A thousand miles away, in Datong County, Shanxi.
He Ping'an had been here for half a year.
In autumn of last year, the Tartars fiercely attacked Datong. The fighting was intense; both the Datong Regional Commander and his deputy were killed in action. The military camps were short of medicine, and military physicians were even scarcer.
When she arrived near Datong, because the city's doctors had been conscripted into the army, several medical clinics were understaffed. By a stroke of luck, she had some medical knowledge, so she joined a clinic.
By then it was spring; the white grass had turned green again, but wind-cold ailments were still common. Earlier, when He Ping'an was in Anqing, she had brewed countless doses of medicine for Zhao Wan Niang. Immersed in it day after day, she had picked up a smattering of knowledge from the old physician.
When the clinic was busy and the old woman there couldn't keep up, she resorted to a desperate measure and pushed He Ping'an out to help.
"What if I treat someone to death?"
"If you don't treat them, they'll die of illness anyway. Why worry so much?"
He Ping'an had worn out the old physician's several prescriptions. But in the end, her conscience troubled her, so she strapped on a medicine basket and went out to collect herbs.
As one of the Nine Border Garrisons, Datong was also a key border town for medicinal herbs. Local herbs—such as daylily, skullcap, truffle, and coptis—were of excellent quality. She had heard physicians back south mention this.
Medicine was in short supply after the war; fortunately, she had arrived late. By now the Tartars had retreated, and Shanxi merchants had brought medicines from places like Pingyao in central Shanxi, temporarily easing the shortage.
He Ping'an left the clinic, carrying her medicine basket toward the medicinal market in the southern part of the city.
The local customs and landscape were completely different from her hometown.
He Ping'an was still dressed as a man. She hadn't bathed or washed her hair for days, so she looked dirty.
She licked her dry lips and bought a steamed bun by the roadside.
On the hard, dry road, herds of cattle, horses, and mules passed by, raising clouds of dust and sand. She had barely eaten a few mouthfuls of the bun before her face was covered again with yellow dirt.
He Ping'an turned her back, looking at the dry, yellow mud walls. She laughed at herself, thinking she must have gotten mud in her brain to have ended up in a place like this.
The clinic that took her in was tiny. It had originally been passed from father to son, but soon after the father died, the son was conscripted into the army. His elderly mother had some medical knowledge and, to make a living, had forced herself to keep the doors open.
The old woman's surname was Tai; He Ping'an called her Granny Tai.
Granny Tai was old and senile, but surprisingly bold. A steady stream of patients came every day, and she never turned anyone away. Perhaps because her skills were mediocre, she charged very little, and because of the low prices, all the poor came to her.
The clinic took in money daily, but when He Ping'an tallied it up at night, she found that the income didn't even cover the cost of the herbs, let alone the bills on credit.
Granny Tai said she had some savings. That day when He Ping'an left, Granny Tai gave her five taels of silver.
He Ping'an hid the silver against her chest, being extra careful.
After finishing the bun, she headed to the medicine market in the southern district.
In her previous life, during those five years at Medicine Master Cliff, she had helped Achou collect, dry, and sell herbs, developing a keen eye. Today, as an outsider with a foreign accent, she was prepared to haggle hard.
She walked the entire market, waiting until the crowd thinned and the stalls were about to close before approaching to buy. With only that amount of silver, the fifteen-or-sixteen-year-old girl spent most of the day bargaining over a few coppers.
After finally managing to acquire the few herbs she needed, it was completely dark.
He Ping'an trudged back with her head down, crossing main streets and weaving through alleys, feeling like a rat in a sewer, picking up a pile of junk.
Granny Tai sold medicine too cheaply, making it hard for He Ping'an to buy herbs. But in such times, people were poor and their lives worthless; there was no room for choice. To have medicine at all was something to be grateful for.
The tiny clinic was tucked away at the end of Zhufu Lane. After nightfall, two lanterns hung at the entrance, inscribed with the character "Liu."
Granny Tai's husband's surname was Liu. According to a letter his son had recently sent back through someone, if the imperial physicians could come, he would return by Grain in Ear.
Once her son returned, He Ping'an would have to move out of his empty room.
But that was later; who knew if he would really come back. He Ping'an entered through the back door and showed the herbs to Granny Tai.
Granny Tai had grey hair and wore black clothes. Her face was etched with wrinkles like deep riverbeds. He Ping'an saw her slumped over the counter, exhausted, apparently not having eaten. She said, "Let me cook you some noodles."
She set the medicine basket beside Granny Tai, tied on an apron, and groped her way to the kitchen in the dark.
The stove was still warm.
Lifting the lid, she found a bowl of steamed pork belly with rice flour on top of the rice.
He Ping'an was stunned. She gently replaced the lid and looked toward the room she usually stayed in.
The room was dark. She approached and saw it was empty.
Liu Dalang hadn't come home.
It wasn't a holiday today, so eating so well was very unusual.
He Ping'an went to the front to ask Granny Tai. The old woman, awakened by the noise, scolded, "You have good food but won't eat—are you perverse? Do you have to eat chaff and herbs? We're not at the point of having nothing to cook yet. Back when his father was alive, we had fish every few days, not like now."
She was old; no matter how she scolded, her voice was aged. Heard from afar, it sounded like a sigh.
He Ping'an laughed, "This year's been bad; I was just afraid of causing trouble. Since you've spoken, I'll serve you rice."
She washed her hands, took down the coarse ceramic bowl, and, by the faint moonlight, carried the food in two trips to the counter.
The bean-sized lamp flickered. Wind howled outside like ghosts wailing.
Thinking of her son, Granny Tai ate a few bites and couldn't help complaining, "Those people snatched him away like bandits, leaving me, an old woman, behind. They want me dead. How many years do I have left? Every day saving this one or that one—who will save me!"
He Ping'an, her mouth full of grease, was afraid the old woman might have a breakdown and die on the spot. She soothed her softly, "Brother Liu has been intelligent and filial since childhood; he would never abandon you. The main battle is over, but there are many wounded and few doctors. Once he finishes his work, he'll definitely come back. Maybe he's packing his bags right now."
"The books say, 'A family that accumulates good deeds will have abundant blessings; a family that accumulates evil deeds will have abundant calamities.' You receive patients every day and even subsidize their medicine—isn't that accumulating good deeds? Your blessings are growing; when life-or-death moments come, they'll be put to use."
Granny Tai turned her head and looked at her sharply: "You're talking nonsense. From last year to now, I don't know how many people I've killed with my treatment. It's only because I barely charged that the clinic hasn't gone under. As for benefiting descendants, all I want is for Dalang to come back safe."