Chapter Sixty-Seven: A New Year

Tomorrow morning, the coffin of Madam Cui would be sent up the mountain, and that night, Madam Luo did not return home. Without her mother nearby, An Yi felt an inexplicable fear, tossing and turning in bed unable to sleep.

With a creak, the door was pushed open, and An Kang entered, carrying an oil lamp. He worried An Yi would kick off her covers, so he came to check on her. Approaching, he found her wide awake. “Little sister, it’s so late. Why aren’t you asleep yet?”

“Mother isn’t home. I can’t sleep,” An Yi pouted.

“Silly girl, Mother will be back tomorrow.” An Kang set the lamp down and sat by her bed. “Big brother is here with you. Go to sleep.”

Obediently, An Yi closed her eyes, and with An Kang’s company, she soon drifted into a peaceful sleep, enjoying a restful night.

At dawn, the sky was still dim, and the villagers, tucked away for winter, were not up so early. The village was quiet, the crowing of chickens and barking of dogs mingling with the howling wind, faint and intermittent.

An Yi quietly opened her door, a rush of cold hitting her as she shrank her neck against it. Glancing at the room next door, she saw the door closed and no sound within; her two brothers were still asleep. Slipping into the kitchen, she packed a bag of white rice and took two eggs, tucking them into her arms, then dashed out of the courtyard towards the Lu family home.

Arriving outside, she looked at the locked door, sighing as she opened it. Influenced by her mother, her heart had grown so soft that she cared even for someone who might one day silence her to protect himself.

The moment An Yi entered, Lord Gong woke, recognizing the familiar footsteps approaching and stopping at the door.

“Lord Gong, I brought you a bag of white rice and two eggs. I’ll leave them on the table for you to cook.”

“Alright.”

An Yi turned and left.

Back home, An Kang and An Jian were already up. An Jian, rinsing his mouth in the kitchen, saw An Yi come in from outside and asked in surprise, “Sister, where did you go so early?”

“Just went for a walk outside,” An Yi replied, entering the kitchen. “Big brother, when will Mother be back?”

An Kang, tending the fire by the stove, looked up at her. “Sister, you didn’t go to the village entrance to wait for Mother, did you?”

“No, I just went for a walk.” An Yi sat beside him, stretching her hands towards the fire.

Her denial only confirmed An Kang’s suspicions. He reached out to ruffle her hair affectionately. “Silly girl, Mother went to escort Fourth Aunt up the mountain and will be back soon. It’s cold outside, so don’t go out again.”

An Yi bowed her head silently, letting him believe what he wished.

Madam Luo returned just after noon, her face weary and clothes muddy.

“Mother, I’ve boiled hot water for you. Go wash up,” An Kang said, ladling hot water from the stove into a wooden bucket and carrying it to the small room partitioned off from the kitchen.

After bathing and changing into clean clothes, Madam Luo began preparing the New Year’s Eve meal.

An Yi spent the day at home, then the next morning as usual went to the Lu family, tending to Lord Gong. To avoid being cajoled into a chess game, she brought two cloth pieces to embroider.

Lord Gong, seeing this, squinted and smiled like a fox, picking up a chess piece and placing it on the board with a click.

An Yi pretended not to notice, keeping her head down and focusing on her embroidery.

“What are you stitching?” Lord Gong leaned closer. “Is it a pair of mandarin ducks?”

“It’s a magpie.” An Yi unfolded the handkerchief, revealing a pale blue magpie, wings outstretched as if about to fly.

“Xi’er, the magpie,” Lord Gong chuckled softly, a glint flickering in his eyes as he dropped another black piece on the board and continued his solitary game.

An Yi didn’t care to guess the meaning behind his smile, continuing to thread the needle and work on the other wing of the magpie.

At noon, after lunch, An Yi poured the herbal dregs she had saved over the past few days into a large pot and ladled in two buckets of water.

“What are you doing? There’s no new medicine left in the cabinet; do you have to brew these dregs again?” Lord Gong frowned deeply. Although the cold weather kept the dregs from spoiling, they were still old, mixed from several days, and he doubted any medicine brewed from them would be drinkable. She was making such a large pot—did she think he was a water barrel?

“This is for you to bathe in, not for drinking,” An Yi replied, glancing at him. “It’s a method recorded in medical books. I thought of it yesterday—it’s more effective than applying medicine, absorbs faster, and will help resolve your poison sooner.”

Lord Gong stared at her, light flickering in his eyes, and smiled. “You’re in such a hurry to cure me?”

