Xueming returned home and for a few days, alternated between lazing around—which his mother called “resting”—picking at whatever was ready in the kitchen, and flipping through books he could hardly make sense of.

  Several thoughts ran through Xueming’s mind, pecking at his heart, but the skill he had honed over the years was repression—and he wielded it well. Whether this was something to be proud of or not, he could not say, but it was really one of the only skills he had left.

  As he lay in bed, that memory of Huaian kept resurfacing, making his whole body itch and his heart beat in heavy thuds. He flipped over on his bed countless times, trying to shake off the unnerving feeling.

  When he wasn’t lazing in bed, he pored over his textbooks, but he would soon come across words like ‘red’ and think of the Fox Spirit Clan, or ‘qi’ and be unsettled about someone he couldn’t even remember.

  At one point, he was so restless, he rolled around the floor, knocking himself into the sharp edge of a textbook so thick it could serve as a table.

  Huaian had eagerly pressed him about what he remembered, and Xueming relayed the memory just as excitedly. As he spoke, he watched Huaian carefully, noting how his large smile widened with each detail.

  Still, Xueming felt something was off, though he couldn’t pinpoint why. Whether he knew from the nervous flutter of Huaian’s lashes, the twitch at his brow, or the lowering of his gaze, Xueming was almost certain there was something his friend was keeping from him.

  Well, there were a lot of things Huaian hadn’t told him, but did that mean he was untrustworthy? The man treated him so genuinely it felt wrong to even think such a thing.

  Maybe Xueming was becoming too suspicious.

  But being suspicious was almost instinctual now—the previous regime made it practically obligatory.

  Neighbors weren’t to be trusted. Words had to be carefully constructed even around family. Who knew who might turn you in, when everyone was afraid of being implicated themselves?

  In Mo Fan Prison, it was hardly any different. In fact, the situation was even worse.

  Xueming had quickly learned never to trust anyone in prison, no matter the intimate or joyful moments shared.

  No matter how late into the night prisoners whispered to each other, sharing private fragments of their lives—their family, lovers, and hopes and dreams—one wrong word, and you would be sold out for an extra meat-filled bun.

  It was rather early in the morning, and Xueming felt a gurgle in his stomach. He clutched at it, wincing.

  This embarrassingly loud noise was still novel for Xueming—his body hadn’t dared make such a noise in the past few decades. He had long suppressed his hunger, but not through the high-level cultivation novices could only dream of.

  He was simply used to starving.

  But his mother’s cooking has made his body greedy. Heat crept up his neck, all the way up to the tips of his ears, and he rolled over, pressing his face against the floor to cool off.

  He only perked up at the sound of his family arguing in the hallway. He held his breath and listened for a moment until it became clear what the commotion was.

  Lanzhi was leaving for the day.

  Xueming sprang up, eager not to spend another day stuck in his room. Their house was too far from the main road, leaving him with little reason to leave. Holed up in his bedroom, he could hardly get any of his questions answered.

  Xueming rushed out of his room, nearly walking straight into his father as soon as he stepped out of the doorway. His mother and brother were just steps away, but his father didn’t intervene—as if he was standing there to simply watch them.

  “Lanzhi-er, at least take something!” his mother bellowed out, likely forgetting her other son could still be asleep.

  Well, he wasn’t.

  Xueming skipped past his mother and stopped in front of Lanzhi, offering him one of his best smiles. But it felt too tense, and he knew it wasn’t coming out right.

  Lanzhi peered at him, brows furrowed, acting as if he couldn’t hear the elderly woman behind him.

  “I am coming,” Xueming announced, surprisingly confident for someone in his position.

  Lanzhi only stared, shaking off his mother’s hands.

  Xueming tilted his head to the side, his smile deepening, though his expression tensed with childish confusion. It was hard to believe he was a grown man.

  Lanzhi scoffed, playfully grabbing his mother’s wrists to restrain her. He shot her a look, then looked back at his younger brother.

