Chapter 2: Ten Li of Mud and White Pills

The rain had stopped. Water dripping from the tiled eaves struck the bluestone slabs with a monotonous rhythm.

On the earthen kang in the main room, Xiao Man’s breathing remained heavy and labored. His lips were tinged with bluish-purple, his eyelids half-closed, his fingers twitching occasionally in nervous spasms.

Lin Jianguo sat on the threshold, the stub of his cigarette burned down to the filter. His lips were cracked, his eye sockets sunken; he hadn’t slept a wink all night.

Lin Chen stood by the kang and reached out to touch his younger brother’s forehead. It was frighteningly hot.

Folk remedies could only suppress the convulsions, not the fever. If the heat didn’t break, the seizures would return.

He turned and walked to the water vat in the corner of the room. Scooping half a ladle of cool water with a wooden dipper, he poured it into a dented iron basin beside the stove.

Hearing the movement, Lin Jianguo looked up. His voice was as rough as sandpaper rubbing together.

“Chen wa-zi, go get some sleep. At first light, I’ll carry him on my back and we’ll set out.”

Lin Chen didn’t answer. He pulled an old towel from the wall, soaked it in the cool water, and wrung it out.

He laid the towel over Xiao Man’s forehead. Water droplets seeped from the edges, dripping onto the coarse cloth pillowcase.

The heat radiated through his palm. Lin Chen pulled his hand back, his fingertips numb.

He needed a colder towel. He needed to change the water. He needed to know what this illness was actually called, and how to treat it.

The village clinic had closed yesterday. The local herbalist’s remedies were exhausted.

He remembered the storage room behind the village primary school classroom. When Teacher Li had left, he’d left behind a few cardboard tubes.

“Dad, I’m going to the school,” Lin Chen said, his voice steady.

Lin Jianguo frowned. The cigarette butt burned his fingers; he flinched sharply and crushed it out on the threshold.

“The roads are slippery. Don’t run off. Stay home and watch him.”

“We’re out of dry firewood. I’ll go borrow some straw,” Lin Chen lied, bending down to put on his shoes.

They were cloth shoes with rubber soles that his mother had brought back from town last year; the soles were already worn white.

He pushed the door open. Morning fog, thick with the smell of wet earth, rushed in to meet him.

The rammed-earth walls of Qingshi Village Primary School had been softened by the rain.

The classroom door was locked, a rusted iron padlock fastened to the wooden frame. Lin Chen climbed in through a half-open window.

The room carried a damp, musty smell mixed with chalk dust. Desks were askew, and half-erased multiplication tables still lingered on the blackboard.

He navigated familiarly toward the storage room at the back. The door wasn’t fully shut.

Broken brooms, a wooden stool with a missing leg, and several dust-covered cardboard boxes were piled in the corner.

Lin Chen crouched down and opened the top box. Inside were old textbooks and a few cardboard tubes bound with hemp rope.

He pulled one out. The edges of the tube were frayed.

Untying the rope, he unrolled the chart in the dim light.

The color-printed illustrations were somewhat faded, but the text remained clear: Management of Common Rural Emergencies and Physiological Hygiene.

The first page showed a human silhouette, with acupoints and cooling methods marked alongside. The second page featured diagrams for managing fever and convulsions.

Lin Chen’s finger stopped on the four characters: Physical Cooling.

Beside it were three illustrations: tepid sponge bath, cold compress on the forehead, and keeping the airway clear.

He stared at the diagrams for a long time. Then he rolled the chart back up, retied it tightly with the hemp rope, and tucked it under his arm.

As he turned, his gaze swept over the class schedule posted beside the blackboard.

Spring Semester, 1992. Beneath it, a line of fountain pen ink read: Knowledge changes destiny.

The handwriting had already blurred. Lin Chen didn’t linger; he walked quickly out of the classroom.

By the time he returned home, daylight had fully broken.

Lin Jianguo was crouched by the stove, trying to start a fire. The damp wood wouldn’t catch, only billowing white smoke that made him cough incessantly.

Lin Chen placed the chart on the edge of the kang and went to the backyard to fetch a bundle of dry straw.

He got the fire going, set an iron pot over it, and scooped water from the vat to pour inside.

It would take time for the water to boil. First, he went to change the towel.

Xiao Man’s breathing had grown slightly more rapid, a gurgling sound rattling in his throat.

Lin Chen turned his brother’s face to the side. He slipped his fingers into the corner of Xiao Man’s mouth to clear away a bit of spilled white foam.

“What did you bring?” Lin Jianguo walked over, staring at the cardboard tube on the kang’s edge.

“A chart Teacher Li left behind,” Lin Chen said, laying the wet towel back down. “It says how to bring down the fever.”

Lin Jianguo leaned in to look. He recognized few of the characters on the paper, but he could understand the pictures.

He fell silent for a moment, rubbing his rough palms against his knees.

“What’s drawn here… could it work?”

“It can suppress the heat,” Lin Chen said, watching the water in the pot. “When it boils, we’ll wipe his body. Neck, armpits, groin. Just like the chart says.”

Lin Jianguo said nothing. He turned to fetch the water ladle.

The water boiled. Lin Chen mixed in some cool water and tested the temperature. Warm, not scalding.

He rolled up his sleeves and began wiping Xiao Man down. His movements were gentle, avoiding the chest and stomach, focusing only on the limbs and joints.

The towel warmed quickly. Change the water. Wipe again.

Lin Jianguo watched from the side. He wanted to help, but his hand reached halfway out before pulling back.

His son’s movements were too steady. Too steady for a seven-year-old.

By the third pass, Xiao Man’s breathing gradually eased. The bluish-purple on his lips faded slightly.

The fever had dropped. At least it wasn’t climbing anymore.

Lin Chen straightened up. Sweat had soaked through the back of his shirt, clinging to his skin, cold.

“We’re going to town,” he said.

Lin Jianguo looked up sharply. “Going to town means ten li of mountain roads. Your brother’s frame can’t take it.”

“The village doctor doesn’t understand this illness,” Lin Chen said, pointing to the characters on the chart. “Convulsions. We need a hospital to run blood tests. The town clinic has a doctor.”

“Blood tests cost money,” Lin Jianguo’s voice tightened. “That three yuan and fifty fen yesterday was the last cash we had.”

“We’ll see the doctor first. We’ll figure out the money later.”

Lin Jianguo stared at his son. His Adam’s apple bobbed.

He turned and walked into the inner room. The sound of rummaging through drawers and cabinets followed.

A few minutes later, he emerged. In his hand were a few coins and two crumpled one-jiao notes.

“Eight jiao in total.” He slapped the money on the table. “Not enough for the registration fee.”

“Enough to walk,” Lin Chen said, rolling up the chart and stuffing it into his schoolbag.

He slung the bag over his shoulder and picked up the bamboo stick behind the door.

“Dad, carry your brother. I’ll lead the way.”

The mountain road had been turned into a quagmire by last night’s heavy rain.

Yellow mud clung to gravel; every step sank half a foot deep, requiring effort to pull free.

Lin Jianguo strapped Xiao Man to his back. The coarse cloth straps dug into his shoulders, bowing his spine slightly under the weight.

Lin Chen walked ahead. He used the bamboo stick to probe the path, avoiding soft mud pits and exposed tree roots.

The fog hadn’t fully lifted. Dewdrops clung to the roadside weeds, soaking their trouser legs.

After about two li, Lin Jianguo’s breathing grew heavy.

The mud sucked at their soles. Every step required extra effort to pull free.

“Let’s rest a bit,” Lin Jianguