Ch. 12: Chapter 12: Dark-Flour Buns

The manager laughed.

“You really are amusing. Of course it’s wild! Apart from the emperor’s hunting grounds, I’ve never heard of anyone keeping forest musk deer.” Although curfew was still two hours away, the streets had emptied once the first watch began. Most shops were already locked up. There were no street lamps; only the light spilling from the windows of the houses showed the way.

Snow began to fall. Flakes flickered in and out of the lamplight like little spirits dancing through the night. They settled on Zuo Shaoyang’s head and shoulders, soon covering him.

He left them undisturbed. His teeth chattered and his ears ached with cold, but he neither ran nor quickened his pace. Hands tucked into his sleeves, neck drawn down between his shoulders, he strolled along, looking about him. Beneath the drifting snow, everything in this ancient town was new to him.

At last he reached Guizhi Hall. The door opened almost as soon as he knocked.

“Where have you been? Why are you only back now? We were worried sick!” Huixiang brushed the snow from his shoulders as she spoke.

“Just having a look around.” He stamped his feet on the step, pulled out his hands and rubbed them together, blowing into them.

“You hurt yourself this afternoon! What if the pain had come back and you’d collapsed somewhere? Get inside!”

The same solitary oil lamp burned dimly in the hall. A round table had been set in the middle of the room, with four bowls, a large coarse earthenware plate of pickles and a deep bowl of soup in which a few green leaves floated.

Zuo Gui was still behind the long table, his hands hidden in his sleeves and his head bowed over some private worry. Madam Liang sat at the round table, wiping her eyes. When she saw Zuo Shaoyang, she hurriedly dried her tears, rubbed both sides of her hands on her apron and stood.

“Zhong, what were you doing wandering about in the dark? Come and eat! Husband, supper’s ready.”

For all their hardship and the medicine shop’s struggles, Zuo Gui prided himself on his descent from a scholarly family that had produced officials. His wife accordingly addressed him with anxious deference.

He raised his head, walked slowly over and sat down, glancing at Zuo Shaoyang.

Zuo Shaoyang took his own seat. Two dark-flour buns lay in his bowl. He squeezed one. Rather hard. He picked it up and was about to bite into it when a pair of chopsticks cracked across his hand.

He looked up, smarting. Madam Liang was glaring at him.

“Zhong! What’s got into you? Your father hasn’t started yet. Why are you in such a hurry? You never used to do this. What’s wrong with you today?”

“Oh!” He hastily put the bun down and glanced at Zuo Gui.

His father was looking at him too.

“Your sister tells me you fell down a rock face on Mount Qianren this afternoon, injured your head and lost your memory. Is that so?”

Zuo Shaoyang nodded.

“How do you feel now? Does your head still hurt?”

“No.”

Zuo Gui held out his thin, dry fingers. “Give me your hand. I’ll take your pulse again.”

After a careful examination, he considered for a moment.

“Your pulse seems perfectly normal. Can you remember anything from before?”

“Some things. There are still things I can’t remember.”

His father’s grizzled eyebrows drew together.

“There’s nothing wrong with your pulse. But judging by that wound at the back of your head—a wound that long—your pulse shouldn’t be like this. And now you can’t remember the past. Very strange.”

Madam Liang looked anxiously at her son.

“He’ll get better little by little. Let’s eat first. The food’s going cold.”

“Yes, let’s eat.” Zuo Shaoyang gave an awkward chuckle. “I really am hungry.”

After her warning, however, he kept his hands away from the food.

Zuo Gui slowly picked up a bun, took a bite and followed it with a mouthful of pickles. His head remained lowered, his mind elsewhere.

Only then did Madam Liang turn to the other two.

“Eat! Go on!”

Zuo Shaoyang bit into his bun. It tasted bitter and astringent, with gritty particles that felt like sand between his teeth. He chewed with a frown, then held the broken bun up to the lamp.

Thin yellow shreds ran through it. He picked one out and examined it between his fingers. He soon recognised it: mulberry root bark, from the roots he and Huixiang had carried down Mount Qianren that afternoon.

The roots were dug in winter, their rough outer covering scraped away and the root bark stripped off, dried and cut into shreds. It was a common medicine for coughs and wheezing. At university, though, one of his teachers had said that during the famine of 1960, many people had eaten it in place of grain. It had kept a great many alive. The teacher himself had eaten it.

Zuo Shaoyang had never imagined that travelling back to the Tang dynasty would mean eating the same food of desperation.

Now he understood why mulberry roots had filled more than half their baskets. Gathering medicine had not been the main purpose of their trip. Huixiang had chiefly gone up the mountain to dig roots and strip the bark for food.

His heart ached.

He looked at the others. None seemed to find the buns hard to swallow. They ate with evident enjoyment, and soon their bowls were empty. One of his own buns was untouched; more than half of the other remained in his hand.

Seeing his struggle, Madam Liang said tenderly, “Have some soup, Zhong.”

She ladled some into his bowl.

“Soak the bun in it. It’ll go down more easily.”

His stomach was growling. The buns were dreadful, but he knew they might well be his staple food from now on. Whether he liked them or not, he would have to eat.

