The red orb of the newly-risen sun illuminated the mists of dawn which still hung over the great river. Wild geese called to one another across the water, while fishermen poled their small boats out from the river's edge to begin a day's fishing.
Liu turned away from the window. It was a tranquil scene and one which normally gladdened his heart. Indeed it was for the sake of the view that he and his wife Mei-lin had chosen to dwell in that part of Foo-chow which overlooked the river.
But this morning all was not well with Liu. He felt shivery and his body ached all over. After a half-hearted attempt to consume his morning rice, he decided that getting up had been a mistake and returned to his sleeping-mat.
And there, for the most part, he remained for the next three weeks, tenderly cared for by Mei-lin. Thereafter he began slowly to recover, and eventually came the day, nigh on two moons after that first morning, when he felt well enough to return to his post at the Library of Scrolls and Printed Leaves.
Liu was glad to be back at work. But he had not been there long before he realized that he was not as well as he had imagined. He felt so weary that he could hardly push his little book-barrow from shelf to shelf. Each time he reached up to replace a scroll on a high shelf, his head swam and he had to clutch at the shelves to save himself from landing ignominiously on the floor. Strange pains wandered up and down his limbs and a dozen evil spirits seemed to be hammering at the inside of his skull.
Days passed, and weeks, but Liu's internal constituents did not regain their wonted equilibrium. His fellow-workers were aware of his plight, though some whispered that his problem was not illness but laziness. Even so, there was no shortage of well-intentioned advice:
"Colleague Liu would improve his health by eating the fried livers of peafowl."
"A brisk walk every day will improve the flow of your vital energy."
"You should make your doctor do something!"
This last piece of advice, though admittedly lacking somewhat in elegance of expression, nonetheless seemed good to Liu; but the words proved to be, as it is said, ‘Easier spoken than fulfilled.’ Doctor Choo offered no treatment and would not even countenance Liu taking further time off work.
"We all feel tired at times," remarked the physician, unsympathetically. "The honourable Liu must compel himself to perform his customary duties."
Liu was thoroughly disheartened by his discussion with Doctor Choo. He felt so weak and exhausted, yet according to the doctor he was not even ill. If only he had proof of the reality of his affliction! It was only Mei-lin's unfailing support that sustained him through this time.
Was it chance that brought help to Liu, or the unseen influence of his ancestral spirits? Who shall say? For one day, while struggling to shelve several heavy tomes in the Medical section, Liu found himself holding Disease and Debility by Doctor Chen Lo-see. His interest aroused by the title, he opened the book, and discovered that Doctor Chen was a renowned authority on states of no-vigour, and moreover practised medicine in the eastern quarter of Foo-chow itself. Liu began to feel the first stirrings of hope.
The very next morning—it being his turn for evening duty—Liu expended a considerable part of his meagre wage in hiring a litter and having himself conveyed to Doctor Chen's surgery. Once there he had a lengthy and tiring wait before finally being summoned to the doctor's consulting room.
Doctor Chen, an elderly physician with a flowing white beard, greeted Liu affably and bade him be seated and tell his tale.
Chen listened intently to Liu's account, then plied him with questions, which Liu did his best to answer. At length the physician seemed satisfied. He leaned back in his chair, stroked his beard several times, then announced:
"It is this person's considered opinion that you are suffering from a disease known as Em-ee."
"Em-ee?" repeated Liu. "The words mean nothing to this person."
"That is only to be expected," replied the physician, "as they belong to an outer tongue. In the Land of Ying was this illness known and studied, and in the ancient Ying-land tongue the words ‘Em-ee’ signify ‘muscle-pain brain-disease’."
Liu nodded, gingerly. That made sense.
"Of marvellous conciseness is that ancient speech," he remarked; then added hopefully, "Is there a cure?"
Chen looked thoughtful and tugged at his beard. "The Ying-landers did find a cure eventually, and the disease was all but eradicated. Concerning the nature of that cure, however, this person is entirely ignorant."
"There are certain physicians who style themselves ‘Occidental Therapists’ and claim knowledge of the secret healing arts of the mystic West. Perchance this person should consult—" Liu stopped as the other gave a derisive snort.
"Those potion peddlers? They are merely such as may fittingly be represented by the call of a duck.
"The medical knowledge of the ancient West perished centuries ago when the great sky-rock struck the Earth. Only the merest fragments of that knowledge survived the Years of Chaos. No, our own traditional medicines must suffice for this. They served us well enough before the rise of civilization in the West; and today, after the fall of that civilization, they serve us still. This person will prescribe for the honourable Liu."
So saying, the physician dipped brush in ink, wrote for several moments in the illegible style favoured by physicians, and gave the prescription to Liu. Then he tore a printed leaf from a pad, added certain characters with quick strokes of the brush, applied his personal seal, and handed this leaf also to Liu.
Liu received the precious document with reverence and placed it securely in his sleeve. Then, with many bows and expressions of gratitude, he took his leave of Doctor Chen.
On his way to the Dispenser of Herbs and Health-Promoting Substances, Liu came to the Temple of Ten Thousand Blessings, and there he paused. He was not a man given to displays of devotion, but on this occasion—remembering that which lay within his sleeve—he turned aside, removed his wooden sandals and entered the temple.
In the soft light of many candles he kowtowed at the feet of Kuan-yin, Lady of Compassion, and offered so large a bunch of incense sticks that his hand could scarcely encompass it.
After all, on this day of days there was truly something to be thankful for. He had his Medical Certificate!