Lu Yang chuckled. “Why would I need to take medicine?”
Xie Yan froze for a second, then laughed too.
“Right. You’re not even taking any.”
No illness, no medicine.
Soon, it was their turn.
Lu Yang sat down and placed his hand on the pulse pillow.
There were a lot of patients, so the doctor was working fast—barely touched Lu Yang’s wrist before reaching for his brush to write a prescription.
But just before the brush hit paper, the doctor paused. He turned back and rechecked Lu Yang’s pulse more carefully.
“Oh,” he said. “Not a cold.”
This doctor looked reliable—white hair and beard, an air of quiet authority.
Xie Yan leaned forward and said, “My husband often gets stomachaches. He says it’s from laughing too hard. Could you take a look?”
The old doctor’s fingers never left Lu Yang’s wrist. Hearing that, he let out a short laugh. “And you spent money to come here for that?”
Lu Yang jumped in to support Xie Yan. “Now come on, can’t a man care about his husband? If we actually knew what it was, we wouldn’t be bothering you.”
The doctor told him to stick out his tongue.
Lu Yang eyed him warily. “What for?”
The doctor pointed at the line of patients behind him. “Don’t want to be seen? Move along.”
Lu Yang obediently stuck his tongue out.
Then he unbuttoned his winter coat without complaint and let the doctor press his belly.
Even Xie Yan’s expression shifted, clearly not liking what he was seeing.
But when Lu Yang winced at just two pokes from the doctor, all of Xie Yan’s other concerns were gone. He immediately asked, “How is it? Where does it hurt?”
The doctor ignored him and began questioning Lu Yang directly:
Is it a dull ache or a bloating pain? How’s your appetite? Do you ever vomit acid? Feel heaviness in your abdomen? Does it hurt more when you eat or when you’re hungry? What time do you go to bed? When do you wake up? What kind of work do you do?
The questions came one after another, tightening Lu Yang’s chest. By the end, his palms were clammy.
After looking at both of them, the doctor finally began writing the prescription. “You’re still young. It’s treatable. Go get the medicine. One dose in three bowls of water. If you’re low on money, boil it twice for six bowls. Take the medicine for a month, then come back for a follow-up.”
Lu Yang asked, “So what exactly do I have?”
The doctor didn’t answer. Just kept writing and smacked the table. “Next.”
Lu Yang wasn’t satisfied. Xie Yan took the prescription and stood beside him.
The writing was concise. On the front side: symptoms like external cold invading the stomach, irregular eating habits, epigastric pain, pain in the ribs, bloating and discomfort. Treatment approach: soothe the liver, regulate qi, harmonize the stomach, relieve pain.
The back side listed two kinds of medicine—pill form and decoction (herbal brew).
Pills were made by the clinic after cooking down the herbs—convenient but slow. They’d be ready in 7–10 days and cost three taels of silver for a month’s worth.
The decoction was a bag of herbs you cooked at home. If you had the money, one bag boiled into three bowls of water lasted a week. Less money? Boil it twice, one bag stretched for half a month. That was the frugal plan—about one tael of silver per month. For those really struggling, just 500 wen would do.
They didn’t have much silver on hand, so they chose the middle-ground option: weekly decoctions, one bag per week.
They’d try it for a month and see if the symptoms improved—then adjust the prescription as needed.
As the next patient stood up, Xie Yan quickly asked the old doctor, “Sir, may I ask your name? How long will my husband need to take this medicine? Will it weaken his body? What should we avoid? Any food restrictions?”
Xie Yan was wrapped in a worn, gray cotton coat—simple, but still carried a touch of dignity. He didn’t look like a scholar, but his careful reading of the prescription before asking questions earned the old doctor’s respect.
The doctor motioned for him to sit, then gave him a few extra pointers.
“Your husband’s body is badly depleted. He’s been running on fumes. Looks like we’re treating the stomach, but really, we’re soothing the liver and nourishing the heart. How long he needs to take the medicine depends on how well he takes care of himself. He shouldn’t overexert, and if he must, at least don’t wear himself out emotionally. And if he does wear himself out emotionally, then be prepared to spend money to keep him alive.”
Lu Yang heard that and just about choked. No hard work, don’t get emotional—what kind of rich-man disease is this? How’s a broke guy supposed to survive?
He didn’t want to pick up the medicine that day. But Xie Yan clung to the edge of the table and refused to budge. He got all the dietary restrictions, made sure he understood them, and then dragged Lu Yang along to fill the first month’s prescription.
When they walked out of the clinic, Lu Yang pressed his lips into a tight line, silent.
