My Cold-Hearted Wife Chapter 45

As long as it wasn’t a matter of formally opening the ancestral shrine and adding someone to the family genealogy, the process for taking an unrelated person as a sworn child was quite simple.

The next day, Cheng Danruo put on a new outfit, courtesy of the county magistrate’s wife. In the presence of everyone, she kowtowed three times to Yan Hongzhi, offered him tea, and addressed him as her “adoptive father.”

Yan Hongzhi drank the tea and gave her a jade pendant as a meeting gift. That was enough to signify that he had accepted her as his daughter. His attendant, Mo Dian, and his steward stepped forward to pay their respects and addressed her as “Third Young Miss.”

Xie Xuanying formally met her again afterward.

One addressed the other as “younger cousin” and the other as “elder cousin.” From then on, they could no longer be considered strangers.

It was also only on this day that they formally learned each other’s names.

With the matter settled, Cheng Danruo’s status had, on paper at least, risen somewhat, and the servants and guards became a little more respectful toward her.

But anyone who took a mere title seriously would be the biggest fool of all.

Cheng Danruo was no fool. Unless her real father was someone other than the late Dr. Cheng, she was still a commoner by birth and could never become a young lady of a prestigious family in this lifetime.

She continued doing exactly what she needed to do, making her rounds of the patients’ rooms twice a day, morning and evening.

Qian Ming was young and strong, and his wound was healing very well. He could even manage to curl his fingers around something now.

The others were amazed, shaking their heads in wonder as they remarked to one another, “I’ve never seen anything like this before. A severed hand can be reattached and still be usable? Good heavens, that’s incredible!”

Even Yan Hongzhi came to take a look. He gave his sincere assessment. “This truly is an extraordinary skill. Dan-niang, is this a family tradition of yours?”

“Not exactly,” Cheng Danruo replied. “It’s the result of generations of accumulated medical knowledge. I merely managed to make it work once.”

The development of medicine was a bloody road. Whether in China or the West, countless people had attempted to practice surgery, only to fail because they lacked sufficient knowledge of human anatomy.

Yet it was precisely through their attempts and experimentation that they gradually illuminated the path toward modern medicine.

“Actually, it’s still too early to call it a success. Once the bone has healed, we may need to remove the pins.” She carefully instructed him, “You need to be extra careful yourself. Take things slowly and give it time to heal.”

“You’re too modest, Doctor Cheng.” Having received such an enormous kindness from her, Qian Ming was so grateful that he hardly knew what to say. He hurriedly added, “Calling it the work of an immortal wouldn’t be an exaggeration.”

Li Bohu chimed in, “Exactly. If you told people about this, I’m afraid no one would even believe you.”

Cheng Danruo smiled. She keenly noticed that their attitude had become more respectful.

This respect no longer stemmed from Yan Hongzhi, nor from her status as a “guest,” but from their respect for Cheng Danruo herself.

Yes, she thought. This is what I want.

In ancient times, a woman was expected to obey her father at home, her husband after marriage, and her son after her husband died. Her worth was supposed to be determined by the men in her life.

But the one who possessed modern medical knowledge was her.

The daughter of Dr. Cheng, a relative of Vice Commissioner Chen, Yan Hongzhi’s adopted daughter… these were merely incidental identities.

Cheng Danruo’s worth should be determined by Cheng Danruo herself.

Everyone’s injuries and illnesses had improved, so they set off by boat for Jinling.

The journey by water was smooth, and they arrived in a single day.

Lin Xin was already waiting at the pier, personally there to escort his teacher back home.

This time, Cheng Danruo’s status had changed. She had already met the Lin couple, and they had given her a gold hairpin and two lengths of silk cloth as a meeting gift.

“Amitabha,” Zi Su said. “Now that’s a blessing at just the right time.”

