Chapter 8:
Medical Bell
AS XUE XIAN DRIFTED within his rage-induced stupor, he seemed to hear an odd ringing sound coming from inside Xuanmin’s body that came from both near and far. It reverberated through Xue Xian, rendering it impossible to breathe.
He stayed unconscious for a very long time. By the time he woke and peeked out through the pouch’s opening once more, they were no longer inside the Liu residence.
Looking around, Xue Xian saw what appeared to be a bedroom. The bed was neatly made, the lamps were bright, and the faint aroma of moringa leaves wafted around the room, along with the faint, almost imperceptible smell of medicine. Xuanmin was standing in front of an ornate round wooden table. Jiang Shining, that nuisance of a paper doll, was standing on top of it, while next to him was the empty millstone from the Liu residence, a thin cloth bag, a copper basin filled with fresh water, and a pale green porcelain tea set with a name carved into the side: Guiyun Hall.
When Xue Xian saw that, it became obvious that they were inside an inn, occupying one of the luxury suites. Guiyun Hall’s name meant returning to the clouds. In the months he’d spent mingling with humans, Xue Xian had seen Zhuangyuan House, which was named after the highest rank achievable on the imperial exam, where scholars loved to stay. He’d also seen Guangyuan House, which evoked vast, fertile headwaters and was a favorite of merchants. He’d seen other common names, like Yuelai—joy comes—and Fushun—fortune follows—all of them auspicious names. By contrast, a name like Guiyun made it sound like the inn was blessing its residents with a swift journey to the heavens.
Only those who’ve had their brains pecked out would stay here, Xue Xian thought. Clearly, Xuanmin was one of those. A chicken had probably cleaned out his entire skull.
Xuanmin meticulously washed his hands within the copper basin. Watching this, Xue Xian had to admit that Xuanmin possessed a lovely set of fingers, slender and fair, and the bones of his knuckles were linear when he extended them. He seemed completely unaware of the concept of hurrying; he did everything at a steady, methodical pace. Even the act of washing his hands contained a stolid solemnity, as if he were reciting a sutra.
“Have to say, the way you wash your hands, you look like you’re performing a funeral service.”
Xuanmin locked eyes with Xue Xian. “It’s exactly that.”
“For who?”
“Lady Xu.”
“Lady Xu?”
A melancholic sigh came from the millstone. “Thank you very much, Master.”
Who else could it be other than Old Lady Liu? Xue Xian stared up at Xuanmin, expressionless. “I… Hmm, how long was I asleep? Enough for you to learn that old lady’s maiden name, I see.”
He’d almost said, “How long was I out cold?” but the memory of passing out in rage was not a glorious one. For the sake of his dragon’s pride, he reworded the story.
Shaking water drops from his hands, Xuanmin meticulously dried them with a white towel. “You passed out for ten hours. It’s night now.”
Why haven’t you been tossed in a moat yet? Do you have to rub salt in everyone’s wounds? You’re a coffin lid that’d pinch whoever tries to close you, Xue Xian thought with fury. He snapped his mouth shut, unwilling to talk to Xuanmin anymore. He didn’t know how to make small talk at all!
Xuanmin paid no heed to Xue Xian. Instead, he put down the towel and unwrapped his cloth bag, taking out a small stack of yellow papers and a brush.
Beside the copper basin was a small dish of ink, freshly ground. Xuanmin spread a sheet of yellow paper, dipped the brush into the ink, and wrote a few characters:
Lady Xu from the Liu Clan
The Twenty-Third of the Seventh Month, Year of Bingyin
Next, Xuanmin retrieved a stick of incense from a cloth bundle before folding the yellow paper bearing Old Lady Liu’s maiden name thrice. He dipped it into the candle flame, then placed it on the millstone. The thin yellow paper was surprisingly slow to burn, but the millstone’s surface darkened and became coated in a layer of paper ash.
With one end touched to the smoldering paper, Xuanmin slowly rotated the incense stick, letting it burn through.
Xue Xian couldn’t hold back any longer. “Rites for the deceased?” he asked.
He’d only seen the usual rites, often called “Buddha’s Healing Seven.” It consisted of a bunch of bald donkeys just like Xuanmin sitting in a circle, their heads shiny enough to light up the entire hall. They would alternate between two shifts, day and night, ceaselessly chanting sutras for the deceased for a full seven days and nights. Once, Xue Xian had pursued the wrong person and ended up in a house in the middle of a funeral. Surrounded by grieving relatives, he’d helplessly sat there for seven long days, the monks’ incessant murmurs buzzing in his ears, leaving him with a migraine so severe he wished he could hang himself on the coffin.