He was touched, a little awkward, and—deep down—afraid this illness would be hard to treat… and expensive.
If it could be cured, then fine. But the old doctor had been cautious with his words—never gave a clear answer, no promises, no certainty. Things had just started looking up for them—just a little bit. If this illness dragged them down again, Lu Yang didn’t think he’d be able to forgive himself.
On the way back to the shop, Xie Yan told him, “We’ll take it one month at a time. If we have money, we’ll buy medicine. If we don’t, we’ll just get your pulse checked.”
Feeling sick was one thing—but the pressure from not having enough money only made it worse.
Afraid Lu Yang might stress about the costs and overwork himself, Xie Yan repeated, “We’ll keep the shop running as is. If we have the money, we’ll get medicine. If we don’t, we’ll deal. Even if things get really tight—we’ll still find a way to get by.”
He said the same thing twice, just to make sure Lu Yang wouldn’t carry the burden alone. The illness hadn’t even been treated yet; he didn’t want him breaking down under the weight of it all.
Lu Yang had been worn thin from working nonstop lately. His wrist was so slender that when Xie Yan held his hand, his thumb could overlap his other fingers easily.
Xie Yan’s eyes stung. He nearly burst into tears right there on the street.
Lu Yang sighed, trying to rally. “Alright, alright—I hear you. If we’ve got the money, we’ll treat it. If we don’t, we’ll save. Okay?”
Xie Yan lit up at that.
They hadn’t gotten around to asking about the price of wild mountain goods today. Instead, the two of them went to a general store and bought a clay pot for boiling medicine. Once they got back to the shop, they were ready to start brewing.
But Lu Yang stopped Xie Yan before he could light the stove.
“We’re running a food shop. People are buying stuff to eat out front. If we’re back here boiling medicine—doesn’t matter what it’s for—people will think it’s bad luck. Illness is illness. We’ll take it home. I’ll find a water pouch or bamboo tube—drink a bowl at home, bring a bowl into town, reheat it at noon, drink another when I get back at night.”
The shop still had to make money. They couldn’t afford to be careless. Xie Yan agreed.
There wasn’t much to do that day, so having all four people crowded in the shop was a bit much.
Lunch was simple and quick. Afterward, Lu Yang gave Lu Lin a task: go out and scout the local market. Ask around at other shops and check out the street stalls.
“You’ve been helping us for a while but haven’t had a chance to get out. Consider this an errand and a stroll. Just ask about wild mountain goods—anything goes. Also look into leather and leather goods.”
They weren’t highly educated folks—most of them couldn’t read more than a few characters—but when it came to remembering prices or which stores charged more or less, they were like top scholars: heard it once, remembered it for life.
Lu Lin was excited to go out and see the world a bit. He even asked, “What if someone wants to sell us mountain goods?”
Lu Yang replied, “First get their offer price. Then ask how much they’re selling. Tell them you need to check with your boss. If it works out, you’ll bring him to meet them.”
If they met, that meant it was serious—money and goods exchanged on the spot.
If not, then no big deal.
Lu Yang was thinking about stocking some wild goods in their shop eventually, but for now they couldn’t handle large quantities.
If there was a big buyer, he could act as the go-between and introduce them to his younger brother. That would be a solid first transaction—even before the small shop they were planning took shape. If that happened, Li Feng’s mother would definitely start seeing his brother in a different light.
And if his brother managed to get pregnant too? Even if the sky fell, the Li family would back them up.
Lu Lin agreed and slung a basket over his back, looking all business.
Seeing that basket, Lu Yang gave him one more instruction.
“Your uncle and the others have been weaving bamboo baskets, right? There are basket shops in town. I haven’t had time to check them out, but since you’re going, head east and ask around. See if those shops buy baskets, sieves—maybe even bamboo mats. These kinds of shops are usually small, so if the price is fair, go ahead and sell. You won’t make as much as selling individually, but at least they won’t pile up at home and take space. Better to turn them into coins now. After that, try to swing by the charity burial house.”
Lu Lin nodded eagerly—until he heard “charity burial house,” and shivered. “Huh?!”
Lu Yang explained, “You didn’t know? People die in town every day. Pulled out of the river, found on the street—especially in winter, so many freeze to death. I’ve been meaning to bring it up, but I didn’t want to scare you. Still, we’ve known each other long enough now. You know I mean well. Think about going back to your hometown and talking to your uncle. Get them to weave some straw or bamboo mats. Sell them to the charity house. The local office funds them, and they go through mats fast. It pays better than baskets and sieves.”
