My Cold-Hearted Wife Chapter 18

The sky was growing dark, the light dimming.

Yan Hongzhi, troubled by his illness, had noticed nothing amiss and said casually, “It’s getting late. You should go back now.”

“How are you feeling? Any discomfort?” Xie Xuanying’s expression remained unchanged.

“It doesn’t hurt as much now.” Yan Hongzhi shifted his position and waved a hand. “Go get some rest quickly – don’t wear yourself out.”

“Yes.”

Xie Xuanying gave a few instructions to the attendant before closing the door and leaving.

Back in his own room, Bai Mu lit the lamp and helped him change out of his clothes and wash up. As he untied the outer Daoist robe, a folded piece of paper fell onto the bed.

Xie Xuanying started in surprise again. Earlier, when he had been suddenly startled, he hadn’t had time to think and had instinctively stuffed it into his sleeve – then completely forgotten to take it out.

Keeping a lady’s manuscript in his possession was highly improper.

Seeing Baimu fold the robe and about to turn around and discover it, he hastily pulled the blanket over and covered the fallen paper ball in a fluster.

Baimu noticed nothing and brought water to help him wash.

It was a long while before Xie Xuanying finally sent him away and lay down behind the bed curtains.

By all rights, the best course was to burn it, pretend nothing had happened – that would be best for everyone. But he hadn’t yet fully studied the contents, and he truly could not bear to destroy it.

Yet if someone were to find it… Xie Xuanying had not forgotten why he had come to Jiangnan in the first place.

Better to burn it.

He pinched the paper ball but could not bring himself to make the decision.

It was not some obscene love poem. If he said nothing, who would know what it was? Most people probably wouldn’t even understand it – they’d think it was just scribbles.

He turned over and reached to tuck the paper ball back under his pillow.

Since he could not keep it by his side, he would return it to Miss Cheng tomorrow.

His mind settled somewhat, and he thought he would sleep peacefully from then on. But no sooner had one thought been put to rest than another arose.

Abbot Mengjue had said that Miss Cheng’s father was merely a physician at the Huimin Pharmacy, and her handwriting showed no sign of having been taught by a great scholar – so where had she learned Western mathematics?

Could it be that she was self-taught?

If so, it must have been no easy feat.

He sighed inwardly in admiration, then suddenly jolted awake.

Why was he, for no reason at all, pondering over a young lady of the inner chambers? That was far too frivolous of him.

Xie Xuanying suppressed the strange feelings in his heart, cast aside distracting thoughts, and steadied his breathing. But some things – the more one tried not to think about them, the more the mind insisted on doing exactly that.

Countless images came flooding in.

He recalled another incident that had left a particularly deep impression: Gu Lan-niang had fallen, and the anxious servants had hastily carried her away, leaving no one to notice that she was still underneath, struggling painfully to climb back up.

At that moment, Xie Xuanying had felt an inexplicable discomfort.

After all, Cheng Danruo had essentially saved Gu Lan-niang. Even leaving a maid behind to lend a hand would have shown some measure of consideration.

Yet they had left her there all alone.

And so he had stayed, reaching out a hand to pull her up.

Before this, he had assumed that a woman’s hand should be as the books described -soft and boneless, like a piece of tofu that would crumble under too much pressure.

But the hand that grasped his, though slender and fair, was remarkably firm.

Even through the fabric, he could feel her tenacity and strength.

Xie Xuanying was skilled in archery and charioteering, so he could say with certainty that this was no hand for embroidery or playing chess – she must do some manner of physical work to have such strength in her fingers.

What a pity – calligraphy practice was precisely what such a hand needed, yet Miss Cheng could not write well… Stop!

How presumptuous. What was wrong with him today? Why did he keep making such errors?

Xie Xuanying turned over, unable to let it go.

According to the principles of the School of Mind, it was not enough to simply refrain from acting on improper thoughts – one must root them out from the very mind itself, thereby guiding correct actions. This was what was meant by “the unity of knowledge and action” and “the extension of innate knowledge.”

He examined himself: Why did he have such frivolous thoughts?

Did he wish to desecrate Miss Cheng? No – he was rather grateful to her, having been in her debt several times. Then was it because he was young and full of vitality, naturally drawn to young maidens? But… he had not felt this way toward other women.

After much reflection, he traced it all back to his act of secretly keeping the paper.

This was not the conduct of a gentleman, and it was out of guilt that his thoughts had wandered so.

Tomorrow, he must return the calculation paper and offer his apologies, making clear that he had no ulterior motives.

Having silently resolved this, he finally found peace and soon fell into a deep sleep.

The next morning, the rain had stopped, and the sun had risen early.

Cheng Danruo had stayed up late the night before, silently recapitulating middle-school mathematics knowledge, and so had gotten up late.

Bai Zhi had already brought breakfast and said to her, “Miss, Nanny Hao is asking when we’re going back. If we delay any longer, it won’t look proper.”

“She’s just tired of plain fare and finds it boring here.” Cheng Danruo remained composed. “Tell her that I already have a plan. I intend to send word to the Chen household and ask Madam to send someone to fetch me. Since she is unwell, it would be best for her not to be moved, and for us to stay a few more days.”

Bai Zhi nodded, but still urged her: “Miss, we’ve been away for five days now. If we stay much longer, it may be hard to answer to the Old Madam.”

“How is five days enough? At least seven days are needed to show my sincerity.”

