Chapter Sixty: Herbs Infested with Worms

The patient glared at his son and said, “You don’t understand the matters of diagnosing and prescribing medicine, so keep quiet and stand aside.”
The man smiled awkwardly at Han Songyan and stepped aside.
Han Songyan had no time to explain at the moment; he wasn’t Master Lu’s apprentice, but he was eager to hear An Yi’s diagnosis. He had some doubts about Master Lu’s conclusions, knowing that An Yi was familiar with many herbs, yet in the past few months, he had never seen her diagnose or treat anyone.
Knowing herbs and practicing medicine were two different things. In the Xu Dynasty, ordinary herbal gatherers didn’t need to take the medical association exam, but pharmacists and traveling doctors did; to be a resident physician in a pharmacy, one had to pass two exams to qualify to see patients. Those serving in the charitable medical bureaus across the provinces had to pass three exams, and the requirements for imperial physicians were even stricter.
There was another point that puzzled Han Songyan: those who studied medicine did so to treat the sick and improve their skills through practice. Yet An Yi seemed reluctant to see patients; when Master Lu discussed cases, she often excused herself and left.
“The evil of Shaoyang: it may progress inward to Taiyin or retreat outward to Taiyang, lingering halfway between the exterior and interior. One cannot mistake fever and cough for Yangming interior heat; if there’s even slight chills or exterior symptoms, and the exterior evil isn’t resolved, one must not use White Tiger Decoction. For the patient’s condition, Minor Bupleurum Decoction is appropriate,” An Yi stated.
Han Songyan gazed at her in surprise, beginning to believe Master Lu’s words were true; what An Yi said echoed his own thoughts. Was it possible An Yi, like his seventh brother, though young and new to medicine, possessed extraordinary talent, a prodigy in the field?
Master Lu nodded slightly and asked, “Han, what’s your diagnosis?”
“The evil lingers between the exterior and interior; only by harmonizing the channels and dispersing the evil can it be resolved. If one uses strong cold medicines, it will suppress the evil and worsen the condition. For the Shaoyang pattern, Minor Bupleurum Decoction is best,” Han Songyan agreed.
“Xier, grind the ink,” Master Lu said, moving to the desk and picking up his brush to write a prescription.
Han Songyan noticed that Master Lu didn’t prescribe Minor Bupleurum Decoction alone; he added platycodon, bitter orange, white ginseng, apricot kernels, mulberry leaves, and honeysuckle.
“Boil in water, take three times daily,” Master Lu said, blowing on the ink. “After three doses, come back to change your prescription.”
The patient’s son took the prescription, thanked him, counted out the consultation fee, and with his brother, carried their father away.
Master Lu hadn’t eaten yet. An Kang accompanied An Yi and Han Songyan to the Garden of Hundred Herbs. An Jian called Liu Xiaoyi and Cheng Zhilin to go hunting at Little East Mountain.
An Yi hadn’t come in the morning; upon entering the garden, she went straight to check the herbs.
An Kang and Han Songyan sat in the pavilion, idly chatting about poetry and literature.
After making her rounds, An Yi returned to find the two still debating the artistic merits of two poets. Seeing her, they called out in unison, “Sister, Xier, come judge for us.”
“What are you judging?” An Yi asked in surprise.
“Who is better, Meng Haoran or Wang Wei?” An Kang replied.
An Yi chuckled, “Which does big brother prefer?”
“Of course, Meng Haoran.”
“Xier, don’t take your brother’s side,” Han Songyan interjected.
“Why do you favor him?” An Yi asked.
“Meng Haoran’s poetry is unadorned—clear and simple, with vast imagery, and a heroic spirit,” An Kang answered.
An Yi looked at Han Songyan, “Why do you think Wang Wei’s poetry is superior?”
“Wang Wei’s poems are fresh and bright, with melodious sounds, as if effortlessly composed; they express tranquility and lofty ideals, reminiscent of Tao Yuanming,” Han Songyan declared.
An Yi’s gaze shifted; from their tastes in poetry, she could discern their personalities and aspirations. With a faint smile, she asked, “Tell me, which tastes better, duck or chicken?”
An Kang and Han Songyan froze, then understood her meaning and laughed.