  “I will remain in the clinic all day—I am making medicine for quite a few patients.” Then, after a pause: “You will get bored.”

  Xueming shook his head instantly, hurrying to put his boots on before Lanzhi could say another word.

  “I will be bored here,” Xueming replied gruffly as he leaned over, almost falling as he tried to get a boot on. He opted for sitting on one of the benches in the guest entertainment room.

  His mother huffed at her two sons, who still dared to live in her house like a pair of adolescent boys, hardly listening to her sound advice. Well, they’d never really listened.

  “You’re bored here?” she asked, the worry in her voice stabbing at Xueming’s heart. “Why didn’t you say anything? I thought you were busy reading! You could have helped your mother in the kitchen.”

  Really, that was the last thing Xueming wanted to do—unless his role was limited to just being a taster.

  “Reading?” Lanzhi said quietly, watching his younger brother struggle with his boots like some young boy. Sighing, he reached down to help him, but Xueming stubbornly moved his foot away and continued to do it himself.

  “Reading?” Xueming said bitterly, the frustration evident in his tone. “I can hardly… read,” he finished lamely.

  Even more frustrating was the fact that he could hardly speak as well.

  He knew what he wanted to say and could think of all the words he needed, but they never came out smoothly.

  For some reason, Lanzhi smiled, his previous sharpness diffusing as he watched his younger brother struggle. What a privilege it was to see Xueming now, even if he acted like a child.

  “I can…” his mother burst out. “I can buy easier books for you!”

  Xueming was on the verge of tears from the humiliation. It all felt so irrational, as if he were at the whims of his emotions, but ever since leaving prison, it had become increasingly difficult to control himself.

  Lanzhi shook his head with a smile, then hooked his brother’s arm with his, lifting Xueming to his feet.

  “That will hardly help, mother,” he chuckled.

  His mother cried out when she realized Xueming was without a coat, and urged them to wait as she went to fetch one. She hurried back on her petite little legs with a large black coat in hand, and even Xueming wanted to laugh.

  “Just wait!” she cried out after wrapping Xueming with the coat, then hurrying back towards the kitchen. “Let me pack you some food!”

  The two of them took the opportunity to leave the house with their mother distracted.

  “Heavens!” They heard her open the door and gasp. “Ming-er—you haven’t eaten!”

  Lanzhi surprisingly only laughed, urging his younger brother into the ox cart as they made their speedy escape. Lanzhi looked back at his mother as he took the reins into his hands and untied the ox.

  “Don’t worry!” he shouted back, quite a distance away. “We will eat when we arrive!”

  These words hardly comforted the woman, but they hastily set off towards the south of Chongqing, where things were far more lively, and money was far more plentiful.

  Xueming’s stomach unexpectedly began to growl as soon as they left the area, and Lanzhi looked at his brother with wide eyes.

  “We should have taken something with us,” he cursed.

  Xueming shook his head, though his brother could hardly see him.

  “I am fine,” Xueming replied, disliking how stiff the words came out. He decided he needed to say more than a few words at a time if he didn’t want to sound like some bumbling child, and added: “I am used to… not eating.”

  Xueming soon realized, with a noticeable wince from his brother, that he would have been better off not saying anything more.

  Well, everything needed practice.

  The extent of his conversations for the past twenty years consisted of the following:

  Prison guard: “What’s your name, dog?”

  Xueming: “Thirteen.”

  Prison guard: “Do you want to eat today, dog?”

  Xueming: Silence.

  Replying either “yes” or “no” both resulted in no food.

  Prison guard: “Why are you here, dog?”

  Xueming: “For being treacherous scum.”

  As well as more vulgar things:

  Prison guard: “Did you know, dog? Your hag mother is quite a good fuck.”

  Xueming: Silence.

  Prison guard: “Did you know, dog? I heard your father finally died today from overwork.”

  Xueming: Silence.

  Prison guard: “Did you know, dog? We have eyes on your brother and his clinic if you try anything.”

  Xueming: Silence.

