Jiangnan Province, Songjiang Prefecture City, the Chen Residence.
A middle-aged woman of about thirty entered Xuancao Hall and, pointing at the little girl playing cat’s cradle under the corridor, asked, “Where is Miss Cheng?”
The little girl wore her hair in double-loop buns, dressed in a blue cotton skirt, and answered crisply, “The Old Madam just took her medicine and has gone to sleep. Miss Cheng is in her room reading.”
So the woman turned on her heel, skirted the main courtyard, and walked through the covered corridor to the side chambers at the rear.
It was springtime, the weather warm, and the curtains were raised high. Inside, a young lady was practicing calligraphy.
She bowed slightly and called out, “Miss Cheng.”
“Please come in, Nanny Deng,” said Cheng Danruo.
Nanny Deng entered the room. She wore a blue-grey round-collared cloth jacket, a yellow skirt, a blue sleeveless vest, and a pair of silver earrings set with a piece of jasper of fair quality – clearly a senior servant in a wealthy household.
And indeed she was.
“Madam says that after lunch today, she’s been feeling a bit sluggish in her digestion and asks you to come take a look,” Nanny Deng conveyed her madam’s wishes with neither humility nor overbearingness.
Cheng Danruo set down her brush and said, “I’ll go right away.”
Nurse Deng smiled. “That would be for the best, of course.” Though she said this, she made no move to leave immediately – clearly intending to escort Cheng Danruo there herself.
Such an attitude was, naturally, somewhat peculiar.
Since she addressed the girl as “Miss,” she was either a member of the household or a guest – so why the lack of ceremony, directly pressing her to come tend to someone’s illness? The answer was simple.
She lived on their charity.
Cheng Danruo’s surname was Cheng, but she was not a member of the Chen family -she was an orphan staying with the Chens.
Of course, there was a kinship between them.
Her biological grandmother’s eldest brother was the father of Master Chen. By proper relation, she should address the head of the household, Master Chen, as “maternal cousin-uncle,” his wife – Nanny Deng’s madam – as “maternal cousin-aunt,” and Master Chen’s mother, the Old Madam of Xuancao Hall, as “grand-aunt.”
By propriety, since both her parents were dead, she ought to have gone to live with relatives on her father’s side – the clan system in ancient times was deeply entrenched.
Unfortunately, five years ago, the Cheng family had been caught up in warfare, and the entire clan had been all but wiped out.
She was her father’s only surviving bloodline, brought across mountains and rivers by her grandmother’s loyal servant to seek refuge with her grandmother’s natal family. Her grandmother’s elder brother had already passed away, but fortunately the old servant had some connection with the Old Madam’s servants, and so the recognition of kinship was smoothly accomplished.
And so she had come to live with the Chens.
Even among relatives, eating and living for free inevitably made one feel uneasy. Cheng Danruo had studied medicine before her transmigration, and after crossing over, her father had also been a physician – so it was only natural that she had picked up some basic skills, treating her relatives for minor ailments like headaches and fevers, as a way of repaying their kindness.
Madam Chen was the mistress of the inner household. That she called upon Cheng Danruo to treat her indigestion was also a sign that she thought well of her.
Cheng Danruo washed her hands, smoothed her hair, and followed Nanny Deng to the main courtyard.
The weather was fine, with a gentle breeze and warm sun. At the corner of the main courtyard wall, flower buds had begun to sprout – delicate and lovely.
When the maids saw her approaching, they lightly lifted the thin bamboo curtain and announced, “Miss Cheng has arrived.”
“Aunt,” Cheng Danruo said as she entered the room, bowing slightly to Madam Chen, who was reclining on a lounging chair. Madam Chen’s maiden surname was Huang, so she was known as Chen née Huang – referred to in the custom of the time as Madam Chen or Lady Huang.
“None of that formality now,” Lady Huang beckoned. “Come, sit.”
A maid quickly brought over a rattan stool. Cheng Danruo sat down at an angle and asked Lady Huang, “I heard you have been feeling unwell these past few days, so I came to have a look.”
Lady Huang saw no need for polite ceremony with her. She extended her arm and said, “Nothing serious really – just a poor appetite these last few days, and I’ve been feeling rather lethargic.”
Cheng Danruo nodded, took her pulse carefully, and found it deep and slow. She then examined her tongue coating, which was pale and white.
After a moment’s thought, she quietly asked Lady Huang’s maid about her mistress’s condition over the past few days.
The head maid of a wealthy household’s mistress was akin to a company secretary -thoroughly competent in her duties. A young woman in an onion-green skirt stepped forward half a pace and reported in a soft, measured voice, “To answer Miss Cheng, these past few days the Madam has eaten little, drunk less tea than usual, and often complains of abdominal bloating.”