“Would you like to boil water for tea?” An Yi asked Han Songyan; An Kang wasn’t fond of tea, preferring plain water.
“No need, I’ve already had two cups this morning. Any more and I’ll be drinking like a donkey,” Han Songyan joked.
“Master just loves to play at elegance. Drinking water is simply to quench thirst; what’s the point of fussing over it?” An Yi said, pursing her lips.
“You rebellious apprentice, gossiping about your master behind his back again,” came Master Lu’s plaintive voice.
An Yi turned to him, raised her brows fearlessly, and said, “I wasn’t gossiping behind your back—I said it to your face, knowing you were here.”
“Sister, don’t be mischievous,” An Kang said, suppressing a smile.
Han Songyan’s lips curled as he watched An Yi—he noticed she only acted so playfully before Master Lu, deliberately provoking his feigned anger, but never behaved this way with others. The more he interacted with her, the more he realized she had many sides.
No one knew the reason for An Yi’s behavior: she was seeking the shadow of her grandfather in Master Lu.
“You rebellious apprentice, you really infuriate me!” Master Lu said, pounding his chest in mock anger. “I must clean house!”
“Don’t rush to clean house—deal with the pests first. I just saw the leaves of white atractylodes bitten off; likely cutworms emerging from the soil,” An Yi advised.
Master Lu set aside his jokes and hurried to check the plants.
An Kang didn’t understand these matters, but Han Songyan and Master Lu examined the leaves and confirmed cutworms were to blame.
An Yi knew that phoxim emulsion could eliminate cutworms, but the problem was that it required mixing several chemicals—readily available in modern times, but she couldn’t make it herself, nor did she have access to the ingredients here. She could only hope Master Lu and Han Songyan had solutions to eradicate the pests.
Their method was to inspect the damaged seedlings, dig up the soil, and kill the worms—a laborious and time-consuming process.
Cutworm larvae feed on stems and leaves, biting through tender stalks, causing gaps in the rows. As they grow, they burrow into the soil, emerging at night to gnaw on roots and young plants, damaging growth. Unlike other pests, cutworms don’t target just one herb—they attack nearly all common seedlings.
Goji, angelica, white atractylodes, platycodon, yam—all common medicines grown in the garden—covered too wide an area for pest removal. The next afternoon, Cheng Zhilin returned to the city, while Han Songyan stayed behind to help dig for worms.
It was near May; the weather was growing hotter. The sun tirelessly poured its heat onto the earth, villagers busy irrigating their fields, with no time to spare.

An Yi gave up the idea of hiring help, donned a small bamboo hat, and took a hoe to search for the tiny holes where cutworms had emerged. Digging down along the holes, she could find the pests.
After a day of hunting worms, as dusk fell, everyone left the garden for home. An Yi looked fatigued, walking sluggishly; she hadn’t earned any money from growing herbs, only exhausted herself several times over. It was easy to talk about, but hard to do—making money from herbs was no simple task.
“Sister,” An Kang squatted before her, “let big brother carry you home.”
“Just carry me part of the way,” An Yi said, climbing onto his back. “Brother, walk faster.”
“Alright!” An Kang carried her forward at a run, making her giggle.
“Brother, let me carry sister too!” An Jian caught up.
“No, your leg’s just healed—you might drop her.”
“My leg is fine now, I won’t drop her. Please let me carry her, big brother.”
Han Songyan watched the three siblings running ahead and smiled gently. He often visited Jingtang Village for the warmth of their family.
Madam Zhang laughed, “Qiu-mei, how lucky you are; your children are paired. A girl relies on her father and brothers at home—Xier has two brothers who dote on her, so no one will dare look down on her when she marries. My two daughters, when we’re gone, will have no one to rely on.”
Her words left Madam Luo at a loss; Zhang had only two daughters, and though Master Lu wasn’t concerned, it was a sore spot for Madam Zhang.
“You old woman, what nonsense are you talking? Your sons-in-law are honest men, treating your daughters well. Now you have grandchildren, how could they have no one to rely on? Are men not support, are children not support?” Master Lu scolded.
Madam Zhang flushed, realizing her mistake, and lowered her head.