In the past, Cheng Danruo would have returned early to avoid causing any displeasure in Old Madam Chen’s heart. But now that she had conceived the idea of having Chen Zhixiao carry on both family lines, currying favor was no longer her top priority.

Bai Zhi wanted to persuade her further, but Cheng Danruo was no longer in the mood to listen.

She packed her medicine box and went down the mountain as usual to offer free consultations.

Today, there were more patients than usual. Many had heard of her and traveled from afar, some having spent an entire day on the road.

Cheng Danruo could not help but reflect once more on just how difficult it was for the common poor to see a doctor in ancient times.

This particular patient was rather troublesome. His abdomen was swollen with a large accumulation of fluid – an elderly man in his fifties, his belly distended high while his limbs were withered and gaunt, a truly alarming sight.

Cheng Danruo noted his thready pulse, red tongue, scant coating, and the accompanying high fever and diarrhea, then asked where he lived.

His son said they lived by the river and the whole family made their living by fishing.

“It’s a worm.” – schistosomiasis. She had already guessed the cause. It was a major disease in ancient society – those who lived year-round by the water or drank contaminated water could become infected via snail vectors.

It was not until after the Liberation that schistosomiasis was gradually brought under control and faded from everyday life.

“Worms?” The family exchanged bewildered glances and asked nervously, “Can it be cured, Doctor?”

“Yes.” Cheng Danruo wrote out a prescription as she explained. “Take banbianlian, decoct it in water and drink it. It can promote urination and reduce abdominal fluid. I’ve written down the specific instructions for taking it – just show this paper to the pharmacy.”

They did not fully understand, but they expressed their profuse thanks, and the whole family knelt down to kowtow to her.

Cheng Danruo asked the monk to help them up and advised them, “From now on, try not to go into the water casually. There are worms in the water that can burrow into your skin, do you understand?”

“Yes, yes,” they acknowledged repeatedly.

But Cheng Danruo knew that agreeing was one thing – when the whole family depended on the water for their livelihood, how could they possibly keep their distance? She had only said it for the sake of her own peace of mind.

Later in the day, another patient came.

A woman who had suffered multiple miscarriages asked how she could successfully conceive and carry a child to term.

Cheng Danruo truly felt helpless in this case. She could only advise her that after becoming pregnant, she should stay in bed as much as possible and avoid moving around, taking good care of the pregnancy.

But the woman said that her husband was lazy and idle, never working in the fields, and the whole family depended on her labor. If she rested, there would be no one to wash clothes, cook, transplant seedlings, or harvest – and her husband would beat her.

When things had come to such a pass, what could a doctor do?

In ancient times, there were far too many husbands who abused their wives. If a wife was beaten to death and had no family to stand up for her, her death amounted to nothing. Even if she did have family, and they were spirited enough to bring a lawsuit, the outcome was still uncertain.

According to the law, if a husband killed a guilty concubine or wife – such as for scolding elders or committing adultery – he was merely sentenced to a hundred strokes. And if a wife or concubine committed suicide due to her husband’s beatings and abuse, the husband received no punishment at all.

The patient left in disappointment.

Cheng Danruo, feeling a kinship in their shared womanhood, sank into low spirits.

She barely managed to endure until sunset, then sent Bai Zhi back to rest, wanting to find a quiet place to collect herself and digest all the negative emotions she had absorbed.

At the entrance of the Mahavira Hall, a young monk was sweeping. When he saw her, he smiled and said, “Miss Cheng, you’ve come at just the right time. There’s no one inside – go in quickly and pay your respects to the Bodhisattva, and ask for a good fortune lot.”

His words struck a chord deep within her. Cheng Danruo thought, even if I don’t believe in gods or Buddhas, it wouldn’t hurt to make a plea.

She entered the hall and bowed her head in sincere reverence.

May the Buddha protect her, spare her from falling into a life of serving others with her beauty, from bearing children until her womb gave out, or from marrying a heartless brute and being beaten to death.

She asked not for a good marriage, not for wealth and status, not for a place above others.

She only wanted to be treated as a human being.

The young monk, having received an egg from her the day before, repaid the favor by actively handing her the fortune-telling cylinder and said with worldly wisdom, “Miss Cheng, draw a lot. Ask the Buddha to grant you an ideal husband, so that you may have children and grandchildren filling the hall in the future.”

Cheng Danruo laughed softly. “I do not seek marriage.”

The young monk was surprised. “Why not?” He was puzzled. “The lots here are most efficacious. Last year, a laywoman drew the best possible lot and this year she married an excellent husband, and she came here specially to fulfill her vow.”

“Whether they are efficacious or not has nothing to do with me.” Cheng Danruo looked up at the Buddha. “I have no expectations of marriage.”

The young monk grew even more bewildered and stammered, “Miss… are you not going to marry at all?”

Of course, Cheng Danruo did not wish to marry, but even with a child, she could not say so outright.

She rephrased it into something more acceptable and said, “With a family background like mine, it would be hard to find a good match. I only hope that my luck will not be too terrible – that I will not be made a concubine, nor be humiliated, nor be beaten and cursed.”

The young monk was stunned.

He had seen many women come to pray for marriage – some wealthy, some poor – but every young woman yearned for a good husband and a happy, blissful marriage.

Only Cheng Danruo had spoken such words of despair.

“Miss…”

“It is not too greedy a wish, is it?” Cheng Danruo closed her eyes and said, “I hope it will come true.”

The setting sun stretched her shadow long.