Chapter Five: Grave Illness

Sure enough, the price Lu Jing paid for his sudden whim to play with clay was catching a chill. Even though he had changed into Zhang Ping's hemp-sack clothes, it had already been too late. His frail constitution, weak since childhood, made him far more susceptible to chills than most people — and once he caught one, it inevitably struck him with far greater ferocity than it would an ordinary man.

Confined to his sickbed, Lu Jing burned with fever for three days straight. Amo, the young medicine boy, ran his legs ragged, brewing pot after pot of medicine, his hands trembling the whole while. His mother, Lady Wang, kept an even more unbroken vigil, never once changing out of her clothes, staying at his bedside for the full three days without rest. She pressed her palms together again and again, praying to the Buddha and bodhisattvas that Lu Jing might turn from danger to safety. It was not only her hands that trembled — her whole body shook. His father, worried she could not bear such strain, came to relieve her as soon as he left court each day, but she would not leave, only resting briefly on the couch beside the bed. Only after Lu Jing's fever had fully broken, once he had regained consciousness and it was certain his life was no longer in danger, did she finally allow her maids to help her back to her own room to rest.

Once the fever broke, Lu Jing's face remained deathly pale, and he coughed without cease, as though trying to cough up his very lungs. He was so weak and drained that even getting out of bed left him gasping for breath, so the servants brought a wooden bucket so that Lu Jing would not have to make the long trip to the privy — the servants had only to help him out of bed to relieve himself into the bucket right there.

This illness kept Lu Jing confined to the Lu residence, never once setting foot outside, for nearly a month of convalescence. The Zhang siblings had no idea he had fallen so gravely ill. What kind of household was the Fanyang Lu clan, that common folk from the marketplace could simply go around asking after its affairs? All they noticed was that the kiln yard had grown considerably quieter these past weeks, that the room felt more spacious, and that they had lost access to a great deal of Chang'an's fine delicacies — for a while it felt rather strange, this lack.

Without Lu Jing, Zhang Ning found herself having to cook every single day, and clean up afterward too, so that hard-won half-day of leisure she used to steal slipped away from her once more. Every time she bustled about the kitchen, she could not help thinking of Lu Jing — though he had so often gotten underfoot before, now that he was gone and her hands and feet were finally unhindered, her heart somehow felt as though a great hollow had opened up in it.

Without Yuezhou celadon to hold his jiang, Zhang Ping had gone back to using the coarse pottery bowl, yet even though the jiang he drank was exactly the same as before, he kept feeling that it tasted worse than it used to. It seemed the Yuezhou celadon truly did have its own special virtue, able to lift both tea and jiang to some higher plane of flavor — no wonder it commanded such a high price and was so hard to come by.

Meanwhile, after nearly a month of convalescing at the Lu residence, Lu Jing finally felt his breath had settled somewhat, and with the weather outside turning fine, the very first thought that rose in his mind was to go to the kiln yard. He called out several times, "Ready the carriage" — and only after some delay did anyone reply, in a hushed voice.

"You wish to go out, my lord? Where to?"

"The kiln yard."

But no sooner had the words "kiln yard" left his mouth than Lu Jing saw all his servants exchange glances, then one by one lower their heads in silence.

"What's going on? Speak up!" Sensing the strange atmosphere, Lu Jing pressed them for an answer.

Just then Amo came forward. He had just finished attending the young master with his medicine and was holding the bowl, about to go wash it, when the others suddenly pulled him over and shoved him to the front.

"You tell him..." It was plain enough why they had turned to Amo — at only ten years old, "easy to bully," and with a mouth that never knew when to stay shut, who else would they push forward at a moment when someone was bound to catch a scolding?

Pushed to the front of the group, Amo looked utterly bewildered, but since his young master's temper had always been mild, he did not find the situation particularly frightening — the most frightening thing, after all, would be if the young master never woke up again; everything else hardly seemed worth mentioning. So, without thinking twice, he blurted out: "My lady has given a strict order. Anyone who takes the young master to the kiln yard will have their legs broken and be driven from the household."

Hearing this, Lu Jing's already pallid face turned darker still. He knew full well that these servants could never defy his mother, and that wasting time being angry with them would accomplish nothing — he had no choice but to plead with his mother in person.

And so he set off toward his mother's courtyard, with a whole crowd of people trailing noisily along behind him...