Chapter 43

"Hey, little girl. You. Can you cook?"

Qi Qian'er stood in the snow and looked at Madam Cheng. She'd never had dealings with wall-climbing folk like this, and had no notion how deep they ran.

So she'd always kept clear of them. Not from fear, exactly. She only felt there was some thousand-fathom moat behind such people that she couldn't take the measure of.

They were not like her. They read too, but she read the classics and histories. Folk like these read the "hare-rise, crow-sink" sort of book.

Hare-rise, crow-sink was a phrase from The Thirty-Six Forms of Moon Virtue. On its own the words meant only moonrise and sundown, but in that book it meant something else.

The True Manual of Cultivation and Union and The Thirty-Six Forms of Moon Virtue spoke of opening the breath and tempering the membranes first, of guiding the breath through the channels, of running the breath at the zi and wu hours, joining it above to the kidneys, drawing it into the dantian, one thought standing for ten thousand, of pressing the tongue to the palate, of gathering strength through bare soles, and three hundred-odd names of channel-points besides. Yangbai, Yintang, Shenmen, Hegu.

She knew every character. But the meaning was the sort only the one on the wall could grasp.

It was like how the Buddha had cut the land of the dead into countless ways, and every way spoke human words, but no two ways were the same.

Madam Cheng, all disheveled, leaned on the wall looking at the young woman outside. Her junior-brother was hosting his medicine-store colleagues today. As their new chief he must set the ties in order, so he'd asked her to cook a sheep.

And he'd given her a whole heap of things she knew, but that ran clean against everything she'd been taught.

Only back-court wives like the one outside called such medicines "seasonings."

Her master had told her at six years old: Sichuan pepper governs wind-evil, warms the center, clears cold numbness, treats throat-block, retching, hernia and lumps, drives out old blood. Add it and it eases the belly-pains left after childbirth, treats malign wind, works through numbness of the four limbs.

And dried tangerine peel. It runs the spleen channel, the stomach channel, the lung channel. The herbals say it is acrid to scatter, bitter to purge, warm to open and move, so that rising breath sinks, vomiting and coughing stop, the lumps in the chest.

Her junior-brother couldn't cook either. He too took Sichuan pepper for a medicine and a spice. And now here he was, setting her this hard task.

Thinking of his pleading eyes, since he'd never asked her for anything, it was only one meal. Surely not so hard?

She'd said yes on the spot, feeling that for her junior-brother she'd climb a mountain of knives or leap a sea of fire.

But how to work Sichuan pepper, its use turned upside down, into the pot? So as to draw out the greatest medicinal power from the mutton?

No, no, wrong again. Wasn't it to draw out the flavor, as a seasoning?

That was more fearsome than knives or fire. She couldn't do it! Her whole head felt a blur, her hands shook holding the medicines, and there wasn't even a scale in the house. How was she to manage?

The two women looked at each other a good while. At last Qi Qian'er made Madam Cheng a slight bow. "A little kitchen craft. Yes, that I can do."

Madam Cheng was overjoyed. "Then, little girl! Can you help me?"

Qi Qian'er pressed her lips in a smile. "No!"

Madam Cheng was aghast. "Why?"

Qi Qian'er only smiled, and said nothing. Because the day you turned up you displeased me. So why should I help you?

Help you, and you'd never call me good. Help once, and there'd be a second time, a third, and in the end I'd be your kitchen-woman, and the day I didn't come I'd have offended you. I'd be mad to cook for you. I'm a sixth-grade Lady!

Sixth grade!!

Madam Cheng knew nothing of the tangle in Qi Qian'er's head. She truly had no such thoughts. She only smoothed her wild hair, gave a spring, and was up on the wall, which left Qi Qian'er staring.

She thought: Doctor Cheng is so gentle and refined a man. How did he come to take up a monkey? The gate's right there. Why leap to and fro? This woman's head must be addled. And these people, how do they jump so high? If I learned The True Manual of Cultivation and Union, could I jump like that too? On reflection, that wouldn't be bad. If An'er met danger one day, I could protect him myself, and it'd save time. Going over the rooftops cuts no corners.

The martial world's famed Soul-Snatching Su Bailian sat on the wall without stirring.

She thought: how do I get this young woman to agree? What if I slipped her a little something, made her yield? No, no. I swore to my junior-brother that at his side I'd be a good and virtuous wife.

