2. Determined to Study Medicine

After the ecstatic celebrations, life at home returned to normal. Uncle and his family had settled in as well. Aunt Huang had a maid to serve her, someone who cooked specifically for eldest sister Miaoyun.

Originally, the household had no servants. Even though Xu Erpeng had money, he was still a commoner and it was improper to keep servants. Now that Mrs. Mei was pregnant and he was a scholar, he planned to hire a servant. Upon learning this, Mei’s grandfather specially sent a servant named Fengniang.

Fengniang was around forty years old, skilled at cooking tea and meals, and remarkably efficient.

With her help, Mrs. Mei could focus solely on nurturing her pregnancy.

Miaozhen continued her studies as usual. She had been attending a girls’ school run by Scholar Yu on East Street for a year. Folk wisdom held that boys should avoid even numbers, girls odd numbers; thus, families with some means typically sent their daughters to school by six years old. Even Miaozhen’s cousin Miaolian, from the third uncle’s household, was set to begin schooling that year.

Scholar Yu’s calligraphy was excellent, and he was adept at poetry, earning a modest reputation. His annual tuition was about eighty shi of wheat, roughly equivalent to seven or eight qian in silver—quite affordable.

One morning, Xu Erpeng took Miaozhen to the school. They stopped for breakfast at a fresh fish noodle shop along the street. Miaozhen adored the eel silk noodles there—thin, round silver thread noodles in a savory broth topped with crispy eel shreds, enhancing the texture.

“Zhenzhen, what would you like for lunch?” Xu Erpeng asked.

Miaozhen considered and said, “Stir-fried water celery with shredded pork.”

“Alright, I’ll have Fengniang prepare it and bring it to you at noon,” Xu Erpeng promised.

After breakfast, father and daughter quickly arrived at Scholar Yu’s place. Usually, Yu sat quietly in front of the hall, but today he came out specially to greet them. “Friend Xu, congratulations on your great joy.”

In the Ming era, students were often addressed as “friend,” and younger students as “little friend.” Previously, Yu had always called Xu Erpeng “little friend,” but now he addressed him as “friend.”

For someone like Xu Erpeng, who had faced many setbacks but kept a good attitude, this recognition was gratifying but not arrogant. He exchanged a few polite words with Yu before returning home to write his story scripts.

His mind had been on his studies, and his creativity for the scripts had waned, but he knew he had to keep writing to improve.

Once Xu Erpeng left, Miaozhen took her seat. The school had seven or eight female students, all daughters of nearby merchants. Scholar Yu barely made a living on tuition alone, but his wife was capable—she raised silkworms and wove silk.

Between Yu’s wife and daughter, they produced about 120 bolts of silk annually. Each bolt was worth roughly one tael of silver, totaling 120 taels yearly. After deducting costs for warp and weft threads—over seventy taels—and expenses for tools and wax—about five taels—they still saved twenty to thirty taels a year.

Thus, the Yu household lived modestly but comfortably.

Miaozhen pondered her own future. In her previous life, she studied but even her selection of traditional medicine and acupuncture was decided by her parents. In ancient times, small families like theirs, with modest dowries, needed a skill to rely on.

Among the women she knew, the most common talents were needlework and embroidery, like Yu’s wife. Others became female teachers, instructing girls at home—like her aunt—or practiced medicine as their family trade.

Female doctors were increasing in the Three Wu region. Although many scholars scorned them, their services were indispensable. Some midwives who were recommended to the palace gained prestige upon returning. While youth was favored in many fields, female doctors grew more trusted with age.

Still, society held strong prejudices against midwives and herbalists, labeling them as low-class gossipy women.

Well, she would take things one step at a time.

Last year, the girls learned the “Three,” “Hundred,” and “Thousand” texts to master characters. This year, they studied the “Classic of Filial Piety,” “Elementary Learning,” “Biographies of Exemplary Women,” and “Instructions for Women.” After morning lessons, Fengniang delivered meals—silverfish soup, stir-fried water celery with pork, and scrambled eggs.

Such fare was quite good, reflecting her father’s improved income and their better living conditions.

Fengniang dined with Miaozhen and shared household news: “Your aunt went back to her parents’ home and won’t return. She says she’ll rent a place elsewhere. Your uncle-in-law suggested your grandparents and third uncle shouldn’t continue occupying their rooms. He proposed each give ten taels so they can buy or rent elsewhere.”

“Did they agree?” Miaozhen asked.

Fengniang smiled, “Yes, and they even redrew the family division documents.”

Miaozhen said, “Father is truly fair in his words and deeds.”

“Indeed!” Fengniang agreed.

When Miaozhen returned from school that afternoon, her uncle and aunt had moved out. Soon after, news came that her uncle had been recommended by a friend to teach “Zuo’s Spring and Autumn Annals” at an academy, earning three taels a month. Her aunt was consigning embroidery work at her uncle’s silk and cotton shop.

Xu Erpeng admired, “The people my eldest brother meets in Jinling are remarkable.”

“My husband, you’re no less impressive,” Mrs. Mei said truthfully. “He even borrows money from you.”