“Don’t be angry, Master Lu. Aunt Zhang didn’t mean that. Mothers always worry for their daughters, believing no one cares as much as they do, always wanting to keep them close. My Xier is nine now, and in a few years she’ll marry—I get anxious just thinking about it, never sure if she’ll find someone trustworthy,” Madam Luo said, smoothing things over.
“That’s true—a daughter is flesh from her mother, no amount of care is enough,” Madam Zhang wiped her eyes.
“Children have their own fate; worry less,” Master Lu said, quickening his pace.
Han Songyan, not wanting to walk with the two women, hurried to catch up with Master Lu.
“That old man,” Madam Zhang muttered.
“Aunt, after a day’s work, don’t cook tonight—come eat at my house,” Madam Luo said, taking her arm.
“How can I? You worked all day too, I’d feel guilty,” Madam Zhang replied.
“I’m younger, so it’s nothing. You and Master Lu come eat; it’s just two more pairs of chopsticks,” Madam Luo laughed, then called out, “Master Lu, come eat at my house. Young master Han and Zhuzi can drink with you.”
“Alright!” Master Lu called back.
That night, An Yi suddenly fell ill.
“Zhuzi, wake up—your sister is sick,” Madam Luo called to An Kang, who slept in the next room. “Go, hurry and fetch Master Lu to see her.”
“What’s happened, Aunt Luo?” Han Songyan, awakened by the commotion, came from another room.
“Xier is unwell—she just vomited up all her dinner,” Madam Luo said anxiously.
Han Songyan frowned, “The sun was strong today; she might have suffered heatstroke.”
“Mother, Songyan is a physician—let him examine sister,” An Kang suggested.
“Right! In my haste, I forgot—please, young master, have a look,” Madam Luo said, leading him inside.
An Yi lay in bed, her face pale as paper.
“Xier, where are you feeling unwell?” Han Songyan asked gently.
She opened her eyes and met his concerned gaze. “I’m dizzy and nauseous, my chest feels tight, and I want to vomit—probably heatstroke.”
Based on her symptoms, An Yi could tell it was heatstroke, but she was too dizzy to get up and brew medicine—a case of the healer unable to heal herself.
Han Songyan sat by her bed, feeling her pulse, “You’ve got heatstroke. Do you have Huoxiang pills at home?”
“No ready-made pills, only raw herbs,” An Yi replied, frowning in discomfort. She turned, wanting to vomit, but couldn’t.
“Bear with it—I’ll go brew the medicine,” Han Songyan said, rising.
An Yi nodded, “Mother, bring me a glass of salt and sugar water.”
“What’s salt and sugar water?” Madam Luo asked.
“Just add a little salt and three spoons of sugar to a glass of boiled water,” An Yi explained.
“Oh, oh,” Madam Luo hurried to the kitchen.
An Yi drank the water and lay flat to rest.
An Kang helped stoke the fire, and An Jian, though unable to help, stayed at her bedside out of concern.
After a while, Han Songyan brought in the medicine.
An Yi drank it, her symptoms eased, and everyone relaxed. As dawn approached, Madam Luo urged them to quickly rest—they’d need energy to catch more pests in the garden.
Since An Yi suffered heatstroke after a day in the sun, Madam Luo insisted she stay home.

Though heatstroke wasn’t a serious illness, Madam Yang and others still found time to come visit An Yi.
Luo Cuimei pinched An Yi’s nose and said, “Little girl, you barely spent any time in the sun and got sick—shows you’re too thin, not enough flesh to endure it. If you grew as round as I am, you could sunbathe for days with no trouble.”
An Yi glanced at Luo Cuimei’s plump figure, her mouth twitching. Good health was important, but she didn’t want to resemble a pillar.
“That’s right—pigs love to bask in the sun,” Luo Hongmei teased.
“Big sister, if I’m a pig, what are you?” Luo Cuimei raised her brow. “Don’t forget, we’re born of the same mother.”
Luo Hongmei was at a loss for words.
Luo Xiaxia laughed, clapping, “Rare! Hongmei’s finally at a loss.”
“Aunt,” Luo Hongmei protested.
After some laughter, the Luo family departed.
