Physician Wu hurried forward to take Lu Chengyu’s pulse. After examining it for a while, he wore an expression of utter disbelief. “The fever’s gone down… It really has gone down…”
The Taoist priest, however, still looked grave. “This is only a temporary measure. It can preserve his life for seven days at most. If he cannot be saved after seven days, then it will be Heaven’s will…”
He did not finish, but Madam Lu already understood.
She was about to kneel again when the Taoist priest stopped her.
“There is no need for this, Madam.” The Taoist priest looked toward Lu Chengyu on the bed. “This poor Daoist has a method that can ensure his safety.”
Madam Lu asked in a trembling voice, “Please, Daoist Priest, enlighten me.”
The Taoist priest said, “Find a girl born in the Yi-Mao year, Ji-Mao month, Yi-Mao day, and Ji-Mao hour. Her Four Pillars of Pure Yin must be entirely yin, supremely yielding and tranquil. Have her marry this child to bring him good fortune.”
“Marriage to bring good fortune?”
“Through the wedding rites, yin and yang will complement each other. Use her extreme yin to balance his extreme yang. Once yin and yang are harmonized, he will be able to remain healthy in Jiangnan and live safely to the age of fifteen.”
Madam Lu froze. “Live to fifteen? What about after he turns fifteen?”
The Taoist priest was silent for a moment before saying slowly, “So long as he lives past fifteen, this child will enjoy a smooth life, wealth, honor, good health, and peace.”
After saying this, he turned and began walking out.
Madam Lu hurried after him, but the courtyard was empty. Moonlight flowed like water. Where was the Taoist priest’s shadow?
There was only the old plum tree, standing there in silence.
Physician Wu came out after her and stood behind Madam Lu, gazing at the old plum tree as he murmured, “There truly are such extraordinary people in this world…”
He had immersed himself in the art of medicine for twenty years and had never believed in strange forces or spirits. Yet over the past few days, he had summoned every physician who could be called upon and exhausted every prescription that could be used, but Lu Chengyu had continued to grow weaker with each passing day. And yet, a single talisman-infused drink from that Taoist priest had actually stabilized his pulse.
Madam Lu stood beneath the tree for a long time, until Nanny Zhou came out carrying a cloak and gently draped it over her shoulders.
“Madam, the night air is cold. Please go inside.”
Madam Lu looked at the old plum tree and said softly, “Nanny Zhou, go tell the steward to send people out to search. Find a girl born in the Yi-Mao year, Ji-Mao month, Yi-Mao day, and Ji-Mao hour. A girl with the Four Pillars of Pure Yin.”
Nanny Zhou acknowledged her and turned to go find the steward.
That same day, in a ruined temple twenty li from Qingshui Town, Shen Qingqing was holding half a steamed cornmeal bun.
The bun was hard and solid, and it took her a long time to break it apart. She offered the smaller half to the boy in the corner, holding it out for a long while, but he did not take it.
The boy was curled up against the wall, covered in mud. His hair had clumped into strands that concealed half his face. Only one pair of eyes showed, bright enough to be frightening and fierce enough to be frightening, like a small beast in the mountains whose path had been blocked and which might pounce forward and bite at any moment.
“Here.” Qingqing said it again.
She pushed the bun into his hand, then bit into the half she had kept. Her cheeks bulged as she chewed. “Eat.”
The bun was hard, so she nibbled and chewed it in small bites. It was her food for today and tomorrow. Her little brother, Xiaobao, was terribly ill, and their mother had taken him to ask around nearby, trying to find a physician. Qingqing had originally planned to break the bun into four pieces and eat it slowly, but when she saw the boy curled up in the corner just now, she could not bear it. After hesitating for a while, she had still given away half.
The boy lowered his head to look at the bun in his hand. His Adam’s apple moved, but he did not eat.
Qingqing finished her half and licked her lips. “Why aren’t you eating? If you don’t eat, you’ll starve to death.”
“You’re the one who’ll starve to death.” His voice was hoarse, as though he had not spoken for many days.
Qingqing was stunned for a moment, then smiled, revealing two small canine teeth. “But I ate. I’m not hungry now, so hurry up and eat.”
The boy stared at her smile for a long while before lowering his head and wolfing down the bun. Half a bun was gone in three bites.