The prospect chilled him. Frowning, he put the rest of the bun into his bowl, broke it up with his chopsticks and forced himself to eat.

Soaking did nothing for the taste, but at least he could swallow it. Head down, he finished the bowl in one determined effort. His stomach was finally full, however little pleasure the meal had given him.

“Zhong,” his mother asked, “you told Auntie Zhao to give you a few days to raise the money. Where are you going to find so much?”

At the time, he had expected to sell the musk for enough to cover the debt. That dream had collapsed. Now he had no idea.

“I… I was only buying us time,” he admitted with a rueful smile. “We’ll find a way when we come to it. Something will turn up.”

The faint hope in her eyes faded. She sighed and turned to Zuo Gui.

“What are we to do? Could we rent a little land and farm it? Or clear some wasteland? Hou Pu says the court allows three tax-free years for newly cleared land, then charges only half for the next three.”

During their conversation on the way home, Huixiang had told him about their relatives. Hou Pu was her husband, a clerk at the county yamen.

“Farm?” Zuo Gui sighed. He pushed up his sleeve and waved an arm as thin as a stalk. “Do I look like a man who can swing a hoe? Besides, it’s winter. We couldn’t plant until spring or harvest until autumn. What would we live on for the next six months? Air?”

Madam Liang knew it was impractical. Desperation had driven her to suggest it.

“If there’s nothing else for it, come and live with us,” Huixiang offered. “Hou Pu won’t object.”

“With you?” Her mother’s voice was close to tears. “Your whole family is already squeezed into a place scarcely bigger than a shed. Where would we all sleep? You’re hardly well off yourselves. All of you depend on Hou Pu’s little salary. Things are difficult enough already. Taking us in would work him to death!”

“He won’t die! I earn something too, washing and mending clothes for the yamen jail…”

“No.” Zuo Gui’s refusal came low and heavy. “I’d sooner hang myself here than go begging to my son-in-law. Bed!”

He stood, put his hands behind his back and went, slightly stooped, into the bedroom on the left of the hall.

Huixiang helped her mother clear the table. Zuo Shaoyang tried to join them, but Madam Liang waved him away. She had heated water already, she said. He should pour some out and soak his feet before bed.

He knew by now that the kitchen was in the inner room on the right. He felt his way in. Firelight glowed in the stove, bright enough for him to find the foot basin. Taking the half-gourd ladle from the hearth, he lifted a pot lid, scooped out half a ladle of hot water and poured it into the basin. He added a ladle of cold water from the large storage jar.

There was very little left in the jar. Two buckets stood beside it.

“Sis!” he called. “Where do we fetch water? The jar’s almost empty. I’ll go and get some!”—-

Enjoyed this story? Discover more chapters of The Young Physician of the Tang Dynasty at [NovelPotato. Asia](https://novelpotato. Asia/the-young-physician-of-the-tang-dynasty/).

“Then how can you offer only ten wen? Doesn’t your conscience trouble you?” Zuo Shaoyang demanded, his face flushed. With a chuckle, the manager turned to the long bank of medicine cabinets and opened a drawer. He took out several musk pods and slapped them down on the counter.

“There. If you’ll pay twelve wen apiece, Master Zuo, you can have the lot!”

Zuo Shaoyang stared. They certainly looked like musk pods. He picked one up and examined it closely. There was no mistake. He inspected the others; every one was genuine.

“Twelve… Twelve wen each? Really?”

“Yes. Take them all, and I’ll let you have them for eleven. That’s our wholesale price. To tell you the truth, we usually buy musk for nine wen, and we pay about as much as any medicine shop in Hezhou. Since you’ve come in person, naturally we ought to show you some consideration. That’s why I offered ten. Anyone else would get nine!”

