The day before the Mid-Autumn Festival, while Old Madam Gu was causing a great commotion in the Hall of Compassion and Tranquility, using her status as the Empress Dowager's mother to push even that exalted lady onto the defensive, the Hui Medical Hall in Jiangning City received an unexpected visitor.
Miss Zhuang arrived at the medical hall carrying cured meat and celery, asking to apprentice under Zhu Qingyu in the study of medicine.
The Hui Medical Hall had been open for over three months now, and everything had been running smoothly. Zhu Qingyu's daily schedule had become settled—roughly half the day for consultations, and half the day for lecturing to the physicians at the hall.
The Jiangning Hui Medical Hall now had nearly twenty resident physicians. Half had been recruited by Zhu Qingyu on her journey south from the northern frontier back to Jiangning, and the other half had come forward of their own accord after official notices were posted by the prefectural government.
With a year of training under their belts, by this time next year, those who met the qualifications would be dispatched across the country to establish new Hui Medical Halls.
Among all these people, apart from Zhu Dashan who had started from absolute zero with no prior foundation, the other physicians—men and women, old and young—had all been practitioners before, and some had even been physicians of some renown, drawn here by the reputation of Divine Doctor Zhu.
A young lady like Miss Zhuang, who was both completely without foundation and the daughter of an official, was quite unprecedented.
Zhu Qingyu had no objection to Miss Zhuang's desire to learn, but she worried that Miss Zhuang might not be able to get past her family's objections. So she asked in detail:
"Miss Zhuang, have you consulted with the elders of your family?"
Miss Zhuang wouldn't have dared to bring the formal apprenticeship gifts if she hadn't already settled matters at home. She smiled:
"Lord Zhu, don't worry. I didn't sneak out behind my family's back. I thought it over carefully for three months, informed my elders, and only came after I was certain."
The study of medicine could go deep or remain shallow. Miss Zhuang, as an unmarried young lady, had few paths open to her in life. Zhu Qingyu worried that she might be acting on impulse—if Miss Zhuang's family had other arrangements for her future, accepting her hastily could have consequences for the girl's prospects.
To be prudent, Zhu Qingyu sent someone to the prefectural office to invite Lord Zhuang to come. Then she spoke to both father and daughter:
"Even in the study of medicine, there are different approaches. Like learning poetry or painting—one can treat it as a casual interest, or one can pursue it as a serious livelihood. The latter path, as with myself, fills every day with medical hall affairs. To also manage household matters and serve as the mistress of a prominent family—I fear the two cannot easily be balanced."
Zhu Qingyu's intention in telling them this was to urge them to think carefully, with the emphasis on the difficulty of having both. An unmarried young lady coming out to study medicine might face trouble with marriage prospects, given how strict high-ranking families could be.
But both father and daughter seemed to have misheard the emphasis.
Lord Zhuang had been ill some time ago, but over the past three months or more, he had recovered his former handsome bearing. After hearing Zhu Qingyu's concerns upon entering, he chuckled:
"Regarding this matter, Min'er did speak to me about it. In this life, when it comes to the word 'future'—what is good and what is bad, only the person themselves truly knows. Since Min'er has made up her mind, I naturally approve. If she is fortunate enough in this life to become even somewhat like Lord Zhu, my heart would be filled with comfort."
Zhuang Min stood nearby, her eyes shining with admiration:
"Like Lord Zhu? Me? Could I actually become that capable?"
Alright then. Zhu Qingyu had no way to deal with this pair of father and daughter who had completely fixated on the wrong point. Since they had clearly thought things through, she promptly accepted Zhuang Min's apprenticeship gifts, fulfilling the young lady's wish to study medicine. She then called for Lin Lan and asked the young woman to guide her new junior sister.
Since tomorrow was the Mid-Autumn Festival, the medical hall closed earlier than usual that day, and the next day would be a full day off.
After supper, enjoying a rare moment of leisure, Zhu Qingyu picked up a casual book and sat by the window, ready to do some night reading in the cool autumn breeze.
When she opened the window, she saw a carriage parked downstairs. Beside it stood Zhang Shen, looking up toward the second floor.
The lantern on the carriage swayed in the autumn wind, and Zhang Shen's shadow swayed with it.
Lord Zhuang, who had even recovered from a serious illness caused by poison, had regained his former splendor. But Zhang Shen—who had claimed he was merely tired and uncomfortable and had taken a little nap—had grown noticeably thinner and frailer than when she had last seen him.
It was as if the autumn wind could blow away not just his shadow, but the man himself as well.
Seeing Zhu Qingyu suddenly open the window, Zhang Shen seemed startled. His expression wavered between staying and leaving.
Zhu Qingyu came downstairs and saw Zhang Shen still standing there. She asked him:
"Jingyan, are you unwell? Here to see a physician?"
Zhang Shen first shook his head, then, thinking better of it, nodded:
"Yes."
Zhu Qingyu beckoned to him:
"Come then, let me take a look at you."
Leading Zhang Shen into the medical hall, in the consultation room of the front courtyard, Zhu Qingyu received him as she would any patient. She had him sit in the patient's chair and took his pulse.
Being this close to her again after so long, Zhang Shen couldn't help but gaze at her with a lingering wistfulness. He asked:
"Tomorrow is the Mid-Autumn Festival. Will you come back for dinner? Do you have anyone cooking for you at the medical hall?"
Zhu Qingyu kept her eyes on his pulse, not looking up, as she replied:
"Yes, I've hired two cooks to prepare meals for the medical hall. They're very skilled."
Zhang Shen looked her over from head to toe once more, then said:
"Who does your laundry? There are ink stains on your cuffs. Haven't they been taking proper care of you? They're not even attentive to your clothes."
Zhu Qingyu withdrew her hand from taking his pulse, examined her sleeve, and indeed saw ink spots. She looked up at him and sighed:
"These are fresh ink marks, so I must have gotten them on today. You can't blame the launderers. Master Zhang, I observe from your pulse that you have symptoms of pent-up melancholy. I ask you to ease your mind. You have more than enough official duties to keep you busy each day—don't dwell on such trivial matters. I'll write you a prescription, take it home with you, and try it for a few days, alright?"
The fleeting warmth from where her fingers had touched his wrist was taken back.
Over three months now, and she had been true to her word: either they be family, or sever all ties. She left him not a shred of hope.
Zhang Shen had known Zhu Qingyu for many years and understood her well. Once she made a decision—no longer to be husband and wife—whether he stayed behind waiting three months, three years, or thirty years, she would never come back.
Zhang Shen pressed his hand over his heart, and made one last attempt:
"It's been so long, and he still hasn't come. Not a word. What if he never comes?"
Zhu Qingyu spread out the paper, ground the ink, and began writing the prescription:
"Then let him not come. I have my own affairs to attend to; I'm not merely waiting here for him. Besides, there are countless men in this world—it's not impossible that I might change my mind again and take a fancy to someone else. Jingyan, I'm just that practical and cold-hearted. I've been that way toward you, and I'd be that way toward him too."
Not being husband and wife—that was pain. But severing ties entirely, having nothing at all—that was even more painful.
An ailment of the heart needs a remedy for the heart. Though she was highly skilled in medicine, Zhang Shen did not believe that any prescription she could write would cure what ailed him now.
Zhang Shen pressed his hand over Zhu Qingyu's ink brush, stilling her work, and drew a document from his breast. He laid it flat on the table.
"This copy of mine is already signed and sealed. You just need to write yours. Come back tomorrow for dinner—since we're family, the Mid-Autumn Festival should be spent at home, don't you think?"