A good wife doesn't poison people!

The snow came down heavier. Qi Qian'er could neither go nor stay, and just as she'd had enough and meant to break off and leave, the one on the wall could hold it in no longer.

"Little girl. Your hair, is it growing well?"

Well? Was she mocking her? All this time, near enough she could feel the bare scalp, and it only shone the brighter!

Not a single hair!

Grief and fury in her heart!

Qi Qian'er, enraged, turned to go.

Su Bailian sprang down at once to bar her, smiling. "How about a trade?"

Whoa! People, people could fly?

Oh, come to think of it, Eunuch Liao could fly too. He'd fly out at a man, one quick snick.

Done!

Qi Qian'er choked down her shock, blinked, and asked: "A trade?"

Madam Cheng said, light: "Girl, I'll say this. The way you go at it every day, puzzling alone like a headless fly, you'd do better to ask me. Else you'll not grow a hair your whole life! I'm a physician, and I'll not hide it from you. Whatever hair-tonic powder or hair-growing pill they sell in the market, you could swallow a whole vat and it would do nothing. Well? A trade. One question, and you help me make one meal?"

Ask, ask away. White Stone Mountain has transmissions to spare. Two of them, handed to you, would set your hair growing without end.

Whatever else Qi Qian'er was, she most hated being coerced.

One meal? I'm not your kitchen-woman.

She shot back, mocking: "No need. My house has its own ways! I may be a little girl, but at least I can keep myself fed and not starve. You look presentable enough, tsk, a pity! And truly, Madam Cheng, one sees you're of no common stock. Why come begging me? Haven't you a maidservant to wait on you? Where's she today? Set your servant to it!"

At that Madam Cheng's face went odd. She rolled her eyes and muttered upward: "I can't afford her anymore. Once was enough."

Before she'd finished muttering, another head popped over the wall. The round-faced little maid who'd once attended Madam Cheng explained, most earnest: "Last time she wanted to gild her own face and play the great lady! She's no great lady! And I'm no maid of hers. I'm, I'm her little grand-aunt. I can't cook mutton either, or I'd have taken the deal myself!"

Qi Qian'er looked at Madam Cheng, then at the grave little child, and all at once everything round her turned to muddle.

Next door lived a whole nest of trouble!

That said, the little girl climbed down off the wall, no door-user either.

She walked up to Qi Qian'er and, most earnest, egged her on: "Don't teach her. Teach her and you ruin her. She'll never learn if she doesn't work it out herself."

True enough. Sound, upright advice.

Only, before the little elder had finished, her belly gave a great growl.

Clutching her stomach, her face full of sudden grief, the little girl turned and scolded Madam Cheng: "You unfilial descendant!"

Madam Cheng, helpless, dared not cross her hungry little grand-aunt. She bent and begged pardon, her tone all coaxing: "My fault, all my fault! Bear with it a moment, and there'll be food."

The little girl thought: I am the elder, after all, so I must bear with her, give way to her, forgive her, bring her up right. So she sighed faintly at Madam Cheng, then turned and gazed eagerly at Qi Qian'er.

And said: "A shame on the house. I've wronged you."

An eleven- or twelve-year-old girl, all crotchety old-timer's talk. Truly, too dear.

Qi Qian'er couldn't help laughing. Little ones always come off winning, and Qi Qian'er loved children most. She asked, smiling: "How did you get so starved? Isn't there a bit of dry food laid by at home? You're at the growing age. How did you eat before?"

The little grand-aunt said, aggrieved: "Before, A-Ning always fetched it from the camp. The camp broke up today, so there's nothing to eat now."

Full of regret, the little girl added: "Your house cooks fragrant every day. It, it drifts right over."

Poor thing.

Qi Qian'er said, light: "Then I'm sorry indeed. Tomorrow when I cook I'll keep the lid on tight."

The little girl sighed: "No matter, I've only myself to, mm! My house keeps no proper discipline, ai! A shame on the house, each generation worse than the last! I've troubled you, in the end."

What was she to do? This was too funny.

Qi Qian'er stood turning it over a good while, and at last found herself a step down. She thought: we're no close friends, but Doctor Cheng has done me kindnesses across two lives. Ahem, never mind. A bald head is a sickness of the heart, after all, and this little girl's not disagreeable, so I'll help.