All their luggage had been rummaged through by the pirates, and even the things that remained were no longer usable. Fortunately, while they were in Yancheng, the county magistrate’s wife had somehow learned that there were women among them and sent people to deliver some clothes. But there hadn’t been much. How could two or three outfits possibly be enough for changing?

The autumn winds were beginning to rise. Although Jiangnan was still relatively warm, they would soon be heading north, and they would certainly need warm clothes.

The fabric sent by Madam Lin was just enough to have several autumn outfits made.

The Lin family had thought of everything. Seeing that Cheng Danruo had only one maid by her side, they sent two more maids over to help. Zi Su took them in hand, rushing to cut fabric and make clothes and shoes, until she was so busy that her head was spinning and her eyes were seeing stars.

Having decided that she would make a living through medicine, Cheng Danruo had little time to worry about food and clothing for the moment. She sent Nanny Zhang out to purchase Gentiana root, cork bark, corydalis tuber, red peony root, Cyathea root, alisma rhizome, plantain seed, and Smilax glabra rhizome, preparing to make “Tongfeng Ding” – a remedy for gout.

The Smilax glabra rhizome was ground into a powder. The remaining herbs were soaked in water for twelve hours, then decocted and strained. The resulting liquid was mixed with the Smilax glabra powder and a small amount of starch, carefully dried, then ground into a fine powder and sifted.

Originally, Tongfeng Ding came in capsules, but there were no capsules available here. Cheng Danruo came up with an alternative and used rice paper instead.

She cut the rice paper used to wrap sticky rice cakes into small pieces, then used a spoon to portion out the powder as evenly as possible, about 0.4 grams per dose. She wrapped each portion into a suitably sized packet and sealed them in a medicine jar.

“If an attack occurs, take four packets at a time, three times a day. Do not take them with tea.” Cheng Danruo handed them to Mo Dian and instructed him to store them carefully. “From now on, Father, you must not drink alcohol if you can possibly avoid it. Pepper, Sichuan peppercorns, and ginger should be used as little as possible, and you must not eat meat broth. Seafood, beef, and mutton should also be eaten sparingly. Eat more vegetables and fruit.”

Yan Hongzhi let out a long sigh, clearly wanting to say something but holding himself back.

Fortunately, Xie Xuanying was a filial student, and Lin Xin was a devoted disciple.

The moment he heard about the dietary restrictions, he immediately instructed his wife to prepare separate meals for his teacher.

Cheng Danruo already had experience playing the role of a filial daughter. Seeing that Yan Hongzhi was finding his meals difficult to swallow, she volunteered, “I will eat every meal with Father.”

She had spent several years accompanying Old Madam Chen as she ate watery stews. A light diet was nothing she couldn’t handle.

After half a month of recuperation, Yan Hongzhi’s complexion had indeed improved.

At the same time, Xie Xuanying accompanied Lin Xin to pay a visit to Xu Jiang and apologize in person.

Xu Jiang had initially intended to put on some airs, but before even fifteen minutes had passed after they met, his attitude changed completely. He eagerly invited them to stay for a meal, regretting only that his eldest daughter had already married and the remaining one was still an infant.

With this matter settled, their lingering worries could finally be put to rest.

Xie Xuanying turned his attention to other matters. He bought local specialties in Jinling to replace what had been lost, replenished their clothing and belongings, and somehow managed to find a boat bound for the capital.

Lin Xin wanted his teacher and junior fellow disciple to stay a few more days and leave after the Mid-Autumn Festival. But it was already late July, and if they waited until after the fifteenth of August to set off, they might run into frost on the rivers, which would inevitably cause trouble.

They therefore agreed to leave on the twenty-eighth of July.

Cheng Danruo never even stepped outside once. Before she had any chance to admire the splendor and prosperity of Jinling, she had no choice but to board another boat and leave the ancient capital, with its thousand years of history.

“The Yangtze and the Grand Canal flow as one continuous waterway. Grain barges come north from as far away as beyond the mountain ranges of Lingnan, converging upon the capital. The prosperity of a nation’s heartland can be judged by what one sees here; its true scale is plain to see.”