Xu Erpeng shook his head, “This money is saved for opening our own shop. I can’t lend it out. Looking back, when I was young and foolish, the money I lent was never returned.”

Since marrying, he had given most of his earnings to his parents: fifty taels to buy a loom for his fourth sister, thirty taels from his grandfather’s inheritance, and thirty-three taels saved secretly for his sister’s dowry.

With nearly a hundred taels saved, his status at home had risen. When he opened a bookstore and lived independently, no one would object.

After all, his studies up to age nineteen were funded by his parents.

Scholars feared being called unfilial, and every coin he spent was accounted for, known to all.

Mrs. Mei knew this too, as her husband explained that the money they used now was transparent, but the bulk was saved for old age. She never argued over it.

Xu Erpeng was discreet; he told his parents the money was his private savings and loans, not to be disclosed to Mrs. Mei. His parents, feeling guilty when he repaid debts, sometimes gave Miaozhen a few coins for treats.

Children were unaware of these adult matters. When fourth sister saw Miaozhen’s new outfit—a bright red embroidered cherry-front jacket over a cream skirt embroidered with cats resting under banana trees—she was envious.

She immediately demanded that Grandmother make her the same. But Grandfather and Grandmother only helped out at the youngest son’s shop, eating with the third family who were tight with money. They only gave two or three wen for breakfast help—no extra funds.

Thus, Grandmother said, “That was your sister-in-law who made it for your niece. She’s skilled. You should ask her. Besides, the fabric was a gift to your second brother.”

Fourth sister rushed to find Mrs. Mei, but before she could speak, Xu Erpeng refused. “You’re troublesome. Your sister-in-law is pregnant—how can she make clothes for you?”

Fourth sister wanted to ask why then she helped Miaozhen.

Children always want fairness, but some things are inherently unequal. Miaozhen was Mrs. Mei’s legitimate daughter, so it was their responsibility to raise her; fourth sister was not.

Cousin Miaolian studied near third uncle’s tea and snack shop at a scholar’s household. She had no foundation, unlike Miaozhen who had some early education. Thus, third uncle taught his daughter after work, sometimes into the night.

When Xu Erpeng wrote scripts at night, he could hear his younger brother’s grumbling.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Mei, about five months pregnant, suddenly lost her appetite and strength. Her feet swelled first, then her whole body. Miaozhen worried deeply. Xu Erpeng first hired a famous local herbalist, who upon hearing the symptoms, took medicine from a gourd and insisted on acupuncture.

Miaozhen immediately said, “Father, please hire a proper doctor. Mother is pregnant—it’s too risky to have acupuncture.”

Though not trained in traditional gynecology, Miaozhen had read many medical books—such as “Fu Qingzhu’s Gynecology,” “Great Compendium of Acupuncture,” and “Complete Remedies for Women.” The principles were similar, so she felt uneasy and stopped the treatment.

Xu Erpeng agreed acupuncture was too mystical and sent the herbalist away. He then hired a male doctor. Mrs. Mei, shy and reluctant to reveal her true condition, heard the doctor diagnose “dampness evil” as the cause.

Miaozhen grew anxious. When her father returned with the prescription and Fengniang went to prepare the medicine, Miaozhen said, “Wait, let me see the prescription.”

Mrs. Mei, accustomed to indulging her daughter, handed it over. “Be careful not to spill it.”

Miaozhen smelled the herbs and said, “Mother, the prescription calls for Atractylodes macrocephala (white atractylodes), but this medicine uses Atractylodes lancea (black atractylodes) instead. White atractylodes nourishes pregnancy, but black atractylodes induces abortion...”

“Could that be? Doctor Sun is a renowned physician,” Mrs. Mei doubted.

She recalled that her mother and many women of this era were somewhat superstitious, like the Song dynasty’s Lady Zhang who learned remedies from wandering healers. Why couldn’t she?

She said, “When we visited Guiyuan Temple, an old ascetic asked for water. I gave him some, and somehow learned a bit of acupuncture and medicine.”

Mrs. Mei was shocked, realizing her daughter had such talent. Xu Erpeng, working nearby, overheard and took the matter seriously. He brought the prescription to the public health bureau to verify. It was indeed an improper substitution. Furious, he confronted the doctor and tore down the prescription sign.

Fortunately, many famous doctors lived in Wuzhong. Through acquaintances from the bookstore, Xu Erpeng found a celebrated physician named Xue. This time, Mrs. Mei fully disclosed her symptoms.

The doctor said, “This isn’t dampness evil. It’s spleen and lung qi deficiency. Use the formula ‘Bu Zhong Yi Qi Tang’ with modifications.”

He prescribed ten doses. By the fourth dose, Mrs. Mei was nearly recovered; after ten doses, she was fully well.

After this ordeal, Miaozhen, who had been wavering about her future, resolved to study gynecology—at least to care for her mother.

She had been born with a special destiny, raised almost entirely by Mrs. Mei, who always carried her frail back without complaint.

True female gynecologists were rare, and perhaps this skill would become her unique talent, just as her father’s scriptwriting was his.