Page 4 of Song of the Crimson Flower

She knelt beside her brother, clutching at him helplessly. “He’s felt poorly for months, but never so bad as this. I didn’t know how sick he was,” she sobbed. “Just the other day, he complained about wanting his pipe—he always said it made him feel well—and I mocked him for being dependent on it. We haven’t any extra money, or else he would be smoking.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Bao reassured her. “What does he smoke?”

“I don’t know. Anything he can get his hands on.”

But before Bao could question her further, Khoa went limp like a boneless fish. His chest stopped rising and falling, and his eyes stared sightlessly as Cô Ha threw herself upon him, crying as though her heart would break. Bao backed away, aching at the sight of her devastation.

He heard the sound of running feet and looked up, his eyes wet, to see Master Huynh and the boy who had summoned him. The physician’s fleshy face was damp with sweat as he gently extricated Cô Ha from her brother. He set his medicine bag on the ground, utterly useless now, and wrapped a clean cloth around his nose and mouth before bending to examine the dead man.

“I couldn’t do anything for him,” Bao said softly, and Master Huynh’s gaze met his.

“This isn’t your fault, son,” the physician said, closing the dead man’s eyes with a gentle hand. “Not much can be done when bloodpox takes hold.”

“So itisbloodpox?”

“Nothing else causes bleeding to this degree. The ears are the telltale sign,” Master Huynh explained. “There was only one way this could have ended for the poor man.”

“Then there is no cure?” Bao asked.

The physician shook his head grimly. “My colleague tells me there is a treatment they’ve studied in the south, but the poppy plant from which it is derived is illegal now.”

“The same plant they used to make black spice?” Bao asked, and Master Huynh nodded. But before Bao could ask more questions, Cô Ha let out a piercing wail and rocked back and forth on her heels, and Bao put his arms around her. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, wanting to weep with the poor woman. He knew what it was to be all alone in the world.

Master Huynh was still examining Khoa. “My colleague tells me there is some argument over whether bloodpox is contagious or not,” he said. “Just the same, both you and this woman ought to have a healing tonic to strengthen your body’s defenses. I’ll make it myself.”

In the heat of the moment, Bao hadn’t spared much thought for his own health. He had taken what little precaution he could and covered his nose and mouth. But if the bloodpox was as terrible as people feared, and Bao got sick and died, who would grieve for him? He had no sister like Khoa, no wife and son like Master Huynh. The people with whom he chatted at market would feel sad, and then forget him. The physician would find another apprentice to replace him. Bao made no impact in the world; he had not a single person.

That isn’t entirely true, he reminded himself.

Therewasone person, but she did not know of his love. And if Bao did fall sick by some unlucky turn of fate, perhaps he ought to tell her how he felt about her at last. He had no hope of winning her. Herheart and her hand had been claimed by someone else, but at least by speaking his truth, he might leave a piece of himself behind on this earth. Perhaps the girl he loved would not forget him, even when she did marry another.

I’ll tell her, Bao resolved.It’s time.

3

A few days later, Lan went downstairs to find a cool room in which to do her needlework when the sound of raucous cheering distracted her. The Vu family home stood two levels high, with three interconnected buildings around a central gated courtyard. It was in this courtyard that she found her father and uncles sitting in the shade of the mango trees, drinking rice wine and playing a game that involved stone figurines and much shouting. She watched them bend intently over the board, and then one of her uncles threw up his hands in triumph and provoked a general uproar. Lan shook her head, bemused.

“Ah, Lan,” said Minister Vu, looking up at his only daughter. “Are we being too noisy?”

“It sounded like someone was fighting out here.” She opened her mother’s silk sunshade and held it over her head, squinting in the hot sun. “You’re not losing again, are you, Ba?”

The men laughed and Minister Vu pretended to look hurt. “What do you mean,again?” He was in his early sixties and still looked everybit as stately and dignified as he had in his younger days, when he had served as a royal official. Even at home, he insisted on formal clothing similar to what he had worn at court: a navy silk overdress with gold piping at the collar and loose matching trousers. But the laugh lines around his eyes and mouth betrayed his sense of humor. “What are you doing outside when your mother wants you to protect your skin?”

“I won’t stay long. WhereisMama?”

“She went to temple with your aunties, to pray for Bà Danh’s grandson.”

Lan nodded, knowing how sick the child had been. “Is he getting any better?”

“I believe so, but Master Huynh can tell you himself. He should be here any minute.”

Second Uncle raised an eyebrow. “Since when is a busy physician able to take time off?”

“He’s not here on a social call. He wants to get my opinion on something,” Minister Vu said. “And Bao can always fill in for him, if need be. A most capable young man, that apprentice of Huynh’s. Only nineteen and as hardworking and honest as you could wish.”

Third Uncle sniffed. “Heshouldbe hardworking; he’s a no-name orphan without family or connections. It was good of the physician to take him in when he already has a son.”

Lan’s heart picked up, as it always did at any mention of Tam. “Will Madam Huynh and Tam accompany Master Huynh, Ba? Should I have the servants prepare tea?”

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