With spring's arrival in Shengjing, the streets had grown lively with small vendors selling sweetmeats and snacks.
People ventured out for excursions; women ascended the hills to burn incense, and on such idle journeys, it was impossible not to buy a few sesame candies or orange cakes to pass the time. Of them all, Madam Feng's cloud slice cakes sold the best—thin as snowflakes, fragrant, and delicately sweet.
Inside the Renxin Medical Hall, before the long counter, James Du idly stared across the street, a half piece of cloud slice cake melting on his tongue.
The Du family of Nanwang Ward in Shengjing had made its fortune in medicine. Their humble apothecary grew into a chain, then into a flourishing medical hall. As its renown spread, so too did the elder Master Du's estate.
In his youth, the old master had devoted himself to his business, only marrying when he neared middle age. His bride, not yet twenty, was fair and tender as a flower, and within a year she bore him a son. Late-born children delight an aging father; he doted upon wife and child as if to place them in the heavens.
Yet fortune proved fickle. Madam Du passed away scarcely a year after giving birth, leaving her husband bereft. Out of pity for his motherless son, the elder Du spoiled the boy beyond measure. Thus, what began as affection grew into ruin, for the boy became a man unable to lift a burden or shoulder a task—good only for wine, song, and idleness.
That wastrel was James Du.
While the old master lived, the family's wealth shielded them from decline. But after his death, the Du household lost its pillar. James, raised in luxury, knew little of discipline. Generous to a fault, he squandered freely, surrounded by parasites who praised him to his face and drained him behind his back. One borrowed three hundred taels for a sick mother, another five hundred for a "business venture." Bit by bit, the lands and shops were sold off, until all that remained was this shabby little clinic on West Street.
This was the very first hall his father had founded. James Du, unable to bear selling it, had a street scribe paint a signboard and hung it proudly—thus he became the "proprietor" of the Renxin Medical Hall.
But the resident physician had long since been poached by the wealthy Xinglintang, and no new doctor could be found. Not that it mattered—the clinic barely earned enough to stay open. Occasionally, a few neighbors came for minor prescriptions, keeping the place alive by a thread. In truth, it was only a matter of time before it, too, was sold.
A carriage rolled to a halt outside, its wheels sending drifting willow catkins spinning through the air.
Someone alighted.
James Du's eyes lit up. He swallowed the last of his cake, straightened his clothes, and rushed forward with a broad, eager grin. "Uncle!"
The newcomer was a man of about fifty, wearing a square scholar's cap and a long robe of warm amber silk. A folded fan rested in one hand; in the other, a handkerchief pressed lightly against his lips as he coughed.
James ushered him inside and barked toward the back room, where David Chen was wiping the tables. "Didn't you see my uncle arrive? Go brew some tea! Insolent boy—don't mind him, Uncle, he's hopeless."
Barry Hu set aside his handkerchief and drew a prescription from his sleeve. "Changqing…"
"Ah, this month's medicine?" James took the slip and turned toward the counter. "I'll fetch it right away, Uncle."
David Chen brought the tea, setting it before Barry Hu with a look of faint sympathy. The world held many fools, but few who took pride in their own misfortune—and Barry Hu was one of them.
He had been the old Master Du's close friend since youth. Their families were of similar standing; outwardly cordial, inwardly competitive—comparing everything from their wives' beauty to their children's studies, from height and girth to dress and bearing.
After the elder Du's death, Barry Hu lost his lifelong rival and, feeling a strange emptiness, turned his attention to the man's son. Every month or two, he would come to "purchase medicine," taking the chance to lecture the young man and thus soothe his restlessness.
James Du always played the dutiful nephew, nodding humbly through the scolding, which pleased Barry Hu immensely. For him, the money spent on tonics was trivial; for James, it was survival. One could say that, after Master Du's passing, Barry Hu had become James Du's sole benefactor.
And benefactors must be treated with reverence.
When James finished measuring the herbs, he sat beside Barry Hu once more. As expected, after a few sips of tea, the older man began his sermon.
"Changqing, your late father, before his death, entrusted you to my care. I've always seen you as half my own son, so I'll speak plainly.
"Men your age have already built careers and households. When your father lived, his wealth could support you; now things are different. You rely on this clinic, but it's too small, too quiet. Sooner or later, it will fail. Even if you sell it and live off the silver, it will vanish in time.
"You're clever enough, gifted even. Why not pursue the imperial examinations? My two sons may not match your wit, but we taught them properly, and they've made decent progress. Why, just last month, my younger boy received another promotion…"
James Du listened with practiced patience, letting Barry Hu drain half a pot of tea and his own voice before he finally prepared to leave. As the older man rose, James bundled up the remaining cakes and, spotting a small paper-wrapped packet of herbal tea on the table—the same gift left by that young woman who had sold the cattail pollen—he added it to the parcel.
David Chen had refused to throw it away; after drinking it for two days without issue, he'd kept it aside.
James Du wrapped the cakes and the tea neatly in red paper, handing them to Barry Hu as he climbed into his carriage. Smiling broadly, he said, "Uncle, I won't keep you long. A small spring gift—this tea is good for nasal congestion and catarrh. Do take care of yourself."
Barry Hu chuckled heartily. "Thoughtful as ever, Changqing." He gave a nod to his driver, and the carriage rolled away.
The moment it disappeared from sight, James Du's smile collapsed. He turned back into the hall, muttering, "At last, the old pedant's gone."
David Chen ventured, "Still, Master Hu wasn't wrong, sir. You could always try for an official post…"
James shot him a glare. "You think I don't want to? My father never lectured me half as much as that man!"
"Even a dog wags its tail for its master," David Chen said with a grin. "Since the hall survives on his silver, best to bear it."
James kicked at him. "Who's the dog? You calling me one?"
Rubbing his rear, David Chen laughed. "Of course not, sir. I'm the dog."
——
When Barry Hu returned home, Madam Hu was reviewing the household accounts.
Seeing the oil-paper parcel in his hand, she gave a sharp sniff. "Back from the Renxin Hall again?"
"Your late brother's final request—I can hardly ignore it."
Her smile was thin and cutting. "You're the one chasing after them to hand out silver. He's useless, and you fuss over him like a wet nurse."
"You don't understand such things," Barry Hu waved dismissively. "And they always send a gift of tea—what sort of fool do you take me for?"
Madam Hu arched a brow. "A few stale cakes and scraps of tea leaves—some gift that is. Only you could be moved by such nonsense."
"Enough, enough—I've no wish to quarrel." He opened the parcel; as expected, it contained nothing of value—just the cakes and a small packet of tea wrapped in white paper, tied with coarse red string.
Yet something caught his eye. On the white wrapping, neat strokes of a woman's delicate hand spelled out two lines of verse:
"Even the willow fluff laughs at human fickleness,
Drifting close, brushing one's sleeves in jest."
Barry Hu's eyes gleamed with pleasure. He adored such tokens of refinement. A poem, fine calligraphy, a whiff of artistry—even humble tea leaves became a treasure.
He called to the servants. "Brew this tea. I'll drink it for the next few days."
Madam Hu looked at him askance. "You usually give those to the servants. What's changed today?" Her gaze lingered on the packet. "We've shelves of good tea in the house, yet you want that? Ridiculous."
"Ah, the charm of elegance cannot be measured in silver," Barry Hu replied, sweeping his sleeve grandly. But catching his wife's expression, he coughed lightly and added, "Besides, Changqing said it helps with nasal congestion. I'll try it for a few days."