Saintess Changying~
Her hand sweeps her scarf back, revealing a youthful face partly covered by loose strands of windblown hair. Despite her refined features, her earnest demeanor overshadows, taking over the softness in her feminine appearance. Her skin is pale but marked with uneven red blotches, burned by the wind, rendering it rough and irritated.
As her gaze meets mine, it ignites like flint, piercing and unyielding, reminiscent of two polished black stones. She scans me and the surroundings with a piercing intensity akin to a raven’s beady stare, and her weathered lips are tightly pressed into a thin line.
She could be a merchant. Despite her saffron dress being disheveled, stained with a ripped hem, its style is of the most modern in the mortal realm. It hangs loosely over her slender figure, that is drowning under the brocade material that at one time been beautiful, but now it’s dirty. The yellow has darkened to an ugly and unflattering mustard hue, fluttering like a frayed flag as she dismounts her massive horse.
Her black stallion, like her dress, was once magnificent but now looked worn, emitting weary whinnies bearing the weight of exhaustion. Its shiny coat is concealed in a layer of dust accumulated during their journey. The steed teeters on the brink of collapse, evident from the bulging and rolling of its eyes when she drops the reins.
“I need a doctor,” she states and asks. “Are you Saintess Changying?”
Removing her filthy gloves, the woman moves rapidly towards me, her long steps eating up the space between us. “I’m the healer,” I answer, noticing her distrust for me from her guarded posture. Her stony gaze is cagey, nervous and shifty, concentrated on the black veil I wear to conceal my glowing green dragon’s eyes. I don’t have fox magic, otherwise I would have hidden them.
She doesn’t like my black somber clothes, grimacing as she gives me an outright visual look over. She’s clearly trying to read me, just as I am trying to understand why she would mistreat her horse, allowing it to come so close to dying from fatigue and thirst.
“I’m Changying. I’m the one you are looking for.” I repeat myself in case she didn’t hear me the first time, but she is unresponsive, not telling me who or why she’s searching for me because she doesn’t trust me. If she doesn’t entrust me to let me help her, then she is wasting my time. “Look, I can only help you if you let me and tell me what’s wrong.”
Her body gives off the smell of fresh blood. The metallic odor fills my nose, so I ask, “Are you the one who is hurt?”
I give the woman one last chance, my patience waning as I notice a fluffy cloud passing by, perfect for me to ride back to Nine Heavens if I’m not needed here. She doesn’t reply immediately, instead nervously gnawing at her already raw and separated bottom lip, covered in tiny fragments of flaky dried blood from being repeatedly split and not given time to heal before getting busted again—an obvious sign of her anxious temperament.
“It’s not me,” she finally answers. Her expression, previously hard and solemn, dissolves instantly when she speaks about the one who is injured. “It’s my husband. My husband, Jinghua, needs your help.”
The woman comes back with four men – one who needed my help and three others. Her husband, who is not just injured but dying, has severely burnt and blistered skin that is split and oozing bloody pus. It covers most of his body and face. It’s amazing that he’s still alive, as his labored breaths sound wheezy and strained. Each shallow gasp is a struggle for him to inhale oxygen. His body is fighting against the smoke that has damaged his lungs.
As the injured man is brought inside, the woman promises me and Xinlan that she, along with the others, pose no threat to us since we are two lone women without the protection of men. They carefully place him on the cot, and immediately the cottage is saturated with the overpowering stench emanating from his burned flesh and his infections that are both external and internal.
It is an extreme and putrid smell. Xinlan opens all the windows and burns an herby medicinal mix on the incense burner. Outside, the men are looking after the horses that are resting and feeding on the abundant, sweet grass around the cabin, their reins removed. It’s clear now why they pushed the animals so hard – they were in a hurry because of her husband’s condition.
The woman is called A-li, like my brother. I don’t ask if she uses the same character as dege and a man named Qing Yuan, are currently inside the cottage. Qing Yuan, clearly upset, watches from afar as the woman, gnawing anxiously on the side of her thumb, hovers over me. Her raw thumb mirrors her battered lower lip, revealing her palpable anxiety. The bits and pieces from their whispered conversation carrying on behind me reveals that the man was hurt in an explosion involving black powder inside a fireworks factory, but his injuries go beyond burns.
Upon closer inspection, his ravaged body bears the harrowing marks of a brutal impact, most notably a deep, jagged gash on his upper thigh from an object that came at him with an intense speed. The wound is still bleeding, oozing a thick, black, sticky fluid that’s staining his clothes, which are scorched and burned onto his skin. Despite the severity of the wound, it is a peculiar twist of irony that the intense heat of the fire has inadvertently cauterized it, preventing fatal blood loss which would have killed him instantly.
Nevertheless, the man’s condition remains dire, as he teeters on the precipice of consciousness and death. But in a cruel twist, one that might have given false hope to his companions, his eyes, now devoid of eyelashes, occasionally twitch, though they remain stubbornly closed, a testament to the excruciating pain he must be enduring within his battered frame.
“Your husband is in agony,” I declare, though the words are unnecessary, as even the blind would see the depth of his suffering.
“I’m going to ease his discomfort.” I bring the green glass bottle’s opening close to his lips, which are parted just a little. A generous dose of poppy elixir will ease his suffering and help his labored breathing. However, his suspicious wife intercepts my action, roughly grabbing my wrist and barring my efforts. “Stop. Let me sample it first, then you can give it to Jinghua.”
Right before my eyes, she ages quickly. Her scrunched face is filled with distrust, and her grip around my wrist tightens. Her free hand slides down her leg until it rests on top of a blade hidden under her dress. This woman would cut me down without hesitation or remorse if she thought I posed danger to her husband.