  Prison guard: “Did you know, dog? We’re passing around your girl as we speak.”

  Xueming: Silence.

  Of course, Xueming had long forced all of the people the guards mentioned out of his memory, so he could hardly recall a time when any of those words had moved him.

  What mother? What father? What brother? What girl?

  The guards stopped eventually, seeing there was no reaction, and resorted to just beating him instead.

  Words could no longer hurt someone who barely remembered caring about anyone from his past life. Words could no longer hurt someone who hardly even knew those words even meant.

  What did it mean, to have a mother that was a good fuck?

  What did it mean, that his father had died?

  What did it mean, that his brother was being watched?

  What did it mean, to pass his girl around?

  Xueming couldn’t remember when, but in retrospect, he vaguely recalled a time when those words had driven him to utter devastation. A time when he wondered whether they had truly tortured his mother, his father, his… his…

  And then, it felt like one day, he could no longer remember anything at all. Like he could no longer remember how to even feel.

  It made him ponder on Lanzhi’s words—how had he not deviated from the complete hopelessness of it all?

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  Xueming had a hunch that he would have, if he had really let those guards’ words burn into his soul. He made a decision, struck a deal, and for better or for worse, traded his memories in exchange for peace.

  Xueming was hardly proud of it, but he didn’t dwell on it. He managed in the only way he could. He survived in the only way he could.

  Had he not made such a trade, would he be like Master Hao’s wife—destined for a lifetime of medicine and bedrest? No, he had access to no such thing in Mo Fan.

  He would have walked out of that cell a devil, or simply not at all.

  Only now, he wondered: What would he have to trade, to buy those memories back?

  The two brothers arrived at the clinic in relative silence, with Xueming lost in thought about his past and present self, and Lanzhi still brewing over Xueming’s careless words.

  Lanzhi let Xueming off and went to park the ox cart near the shop. Afterward, he met Xueming back on the street, and they approached the front entrance together. This time, Xueming actually looked around: the shop was a small wooden building with a simple plaque above it that read: Medicine For All.

  As Xueming and Lanzhi entered the shop, the bell attached to the door jingled softly.

  Xueming was immediately hit by the overwhelming scent of herbs as soon as he stepped through the doorway. He naturally shortened his breaths, trying to adjust to the dense air. His eyes watered slightly.

  Lanzhi gestured for Xueming to wait at the front, but Xueming shook his head and followed him around the counter to the back.

  Lanzhi sighed, smiling a little as they pushed past a thick wooden door to the back room.

  “You’re lucky we’re alone today.” Xueming only peered at his brother questioningly, so Lanzhi continued: “Doctor Liu has fully transferred over his duties to me. The other doctors don’t come in until later. I wanted to get started on the medicine while the shop is empty.”

  If Xueming thought the smell was unbearably strong in the entrance of the shop, it was like he could hardly breathe now. He coughed a little, trying to cover it up, but Lanzhi smiled and approached him with a simple white cloth, wrapping it around the bottom half of Xueming’s face.

  “It’s a little hard to breathe if you aren’t used to it,” was all he said.

  Xueming’s eyes were steadily analyzing the room around them, paying little attention to what his brother did to his face as he looked past him.

  There were what looked like hundreds of jars and bowls neatly stacked along a large wooden structure against the back wall, perfectly centered. From what Xueming could see, each jar was labelled. Beside that structure were countertops on either side with mortar and pestles, cleavers, strainers, trays, and anything else a herbal doctor could possibly need for his practice. The center of the room contained two large clay pots atop two clay stoves, looking like they were exact fits for each other.

  In front of the wall to Xueming’s right was a simple desk stacked with bamboo scrolls, both used and unused, and a simple wooden stool behind it. There was an open doorway past the desk, presumably leading to another room, though Xueming could not see what type of room it was.

  Xueming huffed through the cloth covering his mouth, finding it only slightly more bearable to breathe.

