药 (Medicine)

In the late autumn night, the moon had set and the sun had not yet risen, leaving only an indigo sky; save for night-prowling creatures, all lay asleep. Old Shuan suddenly sat up, struck a match, and lit the grease-covered lamp, flooding the two rooms of the teahouse with a livid light.

'Father of Little Shuan, are you going?' came an old woman's voice. From the small inner room, a fit of coughing was heard.

'Um,' Old Shuan replied, listening, answering, and buttoning his clothes all at once; he stretched out his hand and said, 'Give it to me.'

Auntie Hua fumbled for a long time under the pillow before pulling out a package of foreign silver dollars and handing it to Old Shuan. He took it, trembling, stuffed it into his pocket, and pressed it twice from the outside; then he lit the lantern, blew out the lamp, and headed towards the inner room. Inside, a rustling sound was heard, followed by a bout of coughing. Old Shuan waited until it subsided before calling softly, 'Little Shuan... Don't get up... The shop? Your mother will manage it.'

Hearing his son speak no more, Old Shuan concluded he had fallen asleep again; he went out and walked into the street. The street lay in pitch darkness, utterly empty, save for a single stretch of greyish-white road plainly visible. The lantern light illuminated his feet moving one before the other. He encountered a few dogs, but none barked. It was much colder outside than inside; yet Old Shuan felt invigorated, as if he had been transformed into a youth, gifted with supernatural power, capable of giving life. His strides grew exceptionally long and high. And the road became clearer with every step, the sky brighter.

Absorbed in his walking, Old Shuan was suddenly startled to see a T-shaped Street lying distinctly ahead. He retreated a few steps, found a shop with its door shut, slipped under the eaves, and stood leaning against the door. After a while, a chill crept over him.

'Humph, old chap.'

'Quite pleased with yourself...'

Old Shuan started again. Opening his eyes, he saw several people pass by. One even turned back to look at him, his features not very distinct, but his eyes held the gleam of predatory light, like a man long-starved seeing food. Old Shuan looked at his lantern; it had gone out. He felt his pocket; the hard silver was still there. Lifting his head to look both ways, he saw many strange figures, in twos and threes, ghost-like, pacing to and fro; but when he stared more intently, he could discern nothing else out of the ordinary.

Before long, he saw several soldiers moving about over there; the large white circles on the front and back of their uniforms were clearly visible even from a distance, and as they passed, he could make out the dark red piping on their jackets. A clatter of footsteps sounded, and in a blink, a large crowd surged past. The scattered figures suddenly merged into a mass, rushing forward like a tide; upon reaching the entrance of the T-shaped Street, they abruptly halted, clustering into a semicircle.

Old Shuan also looked in that direction, but could see only a mass of backs; all their necks were stretched long, as if many ducks, grabbed by invisible hands, were being lifted upward. A moment of silence passed, then some sound seemed to stir them, and with a roar, they all retreated backward; scattering right to where Old Shuan stood, they nearly knocked him over.

'Hey! Money in one hand, goods in the other!' A man clad entirely in black stood before Old Shuan, his eyes like two daggers that made Old Shuan shrivel up with fear. The man thrust out one large hand towards him; the other hand clutched a bright red bun, from which red drops still dripped.

Old Shuan hastily fumbled out the silver dollars, trembling as he made to hand them over, yet dared not take the object from him. The man grew impatient and shouted, 'What are you afraid of? Why don't you take it!' Old Shuan still hesitated; the dark man snatched the lantern, tore off its paper shade, wrapped it around the bun, and thrust it into Old Shuan's hands; grabbing the silver dollars, he gave them a squeeze, turned and walked away, muttering, 'This old fool...'

'Who is this medicine for?' Old Shuan seemed to hear someone ask him, but he did not answer; his spirit was now wholly concentrated on the package, as if cradling an infant, the sole heir of ten generations, all else beyond his concern. He was about to transplant this new life from the package into his home to reap a harvest of happiness. The sun had also risen; before him lay a broad road leading straight to his house, and behind, the sunlight illuminated the four dim, gilded characters 'Ancient Pavilion Entrance' on the broken signboard at the head of the T-shaped Street.