At the thought she looked up at Madam Cheng: "Then, I want one of those little needling-dolls a physician sets out."

"A needling-doll?" the two said as one. Then Madam Cheng thought, and smiled. "You mean a bronze meridian figure, the little bronze man marked with the body's channels? What, did the elder of your house never teach you to read the channels?"

Qi Qian'er craned her neck and gave a hmph: "Of course she did! Only it was long ago, and I've forgotten! That's the thing, the bronze meridian figure. Will you give it or not? If not one meal, I'll stand you ten days' meals! How's that?"

With people she didn't know, she could never let them see her roots.

It was no great request. The little grand-aunt's eyes lit up, and she tugged her martial niece's skirt: "Give her mine, the wooden one!!"

That said, her belly howled again.

At that Madam Cheng sighed inside, and flicked her forehead: "You truly are, still thinking our house is what it was, when whatever you wanted was one word's work. When even without asking, others held it up to you to win your smile? It's a few meals! And the one we carried out from home, this is the only one left. It's no great matter to her, only a bit of dropped hair, and you'd give her that for it?"

The little grand-aunt clutched her head and sighed: "A few days, and you dare raise a hand to me. You'll not feel a pulse, not seek the cause, and you dare promise at will. You unfilial descendant!"

Madam Cheng waved her hands fast: "Yes, yes, yes, my fault! When she'd no head-cloth on I marked it. The elder who gave her her chance must have gone in a hurry and had no time to tell her how it stood. And she was young when she learned the channels, so likely can't recall. It's no great thing. You, you, our wooden man, give it and be done. Don't fear the ancestors will climb from the ground to beat you."

Hearing herself so nagged, the little grand-aunt shook her head, unbothered: "You lot! When our forebear founded the mountain and opened the school, he had no spare wealth on him either. Little Fish, you were always led astray by outside things, and so went years without advancing. So it was with you, so with my, brother. Ai! Who'd have thought, dozens of generations' store, squandered clean away by unworthy heirs. Led astray by worldly stuff, dragging the school down, come to this pass today, it's only what you're owed. Hmph! One wooden man. What of giving it away."

The little grand-aunt's head was suddenly capped by Madam Cheng's hand.

Madam Cheng stroked it a few times, still smiling, though the smile came hard: "Yes, we know it all now. Had we listened to you sooner, it would never have come to today. We know our faults. Don't grieve, all right?"

The little grand-aunt let out a long breath, wouldn't speak to Madam Cheng, and said to Qi Qian'er instead, very much the elder, apologetic: "I must trouble you after all, young mistress. This martial niece of mine, good for nothing at anything."

Qi Qian'er waved a hand, holding in a laugh: "No matter, no matter! A few meals, that's all."

Right! A few meals. And you lot, with all your muddle, keep it well away from me.

She'd meant to go straight to Doctor Cheng's and point out a few things, but Madam Cheng bade her wait.

So Qi Qian'er, all in a fog, went home, and before long heard someone hail her in the yard.

Coming out, she was startled to see Madam Cheng, one hand holding a dressed sheep, the other bearing a chopping-board heaped with every kind of seasoning you couldn't buy outside, and rare shreds of ginger and garlic besides.

Madam Cheng was one thing. The little grand-aunt behind her was rather more frightening.

The eleven- or twelve-year-old girl held up, one-handed, a great iron pot still bubbling and steaming, brim-full of hot water.

A pot that could stew a whole sheep, it held three carrying-loads of water at least.

This, what kind of hand was this? An iron hand? Not scalded?

Qi Qian'er's whole body swayed with shock, one thought going round her head: how did she carry it? How did she come? How was it done?

She looked at the two, then at the courtyard wall, and at last swallowed, held her dignity together, turned, and lifted the door-curtain: "Come in, quick."

And the two came into the main rooms, sheep in hand, pot held high.

Pine-branch fire roaring, Madam Cheng and the little grand-aunt sat on two low stools in the hall, chins in their hands, gazing at Qi Qian'er with worshipful eyes.

Here was an adept!!

This little wife was terribly able. No scale needed. Whatever it was, one grab of the hand and it was exactly right.