Even across different times and places, this line from Records of the Grain Barges still perfectly captures the grandeur of the Grand Canal linking Beijing and Hangzhou.

This time, Yan Hongzhi and the others travelled aboard an official vessel. It was somewhat smaller than the sea-going ship they had taken before, but its furnishings were more refined.

Cheng Danruo’s cabin was divided into two rooms. The inner room contained a chamber pot and a bathing tub. Whenever conditions allowed, they could go ashore to purchase water and bathe. The river water could neither be drunk nor used for bathing; with so many boats coming and going, who knew how many boatmen relieved themselves on the stern decks?

All their water was purchased from wells along the shore, and it was sweet and refreshing.

On the upper deck of the multi-story vessel was a hall open to the breeze from both north and south. With the windows on both sides thrown open, a gentle breeze drifted through. They could watch people coming and going along the banks and boats weaving back and forth across the water, which had a charm of its own.

Neither Yan Hongzhi nor Xie Xuanying could stand being cooped up in their cabins, so they usually spent their days in the hall, playing chess and chatting.

Now that Cheng Danruo’s status had changed, she no longer had to sit cooped up in her cabin either. She often stayed by their side, pouring tea and fetching water for her adoptive father.

It was hardly a bad arrangement.

Yan Hongzhi was much easier to look after than Old Madam Chen. He was also an entertaining man, and since this was his first time raising a daughter, he found the experience rather novel. One day, he happened to recall their game of chess aboard the sea-going vessel and offered to teach her weiqi.

Cheng Danruo immediately agreed.

When a master teaches a beginner, both tend to be full of enthusiasm at first.

Yan Hongzhi taught her in stages. He would play until she was completely cornered, then point out where she had first fallen into his trap and have her start the game over from there.

Knowing full well how rare this opportunity was, Cheng Danruo wished she could get up at dawn and stay up until midnight playing all day.

But Yan Hongzhi told her, “You cannot see every mountain in a single journey, nor can you admire every flower in all four seasons. Only when you leave something for later can the pleasure last.”

He played only three games a day.

The rest of the time was spent on other things.

That day, the boat had just left Jiangsu. The weather was still warm, with crisp autumn skies, and the three of them were drinking tea in the hall. The windows on both sides were wide open, with only gauze curtains hanging across them.

The gauze was so thin and translucent that people outside could not make out the figures inside, while those within could see the scene outside perfectly clearly. It was essentially a luxurious version of frosted glass.

Cheng Danruo deliberately sat in the circular-backed chair by the window, peering outside through the curtain.

On the Grand Canal, countless boats passed back and forth like shuttles. Vendors along the banks sold food and hot tea, while porters hoisted heavy loads onto their shoulders.

At the dock, several young women emerged from a moored boat. Dressed in plain clothes with their hair pinned up with simple hairpins, their skin rough from hard work, they spoke with someone for a while. Before long, two people came out and climbed into the small boat.

The boat rocked gently, sending ripples across the green water.

Women were washing clothes. A little boy untied his waistband to relieve himself, only for an old woman to grab a laundry paddle and give him a hard smack on the backside.

There were also several cargo ships that had clearly been sailing ahead of them, yet had been stopped by soldiers. A man in silk robes emerged, clasped his hands ingratiatingly in greeting, and slipped several money pouches into their hands.

The soldiers weighed them in their palms, then put on a show of craning their necks to take a look before quickly getting back onto the shore. But the ship still could not proceed. It had to move aside and let the vessels behind it pass first.

When it was their turn, however, the soldiers merely asked the boatmen a few questions. Then their backs immediately bent into a deferential bow, and without another word, they waved the vessel through.

Cheng Danruo knew this was because their boat flew a banner bearing the official title of Yan Hongzhi’s eldest son, indicating that they were the family of a Langzhong of the Ministry of Revenue.