When Old Shuan reached home, the shop front had already been tidied, the rows of tea tables gleaming slickly. But there were no customers; only Little Shuan sat eating at a table in the inner row, large beads of sweat rolling down his forehead, his lined jacket clinging to his spine, his two shoulder blades stuck out so sharply that they seemed to stamp the character '八' in relief on his back. Seeing this, Old Shuan could not help but furrow his brow. His woman hurried out from the kitchen, eyes wide, lips trembling slightly.

'Got it?'

'Got it.'

The two of them went together into the kitchen and conferred for a moment; then Auntie Hua went out and soon returned with a piece of old lotus leaf, which she spread on the table. Old Shuan opened the lantern cover and rewrapped the red bun with the lotus leaf. Little Shuan had finished his meal, and his mother said hastily:--

'Little Shuan--you sit still, don't come over here.' Having tended the stove fire, Old Shuan stuffed the bluish-green package and the red-and-white torn lantern into the stove together; as a flare of red-and-black flames passed, a strange fragrance filled the shop.

'What a lovely smell! What are you eating?' This was Hunchback Fifth Master arriving. This man spent his days in the teahouse, coming earliest and leaving latest; just now he had hobbled to a table by the street-side corner and sat down to ask. Yet no one answered him. 'Fried rice porridge?' Still no one replied. Old Shuan hurried out to make tea for him.

'Little Shuan, come in!' Auntie Hua called Little Shuan into the inner room, where a stool was placed in the middle. Little Shuan sat down. His mother brought over a plate of dark, round things and said softly:--

'Eat this, and you'll be well.'

Little Shuan picked up the black thing, looked at it for a while, as if holding his own life, with an unutterable sense of the uncanny in his heart. With utmost care, he broke it open; from inside the charred skin shot a puff of white steam, and when it dispersed, there were two halves of a white-flour bun. In no time, it was all in his stomach, but he had completely forgotten the taste; before him remained only an empty plate. Beside him stood his father on one side and his mother on the other, their eyes fixed on him as if trying to inject something into him or extract something from him; he couldn't help but feel his heart pound, and pressing his chest, he coughed again.

'Sleep for a while, and you'll be well.'

Little Shuan did as his mother said, coughing as he lay down to sleep. Auntie Hua waited until his breathing calmed before gently covering him with a padded quilt full of patches.

Many people were sitting in the shop, and Old Shuan was busy too, carrying a large copper kettle, making trip after trip to pour tea for the customers; dark circles surrounded both his eyes.

'Old Shuan, are you unwell? Are you ill?' said a man with a grizzled beard.

'No.'

'No? I thought, with you smiling like that, it didn't seem...' The grizzled-bearded man retracted his words.

'Old Shuan is just busy. If it were his son...' Before Hunchback Fifth Master could finish, a man with a fierce, fleshy face suddenly barged in, wearing a dark cloth jacket unbuttoned, tied loosely around the waist with a wide dark belt. As soon as he entered, he shouted to Old Shuan:--

'Has he eaten it? Is he better? Old Shuan, you're in luck! You're lucky; if not for my sharp information...'

Old Shuan held the teapot in one hand, the other hanging respectfully; he listened with a smile. All the seated customers also listened respectfully. Auntie Hua too, with dark circles under her eyes, smilingly brought out teacups and tea leaves, added an olive, and Old Shuan went to fetch hot water.

'It's a sure cure! This is out of the ordinary. Just think, brought while hot, eaten while hot!' The fleshy-faced man kept shouting.

'Truly, without Uncle Kang's care, how could it be like this...' Auntie Hua also thanked him gratefully.

'It's a sure cure, a sure cure! Eaten hot like this. A steamed bun dipped in human blood like this is a sure cure for any consumption!'

When Auntie Hua heard the word 'consumption,' her expression changed slightly, as if somewhat displeased; but she immediately forced a smile and walked away, making small talk. This Uncle Kang, however, didn't notice and continued to raise his voice, shouting so loudly that Little Shuan, sleeping inside, joined in with a fit of coughing.

'So your Little Shuan has come upon such good fortune. The illness will surely be cured; no wonder Old Shuan smiles all day.' The grizzled-bearded man spoke as he walked up to Uncle Kang and asked obsequiously, 'Uncle Kang--I heard the criminal executed today was a child of the Xia Family. Whose child was it? What exactly happened?'