Since then, he’d come down with a headache whenever he saw a monk. He was terrified that Xuanmin might also chant for seven days and nights. If that happened, he might as well jump off a building right now and put an end to it all.
As Xuanmin rotated the incense stick, a thin wisp of blue smoke coiled around the millstone, releasing a subtle sandalwood fragrance. “The hands are washed, the words inscribed. With incense burning, the sutras intoned—all to ferry the soul to the afterlife.”
He was really going to chant sutras. Xue Xian immediately dove out of the pouch.
“What are you doing?” Xuanmin asked.
“I don’t want to live anymore,” Xue Xian whined. “Going to jump.”
Xuanmin could say nothing to that.
Of course, Xue Xian couldn’t actually jump off a building; the most he could do was tumble from Xuanmin’s waist to land on the ornate round table. When Xue Xian was halfway to rolling off the edge, Xuanmin grabbed the paper doll and put him back on the table.
Xuanmin was very fussy—not at all like a proper monk. This could be seen from both his behavior and the well-furnished guest room he was staying in. At this moment, his fastidiousness was flaring again, for he seemed displeased with how crumpled Xue Xian’s body was. He unceremoniously smoothed out the creases with a finger, then picked up a hefty stone paperweight and pressed it on top of Xue Xian.
The paperweight was a narrow rectangular block roughly half the size of a palm. It left Xue Xian’s head and two thin legs exposed, while his hands barely peeked out from either side. Xue Xian thrashed a couple of times but was only able to lift his hands a little. The rest of him remained immobile.
You bastard! Xue Xian howled in his head.
Xuanmin ignored him and focused on the incense. As it dwindled to its end, he quietly recited a single line from his sutras before falling silent. It seemed this was what he’d meant by “intoning.” It differed greatly from Xue Xian’s expectations.
At last, the paper and incense burned out as one. Just as the last ember flickered and died, Xuanmin tapped the millstone that had bound Old Lady Liu for over three years.
A series of cracking sounds echoed through the air. The millstone, which had looked so solid and unbreakable before, suddenly shattered into several pieces.
At the same time, the faint voice of Old Lady Liu echoed again. “I feel as if a great burden has been lifted. I will take my leave now. Thank you.”
With her words, Xue Xian saw a shadow flicker across the millstone. Then it vanished, together with the ashes from the incense and the paper.
However, at the moment the millstone cracked and Old Lady Liu disappeared, two other faint sounds echoed within the room. Like the soft jingling of bells attached to a carriage, it reverberated down the street, drifting over from afar.
Then, something rolled out from the center of the cracked millstone and landed on the table. Two sounds in succession: Clink! Clang!
Xue Xian felt something rolling toward him across the table. Before he could lift his head, some round thing had rolled right over the back of it. “What blind piece of garbage was that?! I’ll break it!”
Xuanmin reached out, and the round object rolled right off the edge of the table and into his palm. He held it between his fingers, examining it. “A golden marble the size of a sheep’s eye.”
Xue Xian froze. “Sheep’s eye? Golden marble!” So it really was—!
Of course. A dragon’s body, compressed into a golden marble… Like a random sorcerer would be capable of refining that! All that sorcerer had done was shove it crudely inside the millstone.
Right as Xue Xian was celebrating, Xuanmin said, “Mm. Since it’s a blind piece of garbage, let’s break it.”
“No, wait! Don’t you dare! I’ll break you!”
“Why, is it no longer garbage?” asked Xuanmin blandly.
“It’s no longer garbage,” Xue Xian grumbled.
“Don’t want to break it anymore?”
“No breaking! It’s mine! Who dares to break it?”
“Yours? Where’s your proof?”
Xue Xian tried switching to charm. “Very well. Move the paperweight aside and I’ll show you.”
Xuanmin glanced at him. “A description will suffice.”
Xue Xian would rather vomit his guts onto this bald donkey’s face than tell him a thing. However, the golden marble was truly important. While it was in Xuanmin’s hands, Xue Xian dared not take rash action and was therefore forced to comply a little.
“Hold the marble to the candle flame. You’ll see,” Xue Xian said in his best monotone. He would see the vague shape of a dragon coiled within. Although it would be hard to tell since its head and claws were curled against its body.