Master Lu led Han Songyan and the An brothers in the garden for five days, finally eradicating the cutworms. Caught early, the losses weren’t severe.
After seven days in Jingtang Village, Han Songyan, his face nearly bronzed from the sun, returned to the city with three large bundles of herbs prepared by An Yi.
Two days later, on the fourth day of May, Madam Luo rose early to soak seven jin of glutinous rice, washed the leaves for wrapping, sent An Jian to buy a few ounces of meat, boiled salted eggs and set aside the yolks, then sat in the courtyard to wrap zongzi.
Last year, she soaked three jin and didn’t need help. This year, with seven jin, she couldn’t manage alone. An Kang and An Jian had learned to wrap zongzi; though not as fast as Madam Luo, for every three she wrapped, they managed two.
An Yi lacked strength—she couldn’t grip the leaves tightly; when she added rice at the top, it spilled from the bottom. After several failed attempts, she dumped the rice back into the pot and pouted, “I’m not wrapping anymore.”
“Sister, just wait to eat,” An Jian laughed.
Madam Luo suddenly sighed.
“Mother, what’s wrong? Are you feeling unwell?” An Yi asked with concern.
“Your uncle has been gone two months—why hasn’t he returned? Did he lie to me, going off on dangerous escort jobs and never coming back?” Madam Luo worried.
“Mother, how could uncle deceive you? You’re just too anxious. The journey to Zhili is long—it takes four or five months round trip. Don’t worry, he’ll surely return,” An Jian replied.
An Kang and An Yi said nothing. One had guessed that Wei Yang wouldn’t return; the other knew for certain he wouldn’t.
As Madam Luo was about to speak, there was a knock at the door. An Yi ran to open it—it was Madam Zhou, visiting for a pulse diagnosis; her monthly period was ten days late.
An Yi led Madam Zhou inside, placed her fingers on her wrist, and recited, “A slippery pulse rolls like beads, smooth to and fro; if food stagnates and phlegm blocks the chest, in women, a slippery and slow pulse means pregnancy. Aunt, you are pregnant.”
“Really? Am I truly pregnant?” Madam Zhou could scarcely believe it—joy had come so quickly.
“If you don’t believe me, you can ask my master to confirm,” An Yi smiled.
“I believe you, I do!” Madam Zhou wept with joy, placing her hands protectively over her abdomen, guarding the tiny embryo just formed.
An Yi handed her a handkerchief, “Go home first—I’ll fetch my master. This is wonderful news; let the family celebrate.”
Wiping her tears, Madam Zhou said, “I’ll head home then.”
When she emerged, Madam Luo immediately noticed her tear-stained face and asked nervously, “Sister-in-law, did Xier say something hurtful to upset you?”
“No, big sister,” Madam Zhou blushed, glancing at An Kang and An Jian. “Xier checked my pulse and said I’m pregnant.”
“Pregnant!” Madam Luo exclaimed in delight. “Congratulations! Let me help you home.”
“It’s only been a month—I’m not that fragile,” Madam Zhou laughed.
“Better safe than sorry,” Madam Luo said, wiping her hands and escorting Madam Zhou home.
An Yi ran to fetch Master Lu, bringing him to the Luo family.
Master Lu confirmed Madam Zhou’s pregnancy; though it was only a month, she was indeed with child.
Luo Xiahe stared at Madam Zhou’s flat belly, grinning foolishly. After more than two years married, at last he would become a father.
Madam Zhou quietly wiped her eyes, finally able to let go of her long-held worries.
An Yi watched the joyful family, a trace of concern flashing in her eyes.
Learning that Madam Zhou conceived after taking An Yi’s medicine, several women in the village who had been married two or three years without children came seeking treatment.
“I didn’t write that prescription—it was my master’s. The medicine isn’t suitable for everyone; you should have my master see you. Each person’s situation is different, each needs a unique prescription. If you avoid treatment, small illnesses may become serious,” An Yi persuaded them, finally sending them away, and returned to her medical book.
She had barely read two pages before another knock sounded, thinking it was more women seeking treatment, she frowned, “Second brother, open the door.”
“I’m writing…” An Jian saw her pout, put down his brush, and went to answer.