“A healer’s heart is like a parent’s. Of course I hope to cure you quickly; poison lingering too long harms the body.” An Yi blinked, feigning innocence. “Aren’t you anxious to recover?”

Lord Gong did not catch the subtle advantage An Yi had taken in her words. “When I am cured, I will have to leave.”

“You’re not from our village. You stayed here to get better, and when you’re well, you should go home—just like the patients who come to my master seeking treatment.” An Yi had no intention of feigning youthful longing, nor did she show any reluctance at his departure, her smile bright, eyes clear as water, seemingly happy for his recovery and return home.

Lord Gong raised his eyebrows. This girl was pure and naive, unversed in worldly matters, failing to grasp the implication in his words. Ah well, teasing such innocence was like playing music to a cow. Smiling, he turned, his broad sleeves sweeping gracefully, and went back to his room.

An Yi watched his retreating figure, curling her lip in disdain. Did this foolish man think everyone would be enchanted by his looks?

While Lord Gong soaked in the medicinal bath, An Yi carried her bamboo lunchbox home, uninterested in watching a handsome man bathe. At the fork in the road, she met Cong Liu. They ignored each other and passed without a word.

For the next four days, An Yi had Lord Gong take medicine both internally and externally. On New Year’s Eve, heavy snow fell and the cold was biting. Madam Luo insisted An Yi not leave the house.

Near noon, a group of strong men barged into Zhu Fucai’s home once more. Zhu Fucai owed sixteen taels in gambling debts; this time, the An family did not pay for him, and Cong Liu was taken away by the men.

Aunt Liu chased after them, wailing to the village entrance, only to see the distant carriage and deep wheel ruts in the snow, collapsing to the ground in despair. Villagers, drawn by the commotion, watched from afar. Though sympathetic to Cong Liu’s plight, they were powerless to help, sighing that this was fate—what else could she expect with a father addicted to gambling?

After New Year’s Eve came the first day of the lunar month. The family was still in mourning, and with Madam Cui’s death before the new year, although An You Nian and Madam Zhu did not need to keep vigil for her, as the bereaved family they were obliged by custom to close their doors to visitors.

Madam Luo did not have to take the children out to pay New Year’s calls, so An Yi found an excuse to slip away to the Lu family. Lord Gong was gone; only a note remained on the table, weighed down by fifty taels of silver.

The note read simply: “I am gone.”

An Yi felt a weight lift from her heart, as if she had survived a calamity. She pocketed the silver, burned the note in the stove, and searched the house. Apart from the missing detoxification recipe, everything else was there, including three sets of his clothes, neatly folded on the chair.

She picked up the garments—clean, with no creases, but she couldn’t tell if they had been washed. Leaning in, she sniffed them: a hint of medicine. That man, why fold dirty clothes so neatly?

In the freezing weather, she had no desire to wash clothes. She bundled them up and stuffed them into an empty chest, grabbed the two bottles of insecticide from the medicine cabinet, and went home. Having come every day under the pretense of brewing medicine, she had to bring something back to show for it.

During national mourning, visits to relatives and friends were forbidden in the first month; the holiday passed quietly and uneventfully. The intermittent snow and biting north wind kept villagers indoors. By the fifteenth, sunlight returned at last, and that evening, Young Madam Zhou began labor.

An Yi’s heart hung suspended, but at this moment, there was nothing she could do.

Young Madam Zhou labored through the night, and at dawn, the cries of a newborn finally rang out from within the house.

Those waiting outside—including Madam Zhou—heard the cry, like music from heaven, and all breathed a sigh of relief.

“Mother, how is Sixth Aunt?” An Yi had not slept well all night. At first light, she hurried to Luo Guangzong’s home. Entering the courtyard, she did not hear any cries from Young Madam Zhou, and her heart sank as she anxiously asked.

“Xi’er, you’re here. Your Sixth Aunt gave birth—a big, healthy boy, eight pounds!” Madam Luo smiled. “You’re a sister again, aren’t you happy?”

“Happy, very happy.” An Yi let out a long breath. The baby was healthy, with sound limbs. Intelligence would reveal itself as he grew, but even if he was a bit slow, as long as he wasn’t so foolish as to be unable to farm, he would never starve.

When the child’s first month passed and the period of mourning ended, Luo Guangzong hosted a few tables at home, inviting relatives and friends for a meal. He asked An Kang to name the child, and after much persuasion, An Kang named his little cousin Luo Changsheng.

Day after day, winter faded into spring. By late March, the months-long turmoil in the capital was finally quelled. Prince Xin, Qin Mian—the half-brother of Emperor Zhishun—ascended the throne over the bodies of his brothers and nephews, taking the reign title “Zheng Tong,” granting amnesty across the land and bestowing the posthumous title “Emperor Tuo” upon Zhishun.