  “Take a seat at the desk,” Lanzhi suggested, walking into the other room through that open doorway Xueming had just wondered about. He continued to speak from the other room, raising his voice a little: “I will be primarily making Master Hao’s wife’s medicine today. All I could manage to give her up until now was some ready-made concoctions for general treatment of her symptoms. I have been so busy this past week.”

  Xueming carefully sat on the stool behind the desk, his bottom immediately protesting the rigid, uncomfortable wood. He could hear splashing from the other room, and figured Lanzhi was washing his hands. His brother reappeared in the room only moments later.

  “From what I have assessed of the mistress’ condition, she suffers from what looks like extreme and prolonged qi deviation due to stress and trauma.” With a mutter, he said: “I do not know how she has managed up until now.” Then, recovering, he smiled brightly at his brother and approached the desk. “The previous doctor treated symptoms so that some days, the mistress could live normally, but this extreme symptom suppression has only worsened her overall. She seems to be suffering from extreme insomnia, coupled with hallucinations, emotional fits, loss of focus…”

  Lanzhi pondered to himself as he flipped through one stack of papers and pulled out a single scroll.

  “It is difficult to tell, but she could have some temporary memory loss, or the hallucinations could be so vivid, she will believe herself to be a different age, with different people.” Lanzhi had been murmuring to himself, but his eyes suddenly landed on his brother, his gaze glazed over. He was completely in doctor-mode now, speaking as though Xueming was his apprentice. “I fear the hallucinations have corrupted her brain, driven her mad. I can’t imagine what she is forced to relive. I am certain a lot of her qi has deviated into demonic qi, but of course, I will need a Daoist priest to confirm this.”

  He turned over the paper for Xueming to read.

  “The poor mistress is awake most of the night, so I couldn’t bear to leave her while I was there. I need to get her to sleep longer periods of time, or I am afraid the hallucinations will only worsen. I have also contacted a priest…”

  Xueming began to tune his brother out as he attempted to read the paper. He pried it out of Lanzhi’s hands and brought it to his face, watching the paper light up as Lanzhi lit a candle beside him, continuing to drone on to himself.

  “The mistress definitely has some stagnation and even some backwards movement… I would guarantee she has insufficient blood, qi… but the mistress’ condition switches between extreme cold to extreme hot, meaning there is no specific deficiency on one side, but a disharmony between yin and yang… definitely a blockage in some or many meridians as well…”

  Treatment for the Master Hao’s Wife

  Diagnosis: Emotional Disturbance, Unsettled Heart, Restlessness

  Primary Treatment:

  Longgu (consume every night)

  Sandalwood essence (burn constantly)

  Ginger and cinnamon tea (consume every morning)

  Prescribed by: Doctor Mao

  “See—look here,” Lanzhi said, and the paper soon disappeared out of Xueming’s hands. “Longgu, yes, but why without muli? This only anchors the yang when we must simultaneously anchor and nourish both. We can anchor the spirit and the heart with this combination.”

  His brother moved around the room at incredible speed, pulling out jars in a fashion that resembled someone grabbing their most important possessions and fleeing their house. Evidently, he didn’t have to look at the labels to know which one to grab.

  “First, I will adjust this treatment for stabilization by combining the two, but it must be prepared at the master’s residence since the mistress must consume it like hot tea. Watch how I prepare this.”

  Xueming stood up halfway, a little confused and even more alarmed. He was speaking as though Xueming was there to learn, and Xueming did not exactly find the topic or Lanzhi’s teaching style boring, so he went to stand behind him like a peeking bird perched on a tree branch.

  “I know the f—” Lanzhi paused, glancing over at Xueming, and for a moment, he looked like he was acutely aware he was his brother again. Then he hummed and continued to grind down the herbs. “I know the mistress likes spicy food, but she absolutely can no longer have it. I must insist on this the next time I am there.” He looked at Xueming again, this time with the gaze of an instructor. “We can also boil these two down but due to the delivery I must simply grind these into powders so the mistress can take it as she pleases. We will drop this off to last about a month and then I will go check on her condition again.”

