22 In Sickness

~CHONG HO~

Ho was at peace with himself for a week. A week!

And what a wonderful week it was! Untorn, unregretful, even hopeful. By the shrines, Mei had given him her blessing. He had heard her voice in the rustling of the leaves and her giggles in the gurgling of the fountain. He had said his farewells to her and the child he'd never held and had never named. He also embraced a great many other children, his nieces and nephews as well as their parents. Even his father no longer bristled when he opened his mouth. It was uncanny.

As he rode back home to his new bride, he understood the fortunate Lord Yong's impatience.

Oh, how fast did it all fall apart when he returned to Sutao, and oh, how so completely! And fate was not through with him yet: judging by the singing that drifted through the gates of his house, things went from bad to worse while he went to his offices in the port.

The singing assaulted Ho's senses worse than a war drums' beat might have. Digging his fingers into his temples, he rushed across the courtyard. He should have known that his mother-in-law would defy his wishes. He had been short-sighted to leave the household in this demon's hands for three weeks. And before that, when the maid had died he should have cancelled the wedding. It was an ill omen!

But it was no use to bemoan his weaknesses now.

Earlier today the ever-blessed Counselor Fujuan hinted at sending an inspector to Chong Ho's house to investigate a rumour that his new wife's affliction was a case of the Inscrutable Contagion outside the Seaward. Chong Ho had to make a substantial gift to postpone the visit. Easy enough this time, but he was worried.

The faeries swore and signed off at the Prefect's office that his household was free of illness after the maid's death. They did not even mention the Inscrutable Contagion. But with the cases in the Seaward on the rise, no amount of silver would keep the inspectors off his property. The official investigation meant quarantine, his town estate and businesses locked down, and Ho himself would have to withdraw to the countryside and paint landscapes until the authorities were satisfied.

That's if he remained unaffected. It drove him to distraction that after all the costly faery prayers his new wife fell ill. They did everything right, and she still fell ill! And just her, too. Why? Absurdly, it felt that he would have been less riled up if it had not been just her.

It was as if a Celestial pointed a divine finger at him and said: "Can't you take a hint, Ho? You were not destined to be a married man. Why did you defy the will of Heavens?"

And what do I have to say to that? Dew-on-a-petal made me? The Benefactor wanted it? I did not think I was significant enough to warrant the Heavens' close interest in my affairs? Ancestors, I get it now, I will mourn my second wife and won't as much as look at another woman again! I am done!

And, yes, he would mourn Tien Lyn, despite the calamity of their union. He will mourn what could have been. She was as inoffensive as a lotus flower, and she did not deserve to wilt, no more so than Mei did.

Torn by regrets, Ho at least he did not take the leave of his senses as his mother-in-law did. Yesterday, she told Ho of some beggar she wanted to bring in to heal Tien Lyn. Ho forbade it in no uncertain terms, explaining that the purported miracle worker was a charlatan, a son of a carnival acrobat, and everyone knew that the wandering performers were an untrustworthy lot. Ancestors, in Seaward, people count a kind word as a miracle, they are so used to their miserable lot!

The proud Dew-on-a-petal, who wrinkled her perfect nose at his ancestry, should have stayed clear of the dockside tales. She should have been satisfied with the fortune expended on the respectable doctors and the faeries of the Temple of the Serene Joy in attempts to nurse Tien Lyn to health.

Yesterday, she agreed with him that the idea was just a mother's folly.

Today, the horrid singing that strained his ears and mocked the faeries' sacred rites, meant that she'd lied to him. Looked him right into the eye, and lied.

There was a small hope that the Dew-on-a-petal had invited that odd acolyte again, but Chong Ho was positive that his luck deserted him. The whole property stank of flowers; not a gentle, subtle fragrance that the Temple faeries left in their wake, but a sharp and disturbing one. The street healer must have walked all over the house, casting his false spells. Ho gritted his teeth.

