“I am a herbalist,” he explained as he opened one more drawer and scooped out what looked to Ping like dried earthworms. “I make my living by prescribing herbal medicines to the inhabitants of Chang’an.”
After he had finished weighing the herbs, Wang consulted the bamboo book again and then took down a lump of rock from a shelf. He banged it with a bronze hammer until some chunks split off. He ground the chunks to a powder and weighed this as well. Then he mixed all the ingredients with water in a ceramic pot and set it on the fire. The room was soon full of a pungent smell that reminded Ping of Master Lan’s dirty socks.
“A female assistant?” Wang asked the dragon.
Danzi moved his head from side to side. The herbalist was watching Ping rub ointment into the stone.
“She uses the left hand,” he remarked to Danzi, raising an eyebrow.
Ping put the jar of ointment down, not wishing to draw attention to the fact that she was left-handed.
“And she hears your voice.”
The dragon said nothing.
Wang took the jar and carefully applied some of the ointment to Danzi’s damaged wing, his shoulder wound and the sores on his legs.
Ping collected up the bowls and spoons, trying hard to use her right hand, and took them outside to wash them. The house wasn’t as small as it seemed from the street. The courtyard was quite large and there were other rooms leading off it. There was a flourishing garden. It was hard to tell by the lamplight, but Ping guessed it was a herb garden. She finally let Hua out of the confines of her gown and gave him a morsel that she had saved from her meal.
As she returned with the clean dishes, Ping stopped outside the door. The herbalist was still asking questions about her.
“Are you sure of her?” Wang asked.
The dragon didn’t answer.
“It has never been a female before. You could be mistaken.”
The dragon still didn’t answer.
“She is young and inexperienced,” the herbalist said.
The dragon finally spoke. “It is because of its emptiness that the cup is useful.”
Ping entered the room and herbalist got up to stir the bubbling pot of herbs. Ping noticed that the herbalist was left-handed, just as she was. They sat in silence until Wang decided the herbal brew was ready. He poured the thick brown liquid into a bowl and gave it to the dragon. If it tasted as bad as it smelled, Danzi gave no indication. He lapped it up like a cat drinking milk. Soon the dragon was asleep.
“Is he going to be alright?” Ping asked.
“If he takes a day or two to regain his strength, he will recover.” Wang smiled at the sleeping dragon. “But it will be some time before he can fly again.”
“How do you know him?” Ping asked. “Did you work at the imperial palace?”
The herbalist shook his head. He stared into the glowing coals of the fire. Ping thought that was the only answer she would get, but after a long while Wang Cao spoke.
“Long Danzi was not an imperial dragon when I first met him,” he explained. “He was a wild dragon.”
Ping looked at the herbalist’s face. He must have been much older than he appeared.
“When I was a young man, I was an assistant to a herbalist in a small town. One of my tasks was to roam around the countryside looking for plants. It was on one of these journeys that I came across Long Danzi.” Wang Cao was still staring into the coals as if he could see images of his past within them. “We were both searching for red cloud herb after a thunder storm. I slipped on the muddy river bank and fell into the rain-swollen river. You can imagine my astonishment at seeing a dragon appear out of the mist to pluck me from the river.”
“Were you afraid?” asked Ping.
“I was pleased that I wasn’t about to drown, but I was convinced I was about to become a dragon’s breakfast.” Wang Cao smiled at the memory.
The dragon hadn’t eaten the young man of course and Wang told no one about his encounter. Wang discovered that he could understand the strange sounds that the dragon made and over a period of time, the two became friends.
“When Long Danzi asked me to accompany him on a journey, I left my home without a second thought,” Wang Cao continued. “I happily wandered throughout the empire at the dragon’s side for many years.”
The herbalist’s smile disappeared.
“We had many adventures together, but that all came to an end when an imperial hunting party captured Long Danzi. I didn’t know it but they had been tracking us for some days. There were six of them.” Wang Cao’s voice turned bitter. “We didn’t have a chance. They were after the dragon of course, not me, so I was easily able to escape.” Wang Cao shook his head unhappily. “I was unable to rescue him. I came to live in Chang’an hoping to free him, but the dragons were moved to Huangling before I had a chance.”
The herbalist suddenly stood up. “You must be tired,” he said.
He showed Ping to one of the rooms off the courtyard. On the floor there was a mattress stuffed with straw and covered with a sheepskin. It was soft and warm. Ping was asleep in seconds.
When Ping returned to the main room of the house the next morning, Danzi was still asleep. Wang Cao was already up and preparing breakfast. The herbalist asked her many questions. Not about the dragon as she was expecting, but about herself. He wanted to know how old she was, where she was born, who her parents were. The answers for all his questions were the same, “I don’t know”, but the herbalist sat and pondered this as if she had given him a great deal of information to consider.
Just as breakfast was ready, Danzi awoke. His scales were a lustrous blue-green again. His eyes were bright and brown. He flicked his tail as if he was ready to face whatever challenges came his way. They ate a pleasant breakfast of dumplings filled with sweet bean paste. Wang Cao fetched a jar of dried leaves from the shelves. He threw some of the leaves into a pot of boiling water.
Ping wrinkled up her nose. “Are you making more herbal medicine?”
”No, no. Just a special drink.”
Danzi made sounds like wind chimes in a low breeze. After a few minutes Wang poured some of the flavoured water into cups.
“Do you know what this is, Ping?” he asked.
Ping shook her head.
“It is tea,” the herbalist replied. “People in the south drink it. I bought a box of it for a good price.”
Ping sipped at the steaming drink. It had a pleasant taste. She sat quietly in the corner while the herbalist and the dragon conversed. It was strange to hear the man speak in a normal voice and the dragon respond with his metallic sounds.
Wang Cao then turned his attention to Ping.
“You have a long journey ahead of you,” he said. “I had better check your health as well.”
She poked out her tongue. Wang studied it silently. Then he took her right wrist and felt her pulse.
“You seem to have a strange palpitation in your chest,” said the herbalist as he reached for her other wrist.
Ping smiled. “That’s just Hua,” she said.
Wang Cao jerked back his hand as Ping pulled the rat out of the folds of her gown.
The herbalist glanced at the dragon as the sound of bells filled the room.
“Our other companion,” said the dragon. “The honourable Hua. He has been of great assistance.”
Ping put Hua on the floor and the rat scampered off. The herbalist recovered his composure and finished examining Ping.
“You are a healthy young woman,” said Wang when he had finished his examination. “Strong, but with a tendency to wind in the liver.”
Ping was glad that Wang didn’t think she needed a herbal draught, but he gave her a small packet of pills for the next time she had digestive problems.
“I have something for you, old friend,” said Wang Cao.
Wang went over to one of the drawers in his herbal cabinet.
“I vowed that if ever I saw you again, I would make up for my failure to protect you,”
Wang said. His eyes were sparkling and he held his mouth tight.
“You did what you could,” replied Danzi.
Instead of pulling out a handful of dried leaves or berries, he pulled out several pieces of gold, a string of copper coins with square holes in the middle and a jade pendant in the shape of a fat child. “I have put aside some cash for you.”
Ping thought the dragon would refuse the gift, but he thanked Wang Cao and placed the gold pieces in one of the reversed scales below his chin. The jade and the copper cash he handed to Ping.
“You must look after these,” Wang said.
”I can’t,” stammered Ping, who had never touched anything valuable before. “I’m not used to money. I might lose it.”
“Recognising one’s limitations is knowledge,” said Danzi.
Wang Cao nodded in agreement.
With trembling fingers, Ping took the money and jade from the dragon.
“I will also give you herbs to take with you on your journey, so that you can prepare herbal draughts for Long Danzi should he need strengthening. You must go to the market and buy a small ceramic pot and some bowls. You will need a bronze knife to replace your iron blade.”
“I don’t know how to buy things,” said Ping. “Couldn’t you do it, Wang Cao?”
“I have sick people to attend to.”
Ping argued, but Wang Cao was determined that she would go to the market.
“It is a great honour to be a dragon’s companion,” he said sharply. “You should do your duties without question or complaint.”
Ping didn’t think she had any duties. She was just travelling with the dragon as a favour, but neither the herbalist nor the dragon seemed to see it that way.
“If there is anything you require, Ping,” said Danzi, “you should purchase that as well.”
The street outside Wang Cao’s house didn’t seem so frightening in the daylight. The people waiting at the door to see the herbalist bowed politely to her. Ping’s sense of unease about Chang’an was still with her though. She held on tightly to the pouch hanging from her waist. Wang Cao had told her that there were thieves in the capital and she must always be alert. She had taken only ten of the copper cash—a fraction of the money that she would be responsible for when they left Chang’an—but she felt as if she had a fortune hanging from her belt.
It was still early in the morning, but the market was already crowded with people. Stallholders shouted out the prices and qualities of their wares, trying to make their goods sound more appealing than those of the next stall. A wagon full of ducks made its way slowly through the shoppers. Musicians entertained the crowds. The music mixed with the noise of people shouting, ducks quacking and pigs grunting unhappily in their pens. Ping had never heard such a racket.
She decided to start with a small purchase and bought a pair of wooden chopsticks. When she handed the stall holder one of her copper coins and he gave back five smaller coins, Ping was confused. The man looked at her as if he couldn’t believe anyone could be so stupid, but explained that the smaller coins were of less value. Ping then bought a ceramic cooking pot with some of the smaller coins. Her next purchase was two bamboo bowls. It wasn’t until after she had tucked them in her basket that she realised that the man had overcharged her. She noticed that other people never paid the amount the stallholder first asked. They argued about the cost until they came to a price they agreed on. Dealing with any number greater than ten still made Ping’s head spin. Shopping was harder work than anything she’d been required to do at Huangling.
After she had bought all the things Wang Cao had told her to buy, Ping still had four cash and a number of smaller copper coins left. She thought about what she would buy for herself. She looked at the stalls of sparkling hair ornaments, at colourful silk belts and polished bronze mirrors. None of these things were suitable to take on a long journey on foot and she knew she didn’t deserve such luxuries. Instead Ping bought herself a pair of thick warm socks. She managed to bargain the price of the socks down from five small copper coins to four and was pleased with herself. As the socks cost very little, Ping decided she would buy herself a small cake as well. She was standing at the stall trying to decide between a cake sweetened with honey or with jujube jelly, when she felt a sharp tug at her waist. The cord around her waist broke. Someone had stolen her pouch.
She saw a figure dart away into the crowd. “Stop that thief!” she shouted.
One or two people turned to her with mild interest, but then returned to their business. When Ping realised that no one was going to help her, she hitched up her gown and raced after the thief. He was wearing a fur cap and he could run fast. Ping wasn’t used to running. She was carrying the things she had bought at the market and the hem of her gown threatened to trip her up. She wasn’t going to let the thief get away though. She shouted angrily at people to get out of her way. She leapt over a pig that wandered into her path, never taking her eyes off the fur hat bobbing ahead of her in the crowd. She chased the thief out of the market and into the back alleys of the city. The fur hat turned down an alleyway. Ping followed, her chest heaving. She found herself in an empty street. On either side were ramshackle houses. They hardly deserved to be called houses—they were huts made out of things that other people had thrown away. There was no sign of the fur hat.
Ping was furious. The dragon and the herbalist had entrusted the money to her. She’d lost it in less than an hour. The owner of the fur hat had made her fail. She felt her anger as a point of power in her mind—a small hard speck. Her anger fed the point and it grew. She closed her eyes and pictured the fur hat. Her feet started walking, though she’d made no decision to move. It was as if an invisible thread, fragile as a strand of spider’s web, was connecting her mind to the fur hat. If she lost her focus, she knew the strand would break and float away, out of her grasp forever. She concentrated hard, focusing her whole being on that one thought. Her feet turned to the right, her eyes were shut tight, but she was confident she wouldn’t bump into anything. She made several more turns and stopped. Ping opened her eyes.
She was standing in front of a lopsided hut made of bamboo poles leaning at different angles and covered with worn reed matting. She pulled aside a piece of the matting. Inside the one-room hovel was an old woman, two small children and the owner of the fur hat. They all huddled in the corner of the room, terrified by the angry figure standing in their doorway. Ping looked closer. The woman wasn’t as old as she’d thought, just thin and worn. The cowering children had hollow cheeks and snotty noses. The thief with the fur hat was a young boy probably a year or two younger than Ping. He held out her pouch and muttered something in a dialect she didn’t understand. Ping looked around the room. It was empty except for a pile of rags which must have been the family’s bed. Her anger disappeared. She took back the pouch and opened it. She took out two cash and some of the smaller copper coins and gave them to the boy. She knew what it was like to be hungry enough to steal.
As she walked back to the herbalist’s house, Ping’s hands trembled. She didn’t understand where the power that she had felt had come from. It had frightened her, but at the same time she was relieved. She had known something bad would happen in Chang’an. Now that it was over, she could relax. She also had a new feeling in her chest, as if her heart had grown a little bigger. It was pride. She’d found the thief herself, without anybody’s help.
Ping showed her purchases to Danzi and Wang Cao, but they weren’t very interested. The two friends were engrossed by the herbalist’s favourite pastime. When he wasn’t dispensing herbs to the inhabitants of Chang’an, Wang liked to dabble in alchemy. Like all alchemists, his goal was to create gold from plentiful metals such as lead or copper. He believed the red mineral cinnabar could be the key to success. Wang was demonstrating one of his experiments to Danzi. Ping didn’t tell them about her experience in the market. Instead she settled down to sew a pocket onto the inside of her gown, so that she had a safe place to keep the cas
h.
“Watch,” Wang said as he mixed together some cinnabar, powdered charcoal and a white crystal. He lit a taper and threw it into the mixture which burst into flames with a loud bang. Ping leapt up from her place on the floor. The dragon found this most amusing and made Wang repeat the demonstration.
When she had finished her sewing, Ping rubbed more ointment into the stone. It was already looking brighter.
“You should stay for a few days,” Wang Cao said. “The new Emperor will be enthroned the day after tomorrow. It would be a pity to miss the celebrations.”
Danzi said he would like to stay.
The herbalist made another herbal draught for the dragon. He taught Ping to recognise certain herbs that she would be able to find growing in the countryside which would help keep Danzi strong.
The following day, Ping left the two friends chuckling over Wang Cao’s experiments like children with a new toy. She had to face the market again to buy food for their journey. This time she was more wary. She kept her money in the pocket sewn inside her gown, carefully calculated the amount of change she should receive, and checked it twice to make sure she wasn’t being cheated. She bought millet, dried lentils and ground ginger. Her socks would need mending on the long journey ahead, so she also bought a fine bone needle and a length of silk. A functional brown thread would have been more sensible, but she couldn’t resist buying a length that was a rich shade of red. She managed to buy everything without being robbed or cheated.
Nearby three musicians were playing clay instruments shaped like chickens’ eggs and pierced with several holes. They played these instruments by blowing in one of the holes and covering the others in turn with their fingers. Ping stopped to listen. The notes were high and sweet, but the tunes they played had a sadness to them. A woman began to sing. The song wasn’t sad at all. In fact it was an amusing tale of a young girl who fell in love with a donkey. Ping laughed along with the crowd.