“You brought him to me, not the other way around, and your weapons are useless here.” I scoff, but the throat clearing sound from my assistant Xinlan serves as a reminder for me to be more sensitive. To be more human.
“Only your husband will suffer from your distrust.” I reason with her, emphasizing that her husband is experiencing unimaginable pain in his last hours and that providing him with comfort should be a priority. However, her stubbornness persists, and she insists on drinking the elixir herself to ensure it will not worsen his condition. But I need to tell her why she can’t.
Why she shouldn’t.
She may emanate the smell of fresh blood, unlike the stale scent on her husband, but she is pregnant. The growing fetus is six to eight weeks old. I could hear the regular fluttering thump of the unborn child’s heart, even without magic, when she was hovering over me moments ago. I ask her to follow me into the other room so her husband won’t take notice or hear. It’s not uncommon for those unconscious to understand conversations and happenings around them, even in their comatose state.
I’m not naïve enough to assume the child is his. She is in the earliest stages and I don’t know how long he’s been like this. “You’re pregnant.” I whisper, and she instantly touches her stomach.
There’s only a hint of shock on her expressionless face. She had an inkling. She knew she might be pregnant, yet still wanted to expose herself and her unborn child to the dangers of powerful medicines. She’s a foolish mortal, but my life’s calling is to treat the unwell without judgement and she falls into the same category, also in need of healing.
“Are you experiencing an unstable pregnancy? Have you met with a prenatal doctor?” I inquire then state. “You’re presently bleeding.” She nods knowingly, shaking her head slowly. Her response is weak and distant. “I suspected something when I didn’t get my cycle this month, but I’m not bleeding from there even though I wish I was,” she murmurs.
She glances at her husband with a blurry gaze, expressing her scorn for the gods. “The heavens have proved merciless and the gods are cruel. My entire life has been a calamity. My husband is nothing but true goodness. What have I done so terribly wrong in my past life than I must endure the torment of them taking him from me too? I was going to follow Jinghua when he goes, but now I can’t even choose my death.”
“Does your husband know you’re with child?”
She responds, “No, he has suffered enough. I don’t want him to find out. It’s better for him not to know or it will be harder for him to leave us behind. I don’t want his spirit to linger, even though I will join him once this baby is born. If he had other children, I wouldn’t hesitate to take my life tomorrow, but this child will be the first and last of his name.” Suddenly, she turns to me and bends her knees, pleading, “Saintess, if it won’t harm Jinghua, let me keep nourishing him with my blood. There’s nothing else I can do.” She smiles up at me wistfully.
I am not as sensitive as my psychic twin sister, who is persuaded and controlled by her emotions. She would have misused her magic with no qualm about breaking celestial laws or the karmic rebound she would suffer from altering the fate of this couple. Given her love and flair for the dramatic and extravagance, Jiejie would have surely elevated them to royal status in some thriving empire like in the fairytales. But that’s Changchang. I’m wired differently. I am not disturbed by human tragedies, but I can recognize this woman’s situation is a misfortune.
I haven’t known her for long, but I can tell she’s determined and stubborn. If she wants to feed her husband her blood, then no one will stop her. She finds meaning in offering her blood as a sacrifice. It won’t affect him, one way or the other, but it seems to give her a sense of control in a situation that is beyond her control. Her sacrifice for the man she loves reminds me of my mother, whom I miss more than I expected, and consider how mother would handle this resolute woman — Mother, Gugu, would have made a compromise.
She would have met her halfway.
“You can keep feeding him your blood, but only if you let me treat him for his pain.” I take her back into the room with her husband. I dab a small amount of poppy tonic on my fingertip before applying the medicine on my mouth, delivering most of it me and then her. I lick it off my lip. “See? We’re both still alive. Now, can I give some to your husband?”
She nods as tears stream down her face. She follows right behind me and watches everything I do when I feed the medicine to her husband. She takes in a sigh of relief when some goes down his throat instead of spilling out from the sides of his mouth.
The drug takes effect rapidly. As his shallow breaths deepen, his tense body gradually relaxes, allowing me to check his pulse. I gently place my fingers on his wrists. His pulse is weak, irregular, and distant. It sounds like I’m chasing a fading echo and it’s unlikely that he will survive the night.
Surprisingly, he perseveres, not just for a single day but for the days that follow. He refuses to surrender to death. I’ve never witnessed such an indomitable spirit and unwavering will to live, not even in immortals. It is on the fifth morning, while I am monitoring his pulse, that a name suddenly pops into my mind and a voice. Xinlan, standing next to me, and his wife, scrubbing the floor, don’t react, even though they’re close enough to hear.
I’m the only one who can hear his voice and he’s calling out for his wife.
‘A-li.’
It’s not the same character as my brother’s 离 that means to leave. This A-li uses 丽 beautiful.
‘A-li’
The voice calls and the man’s eyes open. Despite his deteriorating condition, his astute and alert gaze surprisingly seizes and holds my attention. In my ears, a fragile yet determined voice breaks the silence again. He stares into my eyes, communicating through a silent exchange.
“No more poppy potion. I will endure the pain to see A-li.”
In all my years of treating many unconscious and dying patients, I have never come across something or someone quite like this. I have always maintained a certain level of detachment, avoiding all emotional bonds that could potentially influence or undermine my judgment as an impartial healer.
Nevertheless, there have been times I wished I possessed Changchang’s telepathy magic, especially when dealing with nonverbal patients. What’s happening with this man is unprecedented. I’ve never heard someone’s thoughts before, and there’s no magic at play between us.
“I want to gaze upon my wife’s face until my last moment. Help me stay clear-headed for as long as I can. I don’t know how, but I believe you can understand me. If you do blink twice.”
It’s heartfelt when he implores me in earnest, and I reply to him with two distinct eye blinks.