As long as the emperor was not a tyrant, able to govern with benevolence and let the people live in peace, the common folk cared little who sat upon the throne. They rose at sunrise, rested at sunset, living quietly and simply.

In late April, the gentle spring sun bathed everything in warmth, flowers and grass shrouded in mist like a painting. Han Songyan stood outside the Herb Garden, gazing at the petite, slender figure within, and called out brightly, “Xi’er!”

An Yi was weeding and looked up, seeing the young man standing beneath the pear tree, and smiled, “Fourth Young Master!”

“Xi’er, it’s been so long,” Han Songyan entered the garden, his lips curved in a smile, his gaze gentle as he watched An Yi approach.

“It has, indeed.” An Yi stopped three steps away from him.

Han Songyan glanced around. “Why are you alone here? Where is Physician Lu?”

“Master went out on a house call.” The shadow in An Yi’s eyes flickered; Physician Lu had been gone for ten months, and she wondered how things were, when he would return.

“I heard from Uncle Chen that as my cousin made things difficult for you, you refused to sell medicine to the Jihuai Hall—is that true?” Han Songyan didn’t mince words, asking directly.

“Fourth Young Master, you’ve misunderstood. Your cousin didn’t make things difficult. She simply hoped I wouldn’t sell medicine to Jihuai Hall, and I agreed. As for her reasons, she did not say, but I imagine it is something not meant for outsiders,” An Yi replied, her clear eyes gleaming.

“My cousin has been spoiled by my aunt. You needn’t mind her words. Please, continue supplying medicine to Jihuai Hall, will you?” Han Songyan’s handsome face flushed as he looked into An Yi’s clear eyes. He dared not say that Cheng Shuangshuang’s affection for him had caused this trouble.

“I agreed with her, so how can I go back on my word?” An Yi heard the pleading in his tone but remained firm.

Han Songyan was at a loss; he couldn’t urge her to break her promise. Looking at the abundant herbs in the garden, he felt regret—a physician longing for such resources, denied by a cousin’s stubbornness.

“Are you free?” An Yi asked.

“I am.”

She raised her eyebrows, “Can you help with the weeding?”

Han Songyan smiled, “Gladly.”

They didn’t weed for long, as it was already noon. Han Songyan followed An Yi home for lunch.

An Kang and An Jian had gone to town, so only Madam Luo was at home. Seeing Han Songyan after months away, her expression stiffened momentarily, her gaze somewhat evasive. “Fourth Young Master, you’re here.”

“Madam An, I’m disturbing you again,” Han Songyan said kindly.

“No, not at all. Please come in and sit,” Madam Luo forced a smile.

“Mother, Fourth Young Master isn’t angry about us selling herbs elsewhere. No need to be so nervous,” An Yi said, understanding the cause of her mother’s unease.

“Madam An, it was my cousin’s fault. I apologize on her behalf and hope you’ll agree to keep selling herbs to Jihuai Hall.” Han Songyan bowed deeply.

Madam Luo looked at An Yi, saw her gently shake her head, and apologized, “Fourth Young Master, it’s up to Xi’er. I don’t interfere.”

“Mother, I’m hungry. What delicious things did you cook today?” An Yi changed the subject.

“I made your favorite sweet and sour fish, and some young cabbages,” Madam Luo smiled.

“I’ll go wash up for lunch,” An Yi said cheerfully, running off to the kitchen.

Watching An Yi’s lively figure, Han Songyan smiled helplessly. It seemed to resolve the matter and resume buying An Yi’s herbs would require persuading Cheng Shuangshuang to come again.

That evening, An Kang and An Jian returned from town. Seeing Han Songyan in the courtyard, they called out in delight, “Songyan!”

Reunited with his friend, An Kang was especially happy, bringing out homemade sweet wine to share a few cups. The two chatted happily. An Kang suddenly remembered, “I heard from Dongqing that you went to Hengzhou City on business. Was it resolved?”

“All settled, nothing serious. The shopkeeper was careless and received a batch of fake donkey-hide gelatin,” Han Songyan replied lightly. He said it was nothing, but in truth, it was a major issue—several Jihuai Halls in town had received counterfeit herbs, some gelatin, some polygala, some ginseng, some ganoderma. He had spent the past year investigating, finally tracking down the culprit, and only then returned to Lingling.

“That’s good,” An Kang said, not pressing further. The two continued their discussion of poetry and literature.