In the springtime capital, Du Changqing, proprietor of Huichun Medical Hall, welcomed one of his chief patrons, Squire Qian. After an exchange full of false warmth and empty courtesy, he passed on a medicinal drink Lu Li had given him. Yet because of the poem written on its wrapping, Squire Qian suddenly looked upon that "leftover tea" in an entirely different light.
Spring had entered the imperial capital, and the streets and alleys gradually filled with more stalls selling snacks and sundries.
The season was just right. Ladies going out for excursions and lake outings came in an endless stream, and whenever they grew tired on the road, they inevitably bought osmanthus sweets or preserved fruits to satisfy their cravings. Granny Zhang's snowflake cakes were the most sought-after of all, thin as cicada wings, melting the instant they touched the tongue and leaving behind a rich sweetness.
Inside Huichun Medical Hall, behind the counter, Du Changqing was chewing on half a snowflake cake while staring listlessly across the street.
The Du family of the capital's southern district had originally made their fortune from a pharmacy. Later, when the business grew, they opened a medical hall. As the hall's reputation rose, Old Master Du's residence was expanded several times as well.
In his youth, Old Master Du had thrown himself wholly into business. Not until he was already past forty did he finally take a proper wife.
His young bride was only twenty-eight, lovely as a flower, and before long she became pregnant. Old Master Du, overjoyed to have a son so late in life, wished he could hold both wife and child in the palm of his hand.
Sadly, Madam Du was fated to die young. She passed away just one year after giving birth. Old Master Du pitied his son for losing his mother so early, and because the child was handsome and bright-eyed besides, he indulged him more and more. By the time he realized it, he had raised a good-for-nothing who could not lift a finger, knew nothing of grain or toil, and spent all day listening to songs and drinking wine.
That wastrel was Du Changqing.
While Old Master Du was alive, the family coffers had been deep enough to support any excess. But once the old man died, the Du family lost the pillar holding it up.
Raised in pampered luxury, Du Changqing was mediocre in learning and knew only horse-racing, cockfighting, and idle pleasures. He was extravagant, loose with money, and loved to play the generous grandee. A flock of worthless fair-weather friends treated him as a fool to be fleeced. One day Zhang Third would claim his mother was gravely ill and borrow three hundred taels; the next day Li Fourth would say he needed five hundred strings of cash to start a business. Little by little, over time, the Du family's fields and shops were all mortgaged and sold off. In the end, only this run-down little medical hall on West Street remained.
This shabby place had been the first shop with which Old Master Du made his fortune. Du Changqing did not dare sell it, so instead he paid a down-and-out scholar by the roadside to write him a signboard, hung it up, and proclaimed himself proprietor of Huichun Medical Hall.
The physician who had originally sat in consultation there had long since been poached away by Jishi Hall with a high salary, and no decent replacement could be hired for the time being. Besides, the hall was already operating at a loss. Whether there was a doctor or not made little difference. On ordinary days a few neighbors would occasionally come buy some herbs, just enough to keep the place alive. At this rate, within three months the hall, too, would change hands.
A horse carriage with a dark green canopy rolled in from the corner of the street. Its wheels ground across the flagstones, stirring up a few soft willow catkins.
Someone stepped down from the carriage.
Du Changqing's eyes lit up. He swallowed the rest of the snowflake cake in two or three bites, shook off his listless manner at once, and hurried out to greet the newcomer with a loud and affectionate cry.
"Uncle!"
The visitor was an older man of about fifty, wearing a square headscarf and a dark agarwood-colored silk robe. A folding fan rested in one hand, while the other held a handkerchief over his nose and mouth as he coughed his way forward.
Du Changqing ushered him inside to a seat and shouted toward the back, where a young assistant was wiping tables. "Xiaofu! Didn't you see my uncle has come? Hurry and brew the good tea!" Then, turning back to his guest, he added with feigned reproach, "The brat has no eyes in his head. Uncle, don't lower yourself to his level."
Squire Qian set down the handkerchief and waved a hand. Drawing a prescription from his sleeve, he began, "Changqing..."
"This month's tonic, right?" Du Changqing snatched the prescription and headed for the counter. "Your nephew will prepare it at once!"
Xiaofu brought tea to Squire Qian and looked at him with a trace of sympathy. There were many fools in this world, but a man who was being treated like a fool while still believing he had the upper hand was rarer. Squire Qian was the finest example Xiaofu had ever seen.
Squire Qian had been a close friend of Old Master Du. The two came from similar families and had known each other since childhood. They remained outwardly cordial all their lives, yet privately they competed at everything: whose wife was more beautiful, whose children studied better, whose figure was finer, whose household enjoyed greater comfort and display.
After Old Master Du died, Squire Qian lost the man against whom he had measured himself for so long. For a time he felt strangely empty, and so he turned his attention to Old Master Du's son instead. Every few days he would come to buy medicine and, while he was there, lecture the younger man in the tone of a well-meaning elder. It gave him a pleasing sense of superiority.
Du Changqing always put on an obedient face, listening with apparent humility, and Squire Qian found this very satisfying. In any case, he needed to buy nourishing medicines each month regardless. To him the expense was trivial; to the fallen young master, however, it was enough to keep Huichun Medical Hall open another month or so.
