MBSB C3

Chapter 3 — I Will Treat You Well

He could no longer remember the last time he had tasted meat. The smell in memory only became solid now. It nearly made him dizzy with fragrance. One bite of red-braised pork and Lu Li could shovel several bites of rice. Even plain white rice was sweet.

The bowls were scraped clean. His little belly rounded. It had been a long time since he had eaten so full. He rubbed it in satisfaction and gave Du Siqing a bashful smile. The little dimples showed and hid.

Watching him, Du Siqing felt as if he himself had eaten three big bowls. “More?”

Lu Li shook his head and pointed at his taut little stomach. Full.

“I still don’t know your name. How old are you?”

Lu Li signed eighteen, then a flat little circle.

Du Siqing only understood the age, not the name.

Lu Li grew anxious. His mouth opened with effort. He looked around, stood, and fetched a fragrant pear from the side, eager to show it.

This time Du Siqing understood. “Lu Li.”

Lu Li nodded like a chick pecking grain.

“Truly cute.” Du Siqing smiled. He meant the name, and the person.

A pity Lu Li was so thin. The face held no flesh. The body was frail. At eighteen he looked fifteen or sixteen. He would have to be raised properly. A pretty boy looked better with a little white softness on him. Otherwise even bearing children would be a problem. If there were a baby, it should have a lucky name. Boy or girl or another little husband—all fine. Better if the child looked like Lu Li.

Not having one was fine too. Better not. A body like his had no right to drag someone else into it. So long as the boy drifted before his eyes each day, that would be enough.

“Young Master! Young Master!” Mo Qi’s voice broke in and smashed the daydream. The corners of Du Siqing’s mouth dropped. “What now?”

Mo Qi rushed in, face red with anger. “I’m so angry. Those sly servants won’t admit they stole our pigeon. I saw the feathers by the kitchen wall. They still deny it.”

“Enough, Mo Qi. Cool your fire.” Du Siqing was helpless.

“Young Master, you can’t stay this soft. If these sly servants aren’t taught a lesson they’ll climb on your face.”

Changle Court had few attendants: two cooks, one for wash and sweep, and one close servant—Mo Qi.

Years of loose discipline had made even those few put on airs. They figured the eldest young master had not long to live, and grew less and less diligent. Day after day they went out hunting better prospects, wandering other courtyards. Dirty clothes sat for days before anyone washed them. Only when Mo Qi could not stand it would he speak. The old woman still did not move. Mo Qi washed them himself in a temper, and at first ruined several garments, making a young master who was already not rich still poorer.

Du Siqing knew all this. A rotten life, dragged as it would. He glanced at Lu Li. “Mo Qi. What prestige do you think your master still has? Them not shitting on my head is already good.”

Mo Qi folded at once. “Then… then we endure this for life? The Young Master is master of this court. How can he be humiliated like this?”

“Soon.”

“Ah?”

Mo Qi did not understand what “soon” meant. He only felt that if the Young Master kept swallowing it, he would choke to death.

After the meal Du Siqing braced himself and took a brocade pouch from the cabinet. “This is what I promised you. I will not go back on my word. The Du house is a den of tigers. It is not a good place to stay. If you want to take the divorce letter and go, you may.”

Lu Li knew some characters. He recognized the three words “letter of divorce,” and the bank notes. The sum burned. He shoved them back at once and shook his head like a rattle-drum.

Even divorced he had no home. Father and stepmother did not want him. In the Lu house he lived worse than a kitten or a pup, never full, beaten at a word. If this money were found they would gnaw it until not a scrap remained.

“Too little?”

Lu Li still shook his head.

“Then you won’t leave?”

Lu Li nodded hard.

Joy rose in Du Siqing’s chest.

In the dead air of Changle Court a rose had opened on the snow. Of course one wanted to keep it.

He put the divorce letter back in the pouch and took out only the notes. “Keep these. It isn’t much. Pocket money.”

Lu Li stared again. Several hundred taels called “not much.” Enough to open a clinic. The money was a hot potato in his hands, unsafe here, unsafe there. He turned about the room like a mouse hiding food, and at last pressed it under the bottom of the cabinet.

I will keep it well for you.

With so much silver, how was the man still this ill? Lu Li could not help thinking it.

Not long after, Du Heng brought a physician. “Siqing, let the doctor look again. You have passed the gate of twenty. Your body ought to be much better.”

The physician felt the pulse with care and shook his head again and again. “The eldest young master’s color looks passable. The legs are as they were, hard to heal. The pulse path is harsh, the flow not smooth, yet not wholly scattered. Essence and blood are spent, stasis blocks the vessels. Life has not cut off; the look of death has not left. Careful medicine may stretch it by some months.”

Lu Li’s family kept a clinic. From childhood he had picked up a good deal, mostly from medical books, with little practice. The physician’s words still made his heart jump. Du Siqing truly did not have long.

He thought of Du Siqing’s kindness: the soft bed, the sick body dragged to the main hall to save him, the full meal, even the promise of freedom. It should not end like this.

Du Siqing’s face barely moved. He already knew his end. There was no need to mourn the spring.

Du Heng sighed and sighed, regret on his face, and waved the physician off. “Go write the prescription.” He looked at Du Siqing. “Child, if you want to eat something or use something, tell your father.”

“I do not expect this body to recover one day. Only at noon I wanted a bowl of pigeon soup and did not get it.” Du Siqing coughed many times.