  Grimacing, Lanzhi began to grind like he had a vendetta against the mortar and pestle.

  “I can only attempt to stabilize the qi that has not degraded, but I will need a Daoist priest to come exercise that degraded qi out. It is the quickest and most effective method. Of course, I will also prescribe some herbs for releasing it, but I am fearful because of how long it has been allowed to fester. We cannot afford to wait any longer.”

  Xueming was only minding his business behind his brother, nodding as he saw fit, but Lanzhi suddenly turned to him with a fierce older brother’s gaze, catching his attention.

  “I also want this priest to check on you, Ming-di.”

  Xueming only swallowed, his eyes wide. Lanzhi paused from his pounding and intently stared back.

  “I don’t understand…” Lanzhi admitted in a heavy voice, his eyelids drooping. “I am so grateful, so grateful that you seemed to come out as… fine as you could.” His voice was almost a whisper now, his tone holding none of the certainty one would want to hear from a doctor. “I am a doctor, but you are my brother and I fear I cannot attempt to treat you as a patient. I would be too… emotional.” He paused, turning back to grind the herbs down. “I cannot think clearly when to comes to you,” he admitted softly. “None of us can.”

  Xueming watched him for a long while, feeling something stuck in his throat, feeling his chest tighten with congestion. He wondered if Lanzhi could offer him anything to treat it. He wondered who ‘us’ was.

  “I don’t even know if I can think clearly now,” Lanzhi admitted, though he did not stop grinding. Xueming somehow knew those words were born of temporary emotion, not actual disbelief.

  Clearing his throat, Lanzhi moved on to grind another herb when he found he had reduced the other to a satisfactory powder. He carried a bowl off to that side room, and Xueming was left to his own devices.

  Xueming went to peek over at the grounded substance, finding it a pale white, then jumped away as he heard Lanzhi re-enter the room—as though he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t have. Lanzhi paid his brother no mind and hurried into the room, setting down the bowl in his hand while turning over the herbs inside.

  “I must grind this while warm,” he said absentmindedly, then set out a fresh mortar and pestle and carefully pushed every oyster-white piece into it. He scoffed as he began to crush the hard substance into the little silver bowl. “And did you see what else was on there? Constant sandalwood essence burning—the poor mistress is likely reliant on it now…” He paused, continuing to crush the oyster shell. “I am going to have to wean her off and maybe substitute it…”

  Xueming patiently listened, doing his best to remember everything.

  “I will keep the ginger in,” Lanzhi continued, shaking his head with a grimace. “But cinnamon? Did this Doctor Mao not see the mistress burning up when she is not shivering from the cold? It is way too hot of an ingredient, way too hot,” he tsked, looking over at Xueming, who could only nod in agreement. “I will replace it with jujube for warming and qi tonifying.”

  Surprisingly, Xueming could actually follow along quite well, as if Lanzhi were unlocking some long-buried information his brain thought he no longer had any use for.

  After all, who could care about hot, warm, cool, and cold in prison?

  All Xueming worried about was his next bowl of plain congee and whether or not the guards would beat him that day.

  Lanzhi was still blabbering on, and Xueming wondered if he was actually quite lonely here. No, Xueming knew it was just his passion for the work. Maybe he would benefit from an apprentice; it seemed like he had a lot to handle on his own.

  “You know what? I said I wouldn’t treat you but I wouldn’t mind preparing a few things on the side for you. Let me look at you after and see what I can make.”

  Just then, they heard the jingle of the front bell and exchanged a glance.

  Lanzhi was quite preoccupied, so Xueming stepped out to see who had entered, despite Lanzhi’s quiet protests.

  “Doctor Jian!” the person insistently called out, just as Xueming left the back room and stood behind the counter.

  Much to the visitor’s surprise, the person before him was not Doctor Jian, but someone who looked quite like the man. Despite Xueming’s unkempt appearance and frail body, the man assumed he was just a doctor who didn’t take care of himself. As long as he could help other people, what did the man care?

