Chapter Thirty-Six: Lining Up

In the past, when Zhou Zhi read in the bedroom every morning, his younger brother Zhou Shaocheng would already be awake, his small head tucked under the covers, bright eyes wide open, gazing quietly and adorably at Zhou Zhi. But today, Zhou Shaocheng was in a deep sleep. Zhou Zhi had thought it was simply because the boy had tired himself out playing the previous day and paid it no mind. Who would have imagined he had fallen ill?

Zhou Zhi and his elder sister, Zhou Lüyun, rushed into the room in a hurry.

On the earthen bed, little Zhou Shaocheng was curled up under the blanket, only his small head visible. His eyes were tightly shut, his face was flushed crimson, as if radiating heat. Zhou Zhi stretched out a hand to gently feel his brother’s forehead, and at once his face filled with worry—the child’s forehead was burning hot.

In this Ming dynasty world, there were no thermometers, but if one could measure, it would surely be at least thirty-nine degrees. How could this be? He was but a small child; if this fever continued, it could damage his mind.

Their mother, Zhou He, asked anxiously, “Zhi, what should we do? What can we possibly do?”

Seeing her youngest son ill reduced her to a state of utter panic.

Elder sister Zhou Lüyun also touched Zhou Shaocheng’s forehead lightly, then paused and said to their mother, “Mother, don’t worry. Shaocheng’s fever will surely pass.”

Though she tried to comfort their mother, worry was written plainly in her almond-shaped eyes. As the eldest daughter, Zhou Lüyun had always cherished her two younger brothers. Now, seeing the youngest so ill, she too was at a loss.

Looking to Zhou Zhi, she said, “Zhi, Father isn’t home, so you must take charge. What should we do?”

What else could they do? If one was ill, naturally a doctor must be found.

In modern times, there were many ways to treat fever, and physical cooling was often recommended. But seeing how high his brother’s fever was, Zhou Zhi dared not try such methods—he didn’t know the cause, and physical cooling could only offer temporary relief, not a cure.

“Mother, wait at home. I’ll carry Shaocheng, and sister, you come with me to find Doctor Qiu,” Zhou Zhi declared resolutely.

“But we have no money at home,” their mother Zhou He said helplessly.

“That can’t be helped. Even without money, we must get him treated!” Zhou Zhi replied, all the while gently lifting Shaocheng from under the covers, dressing him, and then carrying him on his back.

Zhou Lüyun hurriedly grabbed a winter coat, wrapped it around Shaocheng, covering his head and face well.

With his little brother on his back, Zhou Zhi hurried on, Zhou Lüyun following close behind, heading straight to the house of Doctor Qiu in Baiyue Village.

Doctor Qiu, whose full name was Qiu Huichun, was a country physician. Though his skills were not particularly renowned, he could handle most common illnesses. Besides, in these several villages, he was the only doctor; if not him, then there was no one else.

In Gaochang Town there were a few skilled doctors, but Baiyue Village was nearly ten li away—a long distance to carry Shaocheng, and they feared the delay might worsen his condition.

After years of practice, Doctor Qiu’s family was not as wealthy as the Yue or Chen families, yet they were still one of the more prosperous households in Baiyue Village. His home was on the southern side of the main street.

Though little Shaocheng was light, Zhou Zhi was rushing as fast as he could, and by the time they reached Doctor Qiu’s house, he was panting heavily.

Doctor Qiu was old and rarely made house calls, preferring to treat patients at home. The main door stood open, and Zhou Zhi hurried into the main hall with his brother on his back.

He had visited here before and knew the main hall was where Doctor Qiu saw his patients.

Even before entering, Zhou Zhi shouted anxiously from the courtyard, “Doctor Qiu, please help! My younger brother has a terrible fever!”

With that, he stepped into the hall.

Looking up, he saw the white-haired Doctor Qiu seated on a vermilion wooden chair. Beside him was a wooden bed, upon which lay an unconscious, red-faced, overweight old man. Doctor Qiu sat with half-closed eyes, taking the man’s pulse.

Standing nearby was a middle-aged man, about forty, wearing a blue headscarf and a long robe, his features upright and proper. He watched Doctor Qiu with deep concern.

“Why the panic?” Doctor Qiu scolded Zhou Zhi coldly, then ignored him.

So even in this Ming dynasty era, one had to wait in line to see the doctor, just as in the overcrowded hospitals of the modern age? There was nothing for it—this was the only doctor nearby.

No matter how anxious Zhou Zhi felt, he could only stand there quietly and wait.

Doctor Qiu finished taking the old man’s pulse, then carefully lifted the man’s eyelids to inspect them, his expression growing graver.

The middle-aged man asked anxiously, “Doctor, how is my father?”

Doctor Qiu hesitated slightly, then asked, “Has he eaten anything unusual the past few days?”

“What could he have eaten? Just the usual homely fare. Life has been better these past years, and my father loves meat—he eats a big bowl of stewed meat every day. He’s grown much fatter than before and moves far less,” the man answered.

“Meat does no harm; it makes one stronger,” Doctor Qiu replied without thinking.

“Has your father mentioned any discomfort recently?”

“Discomfort? Oh, lately he’s complained of dizziness, seeing stars, and feeling like the world is spinning, but nothing else,” the man said, frowning in thought.

Doctor Qiu listened, closed his eyes, and fell silent, deep in thought.

Watching Doctor Qiu’s unhurried manner, Zhou Zhi’s anxiety mounted. The four diagnostic methods—looking, listening, questioning, and feeling the pulse—had all been used; why had he not given a diagnosis? Meanwhile, his little brother’s fever was only getting worse.

He could do nothing but wait, anxious as he was. The middle-aged man’s father seemed in worse shape than Shaocheng, and it was only right to let them finish first.

Elder sister Zhou Lüyun stood behind Zhou Zhi, glancing at Shaocheng now and then, tears glimmering in her eyes.

The middle-aged man, more anxious than even Zhou Zhi and his sister, began to pace back and forth. Save for the sound of his restless steps, the room was silent. Doctor Qiu, seemingly respectful of the man, paid him no mind, remaining lost in thought.

At last, after a long time, Doctor Qiu opened his aged eyes. The middle-aged man stopped at once and anxiously asked, “Doctor, can my father be saved?”

“This illness has lasted a long time. It is a stubborn heart condition. He will likely remain unconscious for some time. I have no immediate cure—only some medicines to take home and nurse him slowly. Whether he survives this crisis depends on his fate,” Doctor Qiu finally said, having pondered for so long. He then wrote a prescription, ending the old man’s consultation, and it was finally time for Zhou Shaocheng to be seen.

But at that moment, the fat old man on the bed suddenly opened his eyes and cried out, “Dizzy, so dizzy! Son, hold me fast, don’t let me fall from the bed!”