Their own drug-weighing hands could be that deft too, but that was solid trained skill, under a famous master, with a house's handed-down knack. And this little wife, how able, how decisive, how...

Growl.

Madam Cheng and the little grand-aunt were forced to clutch their bellies together.

Qi Qian'er shook her head, helpless, went to the inner room, and brought out a basketful of the taro-chips the old lady hoarded, and handed it to this, she didn't know what to call them, aunt and niece?

Madam Cheng took the food, so grateful she'd dropped all pretense now, and sat with her little grand-aunt eating. No telling how many meals they'd missed. At any rate, they ate nothing like great ladies.

In no time Qi Qian'er had the seasoning done. She measured the salt from the board with a practiced hand, put it in a coarse bowl, and said to them, smiling: "There! Carry it back. When you're home, look it over. When it's near done, tip the salt in, turn it even, and simmer it low a good two hours. About when Doctor Cheng gets back, you lift the lid."

"What is 'near done'?"

"How does one turn it even? A wooden ladle, or an iron one? Be so good as to say clearly, young mistress. How many strokes on the left, how many on the right?"

The first was the little grand-aunt. The fussy second was Madam Cheng.

What in the world were these people? And how had they lived to grow up?

Qi Qian'er was truly tickled. She patted the board, helpless, and scolded: "How can you be so dull! This is cooking, not decocting medicine! A wooden ladle serves, an iron one serves. If you can't find one, aren't you unafraid of the heat? Stir it with your hand, no one will fault you!

"Near done, er, near done. It's when you fish out a chunk of meat and bite it. If it's tender, you can add the salt. Turn it even, turn it even, never mind, thirty strokes along the bottom on the left, thirty along the bottom on the right, then take the ladle and go thirty full turns one way and thirty back. Now you have it?"

This time they truly had it.

The two rose and made Qi Qian'er a careful, thankful curtsey.

Seeing the little grand-aunt so pitiful, Qi Qian'er went in again and stuffed a few coarse-grain cakes into her arms: "Little grand-aunt, take these to line your belly first. Tomorrow, if you're hungry, just come find me. It's nothing!"

Only a child, after all.

The little grand-aunt took the food, looked up at Qi Qian'er a good while, and then said, in earnest: "You, will you take me for your master?"

The one line near frightened Madam Cheng, carrying the pot out, to death.

Lucky Qi Qian'er shook her head at once: "No, no! For no reason to make myself your junior. Am I mad? I want no one lording it over me. Little grand-aunt had best hurry and get these two martial nieces of yours in order, so you'll not go hungry hereafter."

The little grand-aunt explained to Qi Qian'er, most earnest: "There's only one martial niece. A-Ning paid to learn at the outer gate of my house. He's not mine to order about, and now he's a son-in-law besides. A son-in-law can only be coaxed, harder still to order."

Eh? She didn't follow, but Qi Qian'er nodded gravely all the same: "I see. Then little grand-aunt, get your good-for-nothing girl-disciple in order. Shameful, truly! Starving your own elder so."

A great cough came from the door. Qi Qian'er, holding in a laugh, saw the two out, and got her eyeful again.

Truly, over the wall, a slip of a woman flying with a pot!

That night, Qi Qian'er carried the food-basket to the old lady.

Going in, she glanced next door. Qiao's chimney was cold, no fire lit, it seemed.

This late, and still? Hmph. She must reckon that with her man home, she was owed her dutiful care?

Never mind her. Qi Qian'er had cooked only the one portion, for the old lady, in any case.

She pushed the gate, went in, called out that she'd come.

Into the main rooms, and the old lady still wouldn't let her in. The account between mother and son seemed still unsettled.

A middle-aged man's hoarse, muffled sobbing carried out past the outer room.

Not wishing to watch an elder scolded, Qi Qian'er said loudly that she was going back.

The old lady answered within, but said she wouldn't come over tonight either.

Qi Qian'er ached for her, but there was nothing to be done.

She went back alone, barred the gate, sat before the hall stove, lit her own fire, ate alone, washed the pot alone.

When the whole world was buried white, she sat alone before the stove-pit, no candle lit, hugging her knees, watching the firewood flare and dim.

The clamor in the next yard was loud, voices pressing wine, laughing and joking, and, Doctor Cheng actually singing aloud. Listen close: now the Book of Songs, now the medicine classics, and at last, a perfume-manual?