Du Heng called Mo Qi in. “What kind of servant are you? The Young Master wants something and you do not buy it?”

Mo Qi dropped to his knees and wept. “My lord, see clearly. Today I saw the Young Master in good spirits and bought a pigeon to nourish him. I gave it to Uncle Guo in the small kitchen. Who knew he would swallow it himself and say he had never seen any such pigeon? The feathers are still buried at the foot of the wall!”

“Sly slaves!” Du Heng felt his authority challenged. Even servants could ride their master’s head. “Come. Beat everyone in that kitchen and sell them off.”

Pages outside took the order and dragged people from the kitchen. For a time there was wailing and cries for mercy. Lu Li’s heart jumped and jumped.

Du Heng put on a father’s kindness and patted Du Siqing’s shoulder. “Siqing, this is Father’s fault. These years I neglected you, and so these people dared bully you. Rest easy. Father will have better ones chosen for you.”

“Then I thank Father.”

Du Heng stayed a while in Changle Court and left.

“His Lordship too. He knew yesterday was the Young Master’s birthday and never came to look. If the fortune-teller had been right, the Young Master would already be gone, and father and son would not even have had a last meeting.” Mo Qi muttered, scolding the lord to his face. Since the Young Master was crippled he had scarcely set foot in the court, counting down the days to the twentieth birthday. Now that this calamity had passed, he came running.

Du Siqing’s ears were about to grow calluses. He dug at one. “Aiya, good Mo Qi, do not curse your Young Master anymore. I still have one breath left. Two or three more speeches and you’ll talk it away.”

“Pah, pah, pah. That’s on me. Hope Heaven didn’t hear.” Mo Qi put his palms together and bowed. “I’ll go decoct the medicine.”

All year he drank medicine black and bitter. Du Siqing had gone numb to it. The body never much improved. It dragged on, neither well nor worse.

At night Lu Li heated water and hauled it indoors with effort. He washed his own hands clean and reached to pull at Du Siqing’s clothes.

Du Siqing held his clothes and would not let go, stumbling over the words. “No need, no need. I… I’ll do it myself. Or let Mo Qi!”

Lu Li signed: Mo Qi has to watch the medicine stove.

“That… that still won’t do…” Du Siqing looked at Lu Li’s fine pale little hands. Something moved at the tip of his heart. His voice grew smaller and smaller. He did not struggle many times before his fingers loosened.

Lu Li was shy. Even so, shy and afraid in his heart, his cheeks pink as sunset cloud, he still steeled himself and undid the frogs.

A body long sick in bed was truly wasted. Only the clothes kept it from looking too bad. He was so thin there seemed nothing left but a handful of bone. A light snap and it would break. Frailer even than Lu Li.

Lower still, on Du Siqing’s lower back, were two great bedsores, like holes of blood. No wonder he could not sit and had to lean. How could holes that large not hurt? How much must they hurt?

Even in that pain he had struggled into a wheelchair and gone to the main hall to save him. It had been too hard.

Lu Li could not help it. Tears started again. When the little mute cried it was muffled, the sound pressed in the throat, unheard.

But Du Siqing felt clearly the warm drops sliding down his spine. He turned his head and found his little husband already weeping like rain on pear blossom. “Ai, crying again? Your husband hasn’t even cried yet.”

Why didn’t you say? This wound must hurt so much. It has to be cleaned properly or it will never heal… Lu Li’s hands flew until they were almost afterimages.

Du Siqing’s eyes ached from the flashing and he still did not know what was being said. He could only catch the hands in one grip. “All right, all right, I know. Don’t talk. Aren’t you tired?”

To treat bedsores, the first thing was to take the pressure off. Taking the pressure off meant the bed had to be loose and soft.

Theirs was already soft enough, but Lu Li still found it wanting. He ran to the wardrobe, felt every quilt, found a softer silk one, and made the bed neatly before he let Du Siqing sit back down.

He let the salt water cool and wiped the skin around the sores, a simple way to clean and reduce inflammation. It would have to be done at intervals so sweat would not foul the wounds and make them worse.

There were no extra herbs in Changle Court. Luckily some gotu kola grew in a corner of the little yard. Crushed and packed on, it could ease swelling and inflammation. But Du Siqing’s sores were deep. Gotu kola would do little. It was only a stopgap.

Tomorrow I’ll go to the medicine shop. Don’t worry. I will heal you.

What were those flying fingers saying? He understood nothing. Du Siqing was troubled. Unable to make it out, he could only nod and nod.

After the poultice Lu Li found a clean, soft, absorbent cloth and wrapped the wounds. At least the sores had been seen to.

The upper body was done. Next was the lower.

“Ah? The… the trousers too?” Du Siqing’s expression went unnatural. His eyes drifted elsewhere. He scratched his cheek. “Don’t take them off. If I hike the legs up it’s the same. It won’t get in the way…”

Lu Li had no courage left to pull a man’s trousers off. He did as told.

The legs were thin sticks. Years without walking had wasted the muscle. When Lu Li finished wiping he began to massage.

When his mother had been sick in bed he had done this. He had only been five then, but he still remembered the technique. The books said daily massage could move the blood and loosen the muscle.

He was intent on the legs. His eyes happened to glance down. Realization struck all at once and startled him badly.

Du Siqing grew embarrassed too. “That is… your husband still…”

The words were not finished. Lu Li, frightened, snatched up the basin and ran.