Just how high-ranking was a Langzhong of the Ministry of Revenue?

First, the highest-ranking official in the Ministry of Revenue was the Minister, a first-rank official. Beneath him were the Left and Right Vice Ministers, the second- and third-ranking officials, respectively. The three of them oversaw the entire ministry.

Below them were thirteen divisions, each responsible for the finances of one of thirteen provinces: Zhejiang, Jiangxi, Huguang, Shaanxi, Guangdong, Shandong, Fujian, Henan, Shanxi, Sichuan, Guangxi, Guizhou, and Yunnan.

Each division was headed by a Langzhong, a fifth-rank official, with an Yuanwailang, a fifth-rank official of the lower grade, serving as his deputy.

Each division was further divided into the People Division, which handled population, agriculture, marriage, and related matters; the Finance Division, which handled official salaries and various expenses; the Treasury Division, which oversaw tea and salt, trade, annual tribute, and fines; and the Granary Division, which handled tax collection and grain stores.

In short, a Langzhong of the Ministry of Revenue might not sound like a particularly high-ranking official, but he was actually in charge of a province’s finances.

When a local government went to the central government to ask for funding, it was essentially asking one of these thirteen divisions for money.

No one would be foolish enough to stop Yan Hongzhi’s boat for the sake of demanding a toll.

But when a larger vessel behind them caught up, they still had to make way.

“On the Grand Canal, grain transport vessels have the highest priority, tribute vessels come next, official vessels after that, and civilian vessels are last.”

A teacher’s duty is to impart knowledge, teach skills, and dispel doubts. Yan Hongzhi was undoubtedly a good teacher. Seeing that his newly adopted daughter kept looking outside, he immediately began explaining things to her.

“Do you know what a grain transport vessel is?” he asked.

“I’ve heard a little about them,” Cheng Danruo replied. “Songjiang is one of the places responsible for providing the largest share of grain taxes among the six regions.”

Like the Ming dynasty before it, the Great Xia had established its capital in Beijing. The grain produced in the north was insufficient to meet the needs of the military and the state, so grain had to be transported north from the south every year.

Among them, Suzhou and Songjiang bore the largest shares. Suzhou provided roughly seven hundred thousand bushels, while Songjiang provided more than two hundred thousand, together accounting for a fifth of the country’s total grain tribute.

“It’s been reduced considerably since the reforms,” Xie Xuanying said. “It’s nothing like it used to be. Out of two hundred thousand bushels of grain tribute, if they can deliver a hundred and fifty thousand, that’s already more than enough to show they’ve done their part.”

Cheng Danruo gave him an inquisitive look.

Xie Xuanying explained, “In the past, grain tribute was transported by conscripted labor. Farmers were pulled away from their fields during the farming season, and there was also a great deal of exploitation along the way. The common people suffered greatly because of it. Now it’s been changed to military transport. The losses are compensated with silver instead, which makes the whole process much more convenient.”

The system of military transport was quite simple: the responsibility was handed over to the local military garrison, and the army sent soldiers to transport the grain.

In return, the local government provided the garrison with a certain subsidy to cover the various expenses involved in transportation. Compared with the old system, it appeared to increase government expenditure, but it eliminated the layers of exploitation along the route and actually made the whole process considerably more efficient.

“I see.” Cheng Danruo had learned something new once again.

It had to be said that in the short span of a month, Cheng Danruo had learned more about the world than she had in the previous several years. Master Chen would never have discussed such matters with the women of his household, and Lady Huang would never have taught her how to manage a household or read account books.

Copying Buddhist scriptures, memorizing Buddhist scriptures, caring for her elders, and doing needlework – that had been the entirety of her life in the inner quarters of the Chen household.

Day after day, it had seemed as though the entire world consisted of nothing more than a small patch of sky enclosed on all four sides, so confining that she could hardly breathe.