Doctor Cheng was learned indeed!

A stick of firewood cracked loud under the stove.

Qi Qian'er gathered herself and watched on. She thought: how long since I was alone? And now I fear being alone? What affectation.

She laughed at herself, low, and from the door came a little girl's question: "You're plainly unhappy. Why do you smile?"

Qi Qian'er started, looked up, and there was the little grand-aunt, holding a human-shape wrapped in red cloth, come who knew when, standing at the door watching her.

Qi Qian'er stood, smiling, and asked: "Have you eaten?"

A person full-fed is always better-tempered.

The little grand-aunt came in with the bronze figure, her voice soft, and said, rather sorry: "This is A-Ning's bronze meridian figure. He's done with it now, so it's yours."

The figure met the floor with a dull thud.

Qi Qian'er meant to thank her, but the little grand-aunt asked again: "I see you're unhappy. So why smile? You could cry, quietly. There's no one to see."

Qi Qian'er let out a long breath, crouched slowly, and, treating the little grand-aunt like the child she was, stroked her head: "You saw, didn't you! Remember this, little grand-aunt. There are too many things in this world that don't go as you'd wish. Of joy and anger and grief and gladness, there's one you must never learn."

The little grand-aunt cocked her head: "Which?"

Qi Qian'er pinched her cheek: "Never cry! Never learn that one! Crying only makes you weak. Against every hard thing you meet, it does nothing but leave you the more wretched. So, the harder it is, the more we smile! Have you got it?"

The little grand-aunt thought hard, then looked up: "Mm! There's sense in it. You, you're right!"

That said, the little girl's brows curved, and she grinned wide at her.

Grin done, she made Qi Qian'er a careful, thankful bow, and then, smiling, went off.

The yard was quiet again. The weather was cold. The snowflakes hissed as they landed.

Qi Qian'er took a candle, lit it at the fire, and carried it before the figure. She lifted off the red cloth in one pull.

A good while later she sighed softly: "So, that's where you all live!"

Huo Qiqian, fifteen years old, but add on all the years of her last life, and there lived in her, you might say, an old woman near a hundred.

An old person who's seen things has her own reading of everything under heaven. And she'll bluntly reckon that no one younger has lived as long, and so must understand less.

Qi Qian'er was such a one. She was sure of herself. Alive to now, she'd only just learned how many workings a human body holds. She'd known of channels and points before, but never how many. So this was it: put all these together, and only then did you have a whole person.

Since Eunuch Liao gave her the two books, she'd read them over a hundred times, and by the plain sense of the words had come to her own understanding.

Yes, her own. As no one had ever been willing to teach her alone, she'd learned by repeating, reciting to herself, working it out. And so she'd worked out these two manuals too.

And that day in the Plague God's temple, a man called Gu Hongyun had told her: just find a bronze meridian figure, follow the channels it shows and get the course right, and practice, and it's done.

Gu Hongyun believed her house must hold the proper method. So did the aunt and niece next door. Such a life-staking forcing-open of the channels, who would dare, saying nothing, to muddle through opening the channels and pouring qi into the crown, without a real transmission at home?

So these people each filled in a family tree for Qi Qian'er in their minds, filled in a tale of transmission.

Others thought so. How not Qi Qian'er? She had no idea of the danger, no idea at all what she was doing.

To her mind it was simply: I practice this, and tomorrow my hair grows.

That's right. She practiced it to grow hair.

The True Manual of Cultivation and Union said one must stand barefoot on the ground to feel the earth's true essence.

The manual said too it must be the zi or wu hour, and the wu hour was past, so only the night's zi hour was left.

Deep in the zi hour, Qi Qian'er took off her shoes, set her bare feet to the ground, and reached out to feel. She stood a good while, both feet gone cold, and felt nothing, and thought: perhaps feeling means dragging that qi up, so I can feel it?

This one had sat quiet before spirit-tablets a whole past life. The moment she stilled herself, her heart was clear of every stray thought.

So she stilled at once, thinking: I'll draw a breath of essence from the earth and feel it, feel it, feel it. There!

Then run it along these channels.

A breath of qi rising from the earth she truly sensed, and dragged to the soles of her feet, where it joined the qi already in her.