After Old Master Du's death, one might almost say Squire Qian had become Du Changqing's provider.
And naturally, one ought to treat the person who fed and clothed one with proper respect.
When the medicine had been prepared and Du Changqing sat down beside him again, Squire Qian, after draining half a pot of tea, resumed lecturing him.
"Changqing, when your father was gravely ill, he asked me to look after you after he was gone. I was as close as brothers with him, and I have always treated you like half a son. So today I must speak a few earnest words to you."
"Men your age are already establishing families and careers. While your father lived, your household was wealthy enough that the small income from a single medical hall did not matter. But now things are different. This hall is all you have to live on. Though it sits in a good location, the shop is cramped and very few people come to buy medicine. If this continues, it cannot last. Even if you sell the hall and exchange it for silver, you can only eat through the money for so long."
"You are a clever young man, and you have some talent too. Why not sit the examinations, earn a rank, and obtain an official post? Just look at my two disappointing sons. They may not be as bright as you, but I taught them from childhood. Now they have at least achieved something. Do you know that my second son received another increase in salary only a few days ago..."
Du Changqing listened with all the patience of a dutiful junior until Squire Qian had finished off the tea, his throat dry from talking. When the older man finally rose to leave, Du Changqing wrapped up the remaining half-box of snowflake cakes. Then his eye fell on a packet of medicinal drink sitting on the table. A few days earlier, the girl who sold mugwort charcoal had given it as an extra. Xiaofu had not had the heart to throw it away. After drinking from it for two days and finding nothing wrong, he had left it there.
Du Changqing wrapped the medicinal drink together with the remaining cakes in red paper and pressed them into Squire Qian's hands just as he was about to step into the carriage.
"Uncle, you are busy with public matters, so I won't escort you farther. Since spring has only just arrived, I've specially prepared a small seasonal gift for you. The medicinal drink inside can ease sinus congestion and stuffiness. Please do take good care of your august health."
Squire Qian laughed heartily. "Changqing, you are thoughtful indeed." He instructed the coachman to depart, and the carriage rolled away.
The moment the carriage vanished, the smile on Du Changqing's face collapsed. As he turned toward the inner room, he cursed sourly, "That sour old pedant is finally gone."
Xiaofu said, "But Squire Qian wasn't entirely wrong, boss. You really could sit the examinations..."
Du Changqing glared at him. "Easy for you to say. Do you think I don't take the exams because I simply don't feel like it?" He continued cursing. "Even my old man never lectured me like that!"
Xiaofu grinned placatingly. "There's an old saying: even a dog has to wag its tail at its master. Right now the hall's income depends on him. Boss, just bear with it a bit more."
Du Changqing kicked him squarely in the backside. "Who's the dog? Who are you calling a dog?"
Rubbing his rear, Xiaofu gave a sheepish laugh. "Me."
...
When Squire Qian returned to the Qian residence, his wife was inside checking the accounts the steward had brought in.
The moment she saw the oil-paper parcels in his hands, she let out a snort. "You've gone to Huichun Medical Hall again?"
"It was my late friend Du's dying request. How could I refuse?"
Madam Qian gave him a smile that was all skin and no warmth. "You're the one rushing to hand over silver, while they treat you like a fool. If he himself has no will to improve, why are you worrying yourself sick over him?"
"What would a woman like you understand?" Squire Qian waved his hand, unwilling to argue. "Besides, every time they send me tea and cakes as gifts. What fool? Must you speak so harshly?"
Madam Qian glanced at him sideways. "A few leftover pastries and some tea dregs, dressed up and sent over—that's all. Some spring gift indeed. You're simply too honest."
"I can't talk sense into you, so I won't bother." Squire Qian undid the oil-paper wrapping. As on previous occasions, the things inside were cheap odds and ends and no exception today.
He set the snowflake cakes aside, and his gaze fell on the medicinal drink packet.
It had been tied shut with coarse red string, and there were characters written across the white waxed paper. Squire Qian's old eyes were dim, so he leaned close to read them and discovered two lines of verse:
"Even the drifting willow catkins laugh at the shallowness of human feeling,
Again and again they brush against one's clothes and face."
The handwriting was in delicate blossom-script, one careful stroke after another, graceful and elegant.
Squire Qian's eyes brightened immediately. He adored such refined things. A packet of medicinal tea wrapped in poetry seemed far more tasteful, even if what lay inside were only tea dregs.
He ordered the servants, "Brew this medicinal drink. For the next few days, this is what I'll be drinking."
Madam Qian looked at him in puzzlement. "Didn't you used to give those teas to the servants? Why have you suddenly thought of drinking this one yourself?" She glanced at the packet again. "You ignore the fine tea at home and insist on drinking this instead. What strange habit is this?"
"The flavor of elegance cannot be measured in silver," Squire Qian declared, flourishing his sleeve. He was just about to launch into a grand speech when he caught sight of his wife's expression and hastily gave a dry cough instead. "Changqing said this tea could help with chronic sinus blockage..."
Then, lowering his voice, he muttered, "I'll drink it for a few days first and see."