Chapter Eighteen: A House Filled with Books

After the Lantern Festival, the New Year was truly over, and every household began to busy themselves with the livelihood for the coming year. The academy in town was about to open, and Ankang, having packed his luggage, set off for the city on the sixteenth day of the first month, carrying the six taels of silver prepared by Madam Luo.

Once Ankang had departed, Madam Luo took Anjian to the village school and paid the tuition for this term—one tael of silver. In the countryside, almost no family could afford to send two children to school at the same time, especially since the head of the An family, An Qinghe, was not at home. The two sons, already grown and able to work, were not helping to earn money but were instead attending school. It was easy to imagine the An family’s hardships, living a more difficult life than most. Yet Madam Luo did not feel burdened; she bravely shouldered the weight of life with her gentle strength.

The next day, the village school opened. After breakfast, Anjian tucked a few bean-cake patties and some slices of pickled radish into his pocket and headed off to class. Madam Luo went to the eastern end of the village to catch chicks at Luo Jiujin’s house. An Yi stayed home alone, standing in the courtyard and squinting up at the sun.

In her previous life, she had worked tirelessly day and night, researching all kinds of medicinal herbs and studying prescriptions from ancient and modern times, both Chinese and foreign, to seek justice for her grandfather and mother. She concocted countless colorless, tasteless poisons, pouring her heart and soul into ensuring those men succumbed to deadly toxins. It had been a long time since she enjoyed such leisure, such carefree days.

“Xier, Xier, An Xier!”

An Yi frowned, annoyed at being disturbed in her moment of peace. She turned to see Liu Xiaoyi from next door, perched atop the wall calling her. She suppressed her irritation and asked, “What is it?”

“How did you come up with that bird-catching method?”

An Yi lowered her gaze. “I read it in a book.”

“A book actually says that?” Liu Xiaoyi asked in surprise.

“Yes.”

“You can read?” Liu Xiaoyi’s voice rose in disbelief.

An Yi nodded.

“Did your elder brothers teach you?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Liu Xiaoyi fell silent for a long while. An Yi glanced up; he was no longer on the wall. She didn’t give it much thought and continued gazing at the sky. The spring sky was clear, as blue as a sapphire, just like the ring her mother used to wear. She had always liked that ring and once asked her mother for it. Her mother promised to give it to her as a birthday gift when she turned eighteen. But after her mother died, she never saw the ring again. She wondered where that man had hidden it. Not finding the ring was a regret.

With a creak, the half-closed door was pushed open. Madam Luo came in carrying a chicken cage. Seeing An Yi staring at the sun in a daze, she called anxiously, “Xier, don’t keep looking at the sun—you’ll hurt your eyes.”

An Yi returned from her reverie, blinked, and smiled. “Mother, you’re back. How many chicks did you catch?”

“I wanted to bring ten home, but it turns out their brood didn’t hatch well. There were more males than females, so I only brought six—five hens and one rooster.” Madam Luo didn’t take the chicken cage to the backyard coop but brought it directly into the house.

Though the weather was warming, the temperature was still too low. Without the protection of a mother hen, the chicks could freeze to death—a considerable loss. They would have to stay inside for now.

At noon, someone came to inform Madam Luo that an elder in the village had passed away. That afternoon, Madam Luo went to help. An Yi, left alone reading in the house, soon found herself bothered by the incessant chirping of the chicks and had to move to the room where the An family kept their books.

Normally, with Ankang and Anjian at home, An Yi wouldn’t dare enter. Having only learned to recognize a few simple characters, if she started reading and could understand, it would surely arouse suspicion. Ankang was shrewd and calculating. Anjian, though a glutton, was not without his own subtlety. As for Madam Luo, An Yi had discovered over their time together that Madam Luo placed blind trust in her children; even if she acted oddly, Madam Luo would simply think she had grown up and become sensible. She needn’t worry about arousing Madam Luo’s suspicions. It was rare that they were all out; today she could search freely for the books she wanted.

The An family’s collection startled An Yi. Not only were the three-tiered shelves packed with books, there were also two boxes piled in the corner.

Later, An Yi learned these books had been left by her grandfathers, An Youshan and Luo Xianrong. Both had passed the scholar’s exam and were renowned talents in the region. Yet each met with misfortune and failed to advance further in their official careers.

An Youshan, on his way to the capital for the imperial exam, encountered bandits and was killed in the act of bravery, ending his life far from home.

Luo Xianrong’s prospects were ruined by family tragedy. He married Madam Zhang and had a son and a daughter—Madam Luo and Luo Qiu Xue. On the Lantern Festival when Luo Qiu Xue was six, he went into town with Madam Zhang to see the lanterns and was abducted. Madam Zhang could not bear the blow, became mentally ill, and died the following year on the Lantern Festival. With his wife dead and son lost, Luo Xianrong’s health collapsed. Knowing his days were numbered, he betrothed his ten-year-old daughter to An Qinghe, the only son of his friend An Youshan. Soon after, he too passed away.

These events were unknown to An Yi. After seeing the shelves filled with classics, poetry collections, and essays, she turned to the boxes to search for what she needed. The books inside were clean, without dust. She rummaged through until, at the bottom, she found two handwritten volumes. One was titled “Herbal Notes from the Garden,” the other, “Little Insights from the Apricot Grove.”

Upon seeing these books, An Yi recalled her grandfather’s words: “The saying ‘a scholar is useless’ does not mean scholars are of no use. Scholars are indeed valuable. Those with talent, if not good ministers, are good doctors. In prosperity, they save the world; in retreat, they save the people.” In the study of any old scholar, one could expect to find a few medical books. Sure enough, she had found them. She also remembered her grandfather saying that stitched-bound books only appeared in the Ming dynasty. With the change of dynasties, the Ming fell and was replaced by the Qing. Did this Xu dynasty appear between the Ming and Qing, only to vanish in the river of history?

An Yi didn’t dwell on the question. She opened “Herbal Notes from the Garden” and found records of common medicinal herbs, some illustrated, with notes on how to identify each plant and its uses. She flipped to a random page: “Asparagus cochinchinensis—bitter taste, treats sudden wind-damp paralysis, strengthens bones and marrow, kills three kinds of parasites, dispels hidden corpses. Prolonged use lightens the body, boosts energy, and extends life. Grows in mountain valleys; harvest roots in February, July, and August; sun-dry them.”

A radiant smile blossomed on An Yi’s face—February was coming soon.

“Little Insights from the Apricot Grove” contained prescriptions from physicians, folk remedies, and even antidotes. Though not detailed, they would still prove useful. An Yi’s mind settled; with these two books, she could now explain her herb gathering in the mountains. She looked down at the first page of “Little Insights from the Apricot Grove,” smiling slightly as she read: “Added to summer-aged herbs, named the Six Gentlemen, it strengthens the spleen, dissolves phlegm, and regulates...”