“Does she feel chilly?” Cheng Danruo asked.
“Yes, rather more sensitive to cold than usual.”
“What did she eat today?”
“Half a bowl of polished rice, a little sliced raw fish, and a few pieces of tofu with toon sprouts.”
Cheng Danruo then said, “Aunt’s spleen and stomach are weak, and with the consumption of cold, raw food, the spleen-yang has been damaged, giving rise to internal cold-congestion. I’ll write out a prescription – take two doses and see how it goes.”
She prescribed Lizhong Soup, which has the effect of strengthening qi and tonifying the spleen. The formula was: ginseng, dried ginger, licorice root, and white atractylodes – thirty grams each. Boil in one liter of water until six hundred milliliter remain, strain out the dregs, and take two hundred milliliters warm, three times a day.
After writing it out, she handed it to the maid and added, “It would be better to have congee for the evening meal.”
Lady Huang nodded slightly, said nothing, and seemed to be sizing up Cheng Danruo with a faint, probing gaze.
Having an extra mouth to feed in the household was never a welcome thing for anyone, and raising a child was hardly as simple as just adding another meal – clothing, food, housing, and daily necessities all required an additional share.
Fortunately, her husband held the post of Surveillance Vice Commissioner of the Susong Circuit – a fourth rank official. Though the annual expenses for official entertaining and social obligations were considerable, Songjiang Prefecture was located in the prosperous Jiangnan region and had always been wealthy, so the family was well-off enough that one extra pair of chopsticks would hardly ruin them.
Still, when Cheng Danruo had first arrived, she had been but a child of ten. Now she was nearly fifteen and had grown into a young lady.
And with that came a whole new set of complications.
Just then, a silvery peal of laughter suddenly rang out from outside, and two young ladies entered the room one after the other. The taller one wore a bamboo-green quilted jacket and a goose-yellow brocade skirt – softer in color – while the shorter one was dressed in a white silk jacket and a peach-red skirt, looking more lively and coquettish.
The two girls greeted her sweetly in unison. “Our respects to Mother.”
Lady Huang allowed a faint smile to appear, but asked, “Why aren’t you at your lessons?”
“The tutor had matters at home and gave us a half-day off,” the elder girl replied respectfully. “Hearing that Mother was unwell, my sister and I came especially to tend to you.”
“How thoughtful of you, Rou-niang.” Lady Huang drew her to sit beside her.
The younger girl, not wanting to be outdone, pressed herself affectionately against her mother’s side, looked up with a smile, and said, “Mother, Wan-niang will massage your legs for you.” With that, her little fists fell gently upon Lady Huang’s legs – not too hard, not too soft, just right.
Lady Huang’s smile grew a touch more genuine. “Alright, it’s nothing serious. Dan-niang has already examined me – it’s just a bit of weakness in the spleen and stomach.”
The two young ladies then turned to Cheng Danruo and thanked her.
“We’re much obliged to our cousin,” said thirteen-year-old Chen Wan-niang, her face beaming with smiles.
“Is there anything we sisters can do to help?” asked fourteen-year-old Chen Rou-niang, more attentively.
Cheng Danruo put on her professional smile and replied, “Madam usually pays good attention to her health. Just a bit of care with her diet will suffice.”
A case of indigestion really didn’t require such a fuss.
But she understood the girls’ intentions. As close as they appeared to Lady Huang, they were both, in fact, concubine-born daughters. Living under the watchful eye of their legal mother, it was only natural that they would act obediently and filially.
Still, people in ancient times were people too. The inner household was full of petty trifles, but it wasn’t necessarily terrifying. As long as one was not a servant, there was truly no need to tread on eggshells at every turn.
Cheng Danruo said, “Since both of you are here, you might as well keep Madam company and lift her spirits. If there’s nothing else, I should be getting back to prepare the Old Madam’s medicine.”
Lady Huang nodded and made no move to detain her, merely saying, “The Old Madam’s health has been frail – it’s been hard on you.”
“To serve one’s elders is no hardship,” Cheng Danruo replied flawlessly.
Lady Huang gave an “mm” of acknowledgment and raised her teacup – the signal that the guest was dismissed.
Cheng Danruo left the main courtyard and took a slightly longer, quieter path back to Xuancao Hall.
It was March, and the winds of Jiangnan had already turned quite mild. She slowed her pace, quietly taking stock of her situation in her mind.
To be a woman in ancient times was extraordinarily difficult.