'Whose? Isn't it Fourth Grandma Xia's son? That little brat!' Seeing everyone prick up their ears to listen, Uncle Kang grew even more pleased, the flesh on his face swelling with satisfaction, and he said even louder, 'That little wretch didn't value his life, so be it. But I didn't get any benefit this time; even the clothes stripped off were taken by the jailer, Red-eyed Ah Yi. First, our Uncle Shuan is lucky; second, Third Master Xia rewarded him with twenty-five taels of snow-white silver dollars, all pocketed himself, not a penny spent.'

Little Shuan slowly emerged from the small room, hands pressed to his chest, coughing incessantly; he went to the kitchen, scooped out a bowl of cold rice, poured hot water over it, sat down, and ate. Auntie Hua followed him and asked softly, 'Little Shuan, are you better? Are you still just hungry?'

'It's a sure cure, a sure cure!' Uncle Kang glanced at Little Shuan and turned back to the crowd, saying, 'Third Master Xia is really a clever one; if he hadn't reported to the authorities first, his whole family would have been executed. Now what? Silver! That little wretch is really worthless! Locked up, he still tried to incite the jailers to rebel.'

'Oh my, that's outrageous.' A man in his twenties sitting at the back row looked quite indignant.

'You should know that Red-eyed Ah Yi went to sound him out, but he started chatting with him. He said: This Great Qing Empire belongs to all of us. Think about it: is that human talk? Red Eyes knew he had only an old mother at home, but didn't expect him to be so poor, not a drop of oil to squeeze, and was already furious. Yet he dared to scratch the tiger's head, so he gave him two slaps!'

'Brother Yi is a skilled boxer; those two slaps must have been enough for him.' The hunchback in the corner suddenly cheered up.

'That cheap bone isn't afraid of beatings; he even said 'pitiful, pitiful.''

The grizzled-bearded man said, 'Why pity such a thing?'

Uncle Kang showed disdain and sneered, 'You didn't hear clearly; from his manner, he meant Ah Yi is pitiful!'

The listeners' eyes suddenly grew rigid; the conversation halted. Little Shuan had finished eating, sweating profusely, steam rising from his head.

'Ah Yi pitiful--mad talk, he's simply gone mad.' The grizzled-bearded man said as if suddenly enlightened.

'Gone mad.' The man in his twenties also said as if suddenly enlightened.

The customers in the shop then regained their liveliness, chatting and laughing. Little Shuan also took advantage of the bustle to cough violently; Uncle Kang walked up, patted his shoulder, and said:--

'It's a sure cure! Little Shuan--don't cough like that. It's a sure cure!'

'Mad.' Hunchback Fifth Master said, nodding.

The ground by the city wall outside the West Gate was originally public land; a crooked, narrow path in the middle, trodden by those seeking a short cut, formed a natural boundary. To the left of the path were buried those executed or those who had died in prison, to the right were the paupers' graves. Both sides were already piled up layer upon layer, like the steamed buns displayed at the birthday celebrations of wealthy families.

This year's Qingming Festival was exceptionally cold; willow trees had only just sprouted buds half the size of rice grains. Soon after daybreak, Auntie Hua had already set out four dishes and a bowl of rice before a new grave on the right, wept for a while, burned paper money, and then sat on the ground in a daze, as if waiting for something, though she herself didn't know what. A breeze rose, stirring her short hair, which had indeed grown much whiter than last year.

Another woman appeared on the path, also with half-white hair, wearing ragged clothes; she carried a shabby vermilion-lacquered round basket, with a string of paper ingots hanging outside, walking with a pause every three steps. Suddenly seeing Auntie Hua sitting on the ground watching her, she hesitated, a look of shame appearing on her pallid face; but finally, steeling herself, she walked to a grave on the left and set down the basket.

That grave was aligned in a row with Little Shuan's grave, separated only by the narrow path. Auntie Hua watched her arrange four dishes and a bowl of rice, stand and weep for a while, and burn paper ingots; and thought to herself, 'This grave also holds a son.' The old woman wandered and looked around for a moment, then suddenly her hands and feet trembled, she staggered back a few steps, staring blankly in a daze.