Qingqing watched him, then suddenly let out a cry of surprise.
There was a wound on his arm, running from his wrist to the crook of his elbow. Blood and grime covered it, and raw red flesh showed through. It looked horrifying.
“You’re hurt!” She leaned closer.
The boy shrank backward, his back hitting the wall. There was nowhere else for him to retreat. He tensed, and his gaze turned fierce again.
Qingqing ignored him. She crouched down and examined the wound carefully, her brows furrowing. “It needs to be wrapped up, or it’ll fester.”
She looked around. There was only some incense ash and dry grass inside the ruined temple. Finally, her gaze fell on herself. This garment had been remade by her mother from old cloth.
She bit her lip, rolled up the right sleeve, and exposed a small section of her arm. Slightly above her wrist was a mark the size of a fingernail, pale pink and shaped like a plum blossom. She did not notice it herself. She merely lowered her head, tore strips of cloth from the hem of her garment, ripped off two, folded them together, and held them out to him.
“Give me your hand.”
The boy did not move.
She was not annoyed. She gently pulled his arm over and lowered her head to wrap it. She spread a thick layer of incense ash over the wound again, then worked with care, her lips pursed and her brows drawn together as she wound the cloth around and around. Sunlight streamed through the holes in the roof of the ruined temple, falling on the crown of her head and on the plum blossom mark.
The boy lowered his head and looked at her. Her hair was slightly disheveled, with stray strands clinging beside her ear. With her head lowered, he could see her eyelashes trembling faintly. The fierceness in his eyes gradually faded, turning into something indescribable—like ice that had been frozen for a very long time beginning to melt when it met warm water.
“What’s your name?” he suddenly asked.
“Qingqing.” She did not even raise her head, concentrating on tying the strip of cloth. At last, she made a crooked knot. “What about you?”
The boy paused. “I don’t have a name.”
Qingqing looked up at him. His eyes really were bright, as bright as stars in the night sky.
She smiled again, revealing those two small canine teeth. “Then I’ll call you A-Zheng, all right?” She reached out and gently patted the arm wrapped in cloth. “A-Zheng, you have to live well.”
A-Zheng.
He had never had a name. His parents had died, and he had lived with his elder brother and sister-in-law. Later, his brother had fallen off a cliff and died, while his sister-in-law had remarried, leaving him to wander alone from place to place. Back in his old village, everyone had called him the Second Son of the Su Family. No one had ever given him a name.
But she had given him one: Su Zheng. It seemed like a pretty good name.
He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but his throat felt blocked. His eyes suddenly grew hot, and he hurriedly lowered his head, staring at the crooked strip of cloth around his arm.
“Qingqing! Qingqing!”
Someone was calling from outside the temple.
Qingqing sprang to her feet, brushed the dust from her knees, and ran outside. Beneath the old locust tree at the temple entrance, her mother was holding Xiaobao, whose little face was bright red, and looking in her direction. Her father was hoisting their bundle onto his shoulder.
When she saw Qingqing run over, her mother freed one hand to straighten her collar and brush the loose hair from her forehead behind her ear. “We’re leaving. They said there’s a physician only in the town ahead. Come, stay close to Mother.”
Qingqing reached out and took hold of the hanging hem of her mother’s garment.
She looked back once. A-Zheng stood inside the temple entrance, watching her. She waved at him.
A-Zheng slowly raised his hand and waved back.
Then Qingqing followed her parents away. Her small figure grew farther and farther away, until she turned the corner and disappeared from sight.
A-Zheng remained standing at the temple entrance for a long time.
He lowered his head and looked at the strip of cloth around his arm—the old, washed-out fabric tied in a crooked knot. He thought again of her smile, her two small canine teeth and curved brows; he thought of her pressing the bun into his hand, the little warmth in her palm; he thought of her lowering her head to wrap his arm, her eyelashes trembling faintly; he thought of the pale-pink plum blossom mark on her forearm when she rolled up her sleeve, soft beneath the sunlight.
He opened his mouth, wanting to ask whether she would come back.
But when the words reached his lips, no sound came out.
The wind made the strip of cloth sway back and forth.
She was gone.
But the name A-Zheng, the words “you have to live well,” and that little plum blossom had all taken root in his heart.