  The visitor continued to whine: “Please Doctor, is Doctor Jian available?

  Xueming wanted to protest that he was no doctor, but the words were stuck in his throat. He wanted to sound fluent and confident, and go along with the man as if he truly worked there, but nothing came out. He simply stared.

  But he did not have to stare for long—Lanzhi quickly emerged from the back room as well.

  He could hardly leave his brother to tend to a customer alone.

  Lanzhi seemed to recognize the man and in an unhurried tone, replied: “Has something urgent befallen your wife, Mister?”

  The man nodded furiously, and only then did Xueming realize how pale his skin and eyes were, how vivid the cherry red his hair was beneath that old wool hat. He was a fox spirit, but Xueming found it more strange that he was only now noticing these things. He hardly remembered ever observing others this way.

  Lanzhi frowned and looked over at Xueming, then back at the man.

  “Mister, I am in the middle of making something and cannot waste such precious ingredients, would you mind waiting a little while? Tell me, what is the matter with your wife? Her condition was stable just a few days ago.”

  The man’s hands landed anxiously on the wooden countertop and he leaned forward. Instinctively, Xueming leaned back. But the man’s eyes were darting back and forth, as if he didn’t care to notice the reactions of those in front of him.

  “She’s vomiting blood!” he shouted.

  Lanzhi did not appear even a tad annoyed or startled. He swiftly pulled out a paper and a brush pen and began to write something down. Xueming peered over inconspicuously to see what he was writing.

  “She looks so much weaker!” he cried out. “So much weaker! She could hardly maintain her form when I left. Don’t be surprised if she’s just a fox when we return!”

  Lanzhi swiftly wrote down as the man said in concise, neat writing, and Xueming read the words: Expelling blood from mouth, cannot maintain human form.

  “I will finish this concoction and quickly come over by ox cart after gathering some medicine. You can either return or wait for me here.”

  Lanzhi nodded slightly, then disappeared into the back room, his mannerisms curt, professional, but polite. Xueming stared at the panicked fox spirit before him, not quite understanding how he could be so shamelessly emotional. Then, he decided it was better to leave as well so the man could screech alone.

  After a few moments, they both heard the man alternate between whispering and shouting, but Lanzhi didn’t even glance up from the counter. He only began to furiously grind down on that oyster shell like his life depended on it.

  “Xueming,” Lanzhi said swiftly, not lifting his hands off the mortar and pestle, nor his eyes off of the herbs. “I want this medicine administered tonight.”

  Xueming was puzzled, so he did not reply.

  “I have no choice but to go see that man’s wife now, and no doctors have arrived yet.” He scoffed. “Well, it’s not like I could just treat them like my delivery personnel anyways.” His voice became stern and his grinding seemed to quicken into a ruthless rhythm. “I informed Master Hao to send his servant over today to collect the medicine. I need you to wait for him and give him what I ask you to. I will leave instructions for the servant myself on how to administer it.”

  Xueming nodded absentmindedly, twisting around the desk and idly reaching for any paper available. He lifted one, set it down and then lifted up another, repeating the motion as if it were some anxious tick.

  “Do not for any reason go to Master Hao’s residence—you hear me?” Lanzhi insisted. Then, quieter: “If it wasn’t so urgent, I would never ask this of you. Honestly, I’d rather kowtow to one of my colleagues than have you do this, but none of them are here.” With a sigh, he muttered out: “I’m sorry.”

  Xueming was three parts alarmed and seven parts confused, but he said nothing.

  “Xueming!” Lanzhi repeated, sounding disturbingly serious. “Do you understand? Just hand over the medicine and wait for me here.”

  All Xueming could do was nod, unsure why Lanzhi was worried he wouldn’t listen—unaware that, when it came to Master Hao’s wife, Xueming had always been irrational, and no bout of memory loss would do anything to change that.

  Terms:

  龙骨 - Longgu or dragon bone

  牡蛎 - Muli or oyster shell