As irate as he was, he adjusted his gait to the wide strides more in tune with the dignified fury he wished to project. In the sickroom the smell of flowers became cloying. His mother-in-law glided in front of him, her slim frame partially blocking his view. It was of no use.

Ho could still see the street charlatan cavorting over Tien Lyn's prostrate form.

Thin as a twig, and wrapped in dirty rugs, the healer was nothing like the enigmatic faeries and scholarly medics. To make him look even more unsavoury, the pitiful scraps of fabric failed to properly cover up his weathered wrists and ankles. He sweated so copiously that the rivulets of perspiration made trails on his grimy face, from the forehead all the way down to the prominent cheekbones. They got lost in the unkempt stubble to reappear on the equally dirty neck. Both hair and stubble had an odd reddish tint to it, so no wonder the faeries likened him to the scarlet-haired demons! To complete the revolting picture, the healer's body was covered in sores oozing pus and black lumps.

The charlatan did not even bother with singing a proper healing hymn. Instead, he hummed and moaned tunelessly, punctuating it with the choking sounds so odd that it made Ho remember that the street saint was supposedly a mute.

"Mistress Dew-on-a-petal!" Ho said forcefully, "I thought we had come to an agreement."

"I have reconsidered," the woman replied brazenly, never taking her eyes off her daughter. "Do rest yourself after your day of travails, Master Chong Ho, and we shall discuss my trespass later."

How could she make Master sound worse than a "fool"? How could she dismiss him from his wife's sickbed, in his own house?!

Ho shouldered his way past Lady Chen Guang -pardon me, Dew-on-a-petal- and grabbed the healer by the collar. "Get away from my wife, charlatan!"

The healer turned to face him. Ancestors, was he dirty! Ho almost let go off him in disgust, but held on stubbornly, cringing as he noticed the unsightly details: the lips bleeding from deep cracks; dull eyes encrusted with pus, and mucus flowing freely from the man's nose and mouth. He looks sicker than Tien Lyn!

Under other circumstances, Ho might have felt pity for the wretch - from a more reasonable distance - and would have sent him on his way with a bowl of rice. But right now he just wanted this filth out of his house.

The beggar issued forth a groan and craned his neck to see past Ho to his sick wife, and a weak illusion of flower petals and leaves started radiating from him. It was a pathetic performance, but there was something else, something more powerful than the flickering magic images. Ho felt a strong pulse of living force around the dirty creature. It was like seeing a fresh bamboo shoot force its way through a heap of refuse.

Ho gasped in wonder both at his own certainty and the healer's potency. His grip on the man weakened reflexively.

The beggar slipped away and twirled, still copying the Holy Healing Ritual of the Temple of Serene Joy. At the end of the last step, the street saint stumbled so badly that he had to steady himself against the wall. The illusions and the stronger undercurrent of qi ceased.

He was spent, but he still stared at Tien Lyn.

At the same time, she stirred and gasped for air greedily. That terrible straining sound that had accompanied her every breath in the past few days was gone.

Chen Guang, never to stay on the sidelines for long, rushed to seat down by her, touched the wrist, the forehead, the throat. When she looked up at stunned Ho, her eyes bright with tears and triumph, "My daughter's fever broke."

The familiar sense of calm came over Ho, the pleasant clarity of mind, like opening a window in a stuffy room. He had not experienced it around Tien Lyn while she was ill, but it was back now.

"It's no faery-healing," Ho mumbled, "it's something... else."

Dew-on-a-petal glanced at the beggar, who was now slumped against the wall, a dirty shape, still humming his gibberish. Still looking at Tien Lyn.

"You can question him all you wish, my beloved son, but have the decency to provide a hot meal, a bath, and a reward," she said crisply. "Just remember that by this poor man's grace, your house was spared the Inscrutable Contagion."

Ho did not believe her flattery for a moment, but he clapped his hands and gave orders for the healer to be taken care of. Later, he would visit the man himself.