. When we arrive, we settle, and Poppy pours tea.
“Please tell me about your daughter,” I begin. “How old is she? What are her symptoms?”
Tears well in the widow’s eyes, so Lady Liu speaks on her behalf. “My sister-in-law is thirty-five years old. When she hears people speaking, she becomes dizzy.”
It’s an odd symptom, no question, but it doesn’t sound all that worrisome to me. However, we’ve reached the fifth month, when the growing heat and humidity can bring sickness and disease.
“Does she have a rash?” I ask.
“No cases of smallpox have been reported in Nanjing,” Lady Liu answers.
Which is a relief.
“You asked for me because I’m a woman,” I say. “I hope you don’t mind if I ask some intimate questions.” When both women nod, I go on. “Tell me about her stools and urine.”
“She has fainted multiple times when sitting on the honeypot,” Lady Liu states.
“What does her doctor say?” I inquire.
“He says she’s Blood and qi deficient,” Lady Liu answers. “Now she coughs up blood.”
They might have mentioned this symptom first, but hearing it, I say, “It sounds as though he’s made the correct diagnosis.”
“Is she dying?” Widow Bao asks, her voice quavering. “She’s my daughter…”
“I can’t do the Four Examinations from afar.” I try to sound reassuring when I add, “Tell me more. Perhaps her doctor missed something.”
“Ask us anything.”
“Can you describe her disposition?”
“Until now, she’s always been quick-tempered and impatient,” the widow answers. “Now she stays in bed, weeping day and night.”
This is another important symptom, but what is the cause? I remain silent, waiting for one of the women to tell me what brought about such sorrow. We each take sips of tea. Widow Bao’s eyes fill again; Lady Liu gives one of those sighs known through the ages to convey loss of heart.
“My sister-in-law’s daughter died ten months ago,” she confides at last. “This is when she began to cry. Four months later, bandits killed her son.”