Zuo Shaoyang was dumbfounded. Musk worth a hundred thousand yuan in the modern world was worth only fifty yuan here in the Tang dynasty! He understood, of course, that there was no question of protecting wildlife in this age. With so few people, human activity had little impact on the natural world, and wild animals were far more plentiful than in modern times. The girl had managed to catch a forest musk deer while gathering firewood. That alone suggested they were common here—perhaps scarcely rarer than rabbits. Even so, he had never imagined the difference in price could be so great. What he did not know was that, besides the abundance of wildlife, the early Tang suffered an acute shortage of everyday necessities. Apart from rice, prices were extremely low. Ten wen for a musk pod was already a good price. It fell so far short of his expectations that he had no heart even to bargain. When the girl had sold him the musk, he had thought he was taking advantage of her. In fact, she had simply charged a fair price. Presumably, that was what she would have received if she had brought it into town herself. Since he wanted it, she had sold it to him for the same amount. Her price bore out the manager’s explanation. Unpleasant as the man was, he had not been lying. Zuo Shaoyang felt utterly dispirited. He had expected the musk to pay off his parents’ debt. What was he to do now? He tucked the pod back inside his jacket and walked out of Huimin Hall. Standing at the entrance, he let the cold wind sweep over him. He had no idea what to do next. He had thought his advanced knowledge would make success easy in the Tang dynasty. Fame, wealth, a comfortable life—all ought to have been within his reach. This cheaply bought musk was supposed to have earned him his first fortune. Instead, he had lost his very first battle, and lost it humiliatingly. Now he understood that making money here was not nearly as easy as he had imagined. People in the past were no fools. They were no less intelligent than he was. Still, one failure would not make him give up. What should he try next? What could he do that people in the Tang dynasty could not? Make glass? Cement? Guns and cannon? Cars? All useful things—but although he knew what they were, he had no idea how to make any of them. The only skill he had ever truly mastered was medicine: all that knowledge of traditional Chinese medicine he had crammed into his head through years of hard study at university. Medicine! His spirits lifted. People in this age were skilled in medicine, certainly. But his own knowledge benefited from more than a thousand years of further development. He knew the theories, methods, prescriptions and practical experience of great physicians who had lived after the Tang. Above all, he had studied the achievements of modern medicine that combined Chinese and Western approaches. Surely that put him ahead of even the most celebrated physician in this dynasty! With that knowledge, he ought to be able to make something of himself. Hope rose in him again. Then he remembered how few patients came to Guizhi Hall, and his confidence faltered. He could hardly roam the streets grabbing people and asking whether they needed treatment. If he told them he came from the modern world and could cure illnesses beyond the abilities of Tang physicians, they would probably have him dragged off to the magistrate as a lunatic. As he stood outside the shop, swinging between hope and worry, a clatter of hurried footsteps reached him. A group of people was approaching in a panic. They carried a woman on a door taken from its hinges. Her belly was swollen high, and she was moaning weakly. Beside her, a man kept trying to reassure her.

“Hold on! We’re almost at Huimin Hall!”

Zuo Shaoyang quickly stepped aside. The elderly man leading the group waved frantically, lifted the curtain and shouted into the shop.

“Make way! Please, make way! Doctor! Doctor Ni! Help us! Please save my daughter-in-law!”

The group hurried inside. In the light of the large red lanterns above the entrance, Zuo Shaoyang saw a trail of fresh blood on the stone paving. His heart sank. The woman’s prospects looked grim. Several assistants rushed over and helped carry her into a side room. A white-bearded old man emerged from farther inside the shop and hurried in after them. He was probably Doctor Ni. Zuo Shaoyang followed into the hall. The waiting patients were craning their necks towards the side room, but its door had already closed. Nothing could be seen. Only the woman’s feeble groans and the man’s anxious calls came through. The patients whispered among themselves. Several older women shook their heads.

“Looks like a difficult labour.”

“It does. Look at all that blood on the floor. I’m afraid she’s haemorrhaging.”

“Can she survive that? Such a young woman, too. What a pity.”

“Don’t say that. Doctor Ni is a very fine physician. He’ll surely save her.”

“Perhaps, but even a physician can’t save someone whose time has come. And looking at her…”

In the confusion, no one paid Zuo Shaoyang any attention. He edged over to the window, hoping to hear the physician’s diagnosis. But with the women all talking at once, he could make out nothing. He raised a finger to his lips.

“Shh. They’re trying to save her in there. Please keep quiet and let the doctor work.”

An assistant from Huimin Hall also bowed repeatedly to the patients.

“Yes, please, everyone. Let’s have some quiet. Thank you, thank you!”

Soon the hall fell silent. There were several physicians at Huimin Hall, and the others continued their consultations. With the chatter gone, Zuo Shaoyang could finally hear what was being said in the side room. An elderly voice sighed.

“You’ve brought her too late. The baby has already died in the womb.”

“What? My child…!”

A chorus of weeping broke out.

“Stop crying!” the old physician said. “I must find a way to deliver the dead baby. Otherwise, the mother may die as well!” The crying grew louder. Everyone begged him to give her medicine at once. After a little while, the physician came out. He went to a table, picked up a brush and wrote a prescription. Handing it to an assistant, he ordered the medicine prepared and decocted immediately. From the room, the woman’s groans grew fainter. Zuo Shaoyang knew that once a baby had died in the womb, it had to be delivered as soon as possible. Otherwise, disseminated intravascular coagulation could develop and ultimately endanger the mother’s life. He could not help sharing the family’s anxiety. The decoction was soon ready and carried into the room. A little later, the clack of a watchman’s wooden clapper sounded outside. The first night watch had begun. Tang shops generally closed at that hour, and medicine shops were no exception. On hearing the watchman, the patients who had not yet been seen rose and left of their own accord. The assistants began closing the doors. Besides the main entrance, there was a small side door for emergencies. Curfew ran from the second watch to the fifth, during which no one was allowed to travel through the city. There were a few exceptions, however. Critically ill patients could be taken for urgent treatment, provided the soldiers on night patrol gave permission. Medicine shops could still open to receive such patients. That was what the little side door was for. The assistant who had greeted Zuo Shaoyang earlier approached him with a polite smile.

“Master Zuo, as you can see, we’re closing. If you have any further business, could you come back tomorrow?”

Zuo Shaoyang had no choice but to leave the hall. Out in the street, he could no longer hear the voices of those trying to save the woman. He shook his head, tucked his hands into his sleeves and hunched his shoulders against the wind. Then he started for home.