Anyone with even a modicum of common sense knew that women had no independent personhood. At home, they were appendages of their fathers or brothers; after marriage, they belonged to their husbands.
Any of these men could “sell” her.
One kind of sale was under the guise of marriage. That a father or brother might marry off a daughter or sister went without saying – but a husband could also transfer his wife to another man, or divorce her through purchase, or even pawn her out. Such practices were technically illegal, yet they occurred constantly and were seldom stopped.
The second kind of sale was outright human trafficking – with slavery or prostitution being the fate of most.
Of course, it was not only women who suffered; the entire commoner class had very little resilience against misfortune.
A farmer might be tilling his fields in peace one day, only to find his land had become someone else’s the next – another victim of powerful families seizing private farmland. Or he might fall into debt, with interest compounding until he had no choice but to sell himself into servitude.
A merchant would inevitably have to pay protection money to both the official and underworld channels, while also guarding against rivals setting traps to ruin him. If he was in the long-distance trade between north and south, the dangers were even greater – he could be drowned while on a boat, or clubbed in the dark while traveling at night, his demise as gruesome as anything found in the notebooks and tales of the time.
The Cheng family, by comparison, had been fortunate – with a respectable clan and a father who held a minor official post. That was already considered good fortune.
But what good had it done? When the flames of war arrived, the entire clan was laid to waste.
This was ancient times, where the average life expectancy was thirty years – and she had already lived half of that.
Yet women who traveled through time always seemed to have a stroke of luck.
For the moment, her survival was no longer an issue. The Chens were not her family, but the gap between officials and commoners was as wide as heaven and earth. “A great tree offers good shade” – that saying held eternal truth.
Having secured her survival, the next question was how to live well.
And on that front, Cheng Danruo had her own plans.
“Miss Cheng.” The little maid at Xuancao Hall gave a crisp laugh. “The Old Madam is awake and looking for you.”
Cheng Danruo gathered her thoughts and walked quickly into the main hall.
Inside, the highest authority of the Chen household – Old Madam Chen – was wearing an autumn-hued jacket embroidered with longevity patterns and a headband across her brow. She was reclining on the couch behind the screen, while a young maid helped change her diaper.
“Let me do it.” Cheng Danruo took the homemade diaper and deftly changed the Old Madam, saying as she worked, “It’s warm today, and the wind isn’t harsh. Shall we have them open the windows to let in some fresh air?”
Old Madam Chen’s mouth was slightly askew, her expression stiff. After a long pause, she finally said, “Alright.”
Though her words were brief, a careful listener would notice that her speech was somewhat slurred. Combined with the crooked mouth and incontinence, it was not hard to tell that this family matriarch was a stroke patient.
“You’ve improved so much these past few months,” Cheng Danruo said softly. “If you keep following my advice and take things slowly, you’ll get better.”
As she spoke, she offered Old Madam Chen a cup of water to keep her hydrated.
After drinking the water and having some facial cream applied, Old Madam Chen felt much more comfortable. A faint smile finally appeared on her face, and she asked Cheng Danruo, “Where did you go?”
“Madam Chen was feeling some digestive discomfort, so I went to have a look,” Cheng Danruo replied as she supported the old lady in walking a few paces around the room to get her body moving. “It’s nothing serious.”
Old Madam Chen nodded, but with some dissatisfaction said, “So young, yet so frail and delicate.”
Cheng Danruo smiled and did not respond.
“She’s been in this house for over ten years and has only given birth to the Second Young Master,” Old Madam Chen muttered. “At first, I chose her for her distinguished family background – who would have thought she’d turn out to be so poor in bearing children?”
At present, the Chen family had five children: the First Miss, Chen Fang-niang; the Third Miss, Chen Rou-niang; the Fourth Miss, Chen Wan-niang; and the Fifth Young Master, Chen Zhigong – all born to concubines. Only the Second Young Master, Chen Zhixiao, was Lady Huang’s sole son.
Two grandsons – Old Madam Chen found that too few. Yet seven years had passed since the Fifth Young Master was born, and no new addition to the family had followed.
She blamed Lady Huang for it.
Cheng Danruo changed the subject. “Would you like some plums? You should eat more fresh fruit.”
Old Madam Chen was feeling a little tired, and so took the chance to rest.
Cheng Danruo washed her hands, peeled plums for her, and chatted idly from time to time to lift the old lady’s spirits.
This was Cheng Danruo’s life in the Chen household: an orphan living on charity, the family’s physician, and the Old Madam’s personal caretaker –
Cheng Danruo, a native of Datong in Shanxi, had lost her parents at a young age and was taken in by the Chen family.
– History of the Xia · Biographies, Chapter Ninety-One