Then the two breaths joined, and, orderly, along the channels marked in the book and on the figure, began to run.

As natural, as matter-of-course, as could be.

The qi grew and grew, and slowly turned to something strange. First, from the left foot, it ran hot. Then, from the right, it ran cold.

Qi Qian'er didn't know why the qi changed. She took it that it ought to be so, that this was simply how it was.

Different though the two were, by the manual's method they each had their order, and ran round and round without troubling each other.

Next door they drank into the small hours, and began seeing the guests off.

Qi Qian'er could hear all the clamor, and was not the least distracted.

Just now she was glad, glad, and joyful, and happy.

She couldn't have said why so happy. She only felt a strange life-force spreading through her, a life-force in harmony, in balance, hers to command, like rich soil meeting a seed, a seed meeting water, the season exactly right, so the little sprout put out and slowly pushed its head from the earth, and, pop.

And the world let out a happy hum, and another ha.

Qi Qian'er knew she was making small sounds of her own. No matter!

Next door, the little grand-aunt sat cross-legged on her mat and nodded: "A family tradition of learning, sure enough!"

The seed became a sprout, the sprout put out shoots, the shoots filled with green leaves, and under just the right soft wind and fine rain, moistened through, the sprout began to run up, taller and taller, stouter and stouter.

Qi Qian'er couldn't see herself, and didn't know that her body was one moment steaming with heat, the next all rimed with frost.

This was a back-court wife who knew nothing of the martial world, still less of its wandering fighters, who'd never once heard the words "peerless martial art." She had no idea what she was doing.

Oh, she knew she was practicing the art of growing hair.

She'd walked, alone, a road of cultivation no one before her had walked. And it went, in truth, not at all as she'd supposed, not smoothly.

Like a bladder, taking in the earth's essence breath after breath. Eunuch Liao had widened her channels, but channels have their limit of what they can bear.

And so it grew hard.

Around the small hours, Qi Qian'er felt her chest clog and choke, as if the bottom of a lotus-pond were packed with silt that would not clear.

But now she couldn't rein it in either. The qi still ran round and round, and Qi Qian'er knew in her heart: drawing it in with no way to let it out, she would surely come to harm.

Come to harm?

Come to harm!

What was to be done?

She thought of The Thirty-Six Forms of Moon Virtue.

No wonder the old eunuch gave her two books, damn him, the thunderstruck wretch! Why did he never say they were to be practiced together! She'd only glanced at that one. What had it said?

Oh! Hare-rise, crow-sink. Right arm thrusting forward, left wrist turning over. The qi threading to the fingers, hands and feet making a small circle.

A circle? A circle? A circle, a circle, a circle!

Her body was in agony, dying, about to burst, it must be a circle, there must be a circle, yes! There's a big millstone at home. Round!

Qi Qian'er didn't know where the strength came from. She thought only: I've weathered decades, I slipped my name off King Yama's ledger of the dead, and I'm to burst here?

Not a chance!

So this one strange woman of all heaven and earth, her legs splayed and past drawing back in, walked step by step out of the hall, and step by step through the snow to the mill-house in the back court.

An old official's mansion, with people, there's grain to eat. With grain, it must be milled to flour.

This had been a house with twenty-odd servants, and no telling what the former master was thinking, meanness, perhaps, but the mill he'd used was no beast-drawn rolling-mill, but a two-stone mill pushed by hand, and uncommonly large.

Qi Qian'er struggled to it at last, one thought in her head: I must move, must let it out, must draw a great big circle to be eased. So she flung herself at it, gripped the handle of the mill with both hands, and began to push it round and round.

And in the end, it truly was a circle!

From the soles of both feet she drew a breath of the earth's essence into her, to meet the inborn qi in her body. The two spun off as yin and yang through the channels, moistening them. Hare-rise, crow-sink, the qi threading her whole body and sent to both hands, circle on ring gathering the qi back into her, round and round again. And when heaven and earth brightened once more, and the settlement's plague-struck rooster began again to shriek its lungs out,

Qi Qian'er slowly let go her hands, opened her eyes, and thought: I've done it!

Then thought again: done what?

At any rate, done, in the end!

At last she put out a trembling hand and felt the crown of her head, and in an instant, her eyes brimmed with tears.

Mother! Hair! A prickly fuzz of it, it scratched her hand!