Orchid Heart Longing - Chapter 2

Chapter 2

That day, I read the plague section of the journal. It said:

[In the first month of spring, a fever suddenly broke out within the city. It was perilous and hard to quell-suspected to be a plague.]

My heart clenched as I read.

The plague ran rampant through the city. The authorities ordered the gates sealed and opened medical halls to take in the sick. But the disease was vicious, and without the right method, every day thick black smoke rose outside the walls as bodies were burned.

The owner of the journal followed her father and grandmother, rushing about the clinics, searching for the source of the plague and a cure.

In the end, they discovered it had come from an ox used for plowing.

With cloth covering her mouth and nose, the journal’s owner went deep into the infected quarters. She separated the mild cases into several groups and had each group take different herbs. In the end, she picked out the one that best matched the illness.

Overjoyed, she joined forces with the authorities to brew the medicine and distribute it. Only then did the plague subside.

It began in the first month of spring and did not stop until late autumn. Of the living in the city, seven out of ten made it through.

But the journal owner’s father and grandmother fell ill from exhaustion and caught the plague as well. Even after taking the medicine, their sickness would not lift, and they passed away one after another.

The plague section was smooth and spare, as though it had been written in stolen moments amid chaos.

It described, precisely and objectively, how the illness had been identified and how it had been treated.

At the very end, there were only twenty-eight characters-yet they struck through the page, and faint watermarks showed in the ink.

[Great plague. In the city, the dead were three or four out of ten. Father’s coughing would not stop; three days later he died. Grandmother followed. Lan, alone.]

My chest felt so tight I could barely breathe. Stroking the paper, I cried without end, as if I had lived through that dangerous plague and the pain of bereavement alongside the journal’s owner.

I reached out a finger to touch the “Lan” character-blurred where tears or water had once seeped into it, then dried with time.

So the journal’s owner had a Lan in her name, too.

I wiped my eyes and was about to read on when the yard outside suddenly erupted into noisy excitement.

I was already on edge. Hearing footsteps, I called to a woman just outside the door.

“Auntie, what’s all the commotion today?”

She answered kindly, “The master’s Second Sister’s child is turning one. She’s come back to visit her family.”

My heart lurched. “You mean Gao Yulan-the one who married Li Kangnian of the Li family on the east end of the village?”

“That’s right.”

I laughed bitterly. The child was already a year old. That meant I’d been shut up in this little room for more than two years.

Still unwilling to accept it, I asked, “Th-they… as husband and wife, are they doing well?”

“Well? They’re sweeter than honey and oil. And the child’s a fine-looking, sharp little thing.”

I said nothing else. I could barely stand.

On this festive day, the bronze lock I could never break free of was finally opened.

Father appeared before me, one hand rubbing his belly as he strode in.

“Cuilan, your nephew is already one. Any thoughts you’ve been harboring-put them away.

“You’re twenty now.

“We’ll take in a son-in-law to live with us. We’ll rely on him to share our household, hold up the door and the roof, and do the work and errands.”

That same smile returned to his face-placid on the surface, with a hint of madness underneath.

“The husband your father has chosen will naturally be the best.”

Father’s talk of taking in a husband left my mind in turmoil. I had no heart to keep reading the journal, so I wrapped it carefully in fine cloth and tucked it away in a chest.

Half out of guilt, I told Father I could go learn to be a medical attendant-supporting myself would be enough.

But Father didn’t listen at all. He began loudly and openly seeking a son-in-law.

Before long, a man came to our door.

He claimed he was from Fuling Mountain. No parents above, no brothers below-no roots, no ties. He was willing to enter our family as a son-in-law.

Father was delighted beyond measure. He rushed to settle the marriage, and kept warning me again and again that I must treat the “Immortal” with great care.

I cried and begged Father-only to be locked back into that familiar room.

On the wedding day, people bustled about inside and out. I was pushed this way and that like a wooden doll as they dressed me and painted my face.

White powder covered my cheeks, red silk hung at the sides. In the bronze mirror, the woman had delicate brows and a pretty, demure look-yet her eyes were blank.

The aunties helping me straighten my wedding clothes beamed as they offered congratulations.

“Cuilan’s got such good looks. All made up, she’ll be the prettiest new bride.”

Another aunt covered her mouth and snickered. “Cuilan’s got fortune. That young fellow’s big and tall-so I’d say he’s… hehe.”

Some even envied Father. “Old Man Gao’s got luck too. His daughters are prettier one after another. Yulan married well, and now Cuilan can take in a son-in-law to prop up the household.”

“And you know what? Cuilan and Yulan-those two sisters are starting to look more and more alike!”

“Listen to you-of course they do. They’re real sisters.”

Their lively chatter had nothing to do with me. I stared at the face in the mirror, and it only felt unfamiliar.

For twenty muddled years, I’d thought our family wasn’t rich, but at least we were harmonious. Even if I wasn’t favored, my parents hadn’t shorted me.

Only today did I realize: I’d never once had any say at all.

Outside, the flutes and drums went on all day.

I sat at the edge of the bed in my wedding clothes, a red veil over my face, able to see only my fingers twisting together until the knuckles turned pale.

Then-bang. The door crashed open.

Footsteps drew near. The newcomer brought a gust of wind with him as he sat down beside me.

His voice was a little shy. “Wife… are you hungry?”

I froze. So this “Immortal” was the considerate sort-he even asked whether I’d eaten.

“I’m not hungry,” I answered. “I had some pastries earlier.”

“Then I’m lifting the veil.”

Before I could brace myself, I plunged straight into a pair of big eyes.

This “Immortal” wasn’t at all the flowing-robed, otherworldly figure I’d imagined. He was a dark, burly man with thick brows and wide eyes.

To me, he didn’t look like an Immortal at all-more like a simple, honest blacksmith.

He didn’t dare meet my gaze head-on. He kept sneaking sideways looks at me, his face flushing so hard it was red all the way down his neck.

Fidgeting, he mumbled, “Wife… let’s rest, then.”

He blew out the lamp, drew the bed curtains, hopped onto the bed-and immediately started yanking at my sash.

I wasn’t prepared at all. My collar came loose, and a glimpse of pale skin spilled out at my chest.

Clutching my collar, I stared at him in panic, neither able to welcome him nor to refuse.

This was an Immortal.

How could he… how could he be like this…?

He was far too close. My hand was still pressed against his big palm where he’d grabbed at my sash.

Even I couldn’t help my face heating. For a moment I didn’t dare move.

But he leaned in closer and closer. “Wife, don’t be scared. Old Pig’s got some skills. I’ll make sure you’re comfortable.

“I’ve got strength. Hauling bricks and tiles, building with earth and stacking walls, plowing and harrowing fields, sowing wheat and planting seedlings-none of it’s a problem. From now on I’ll have you wearing brocade and gold, satisfied wherever you go.

“From now on, I’ll listen to you. Good wife… rest.”

With those words, he pressed down on me. Red waves rolled beneath the covers, and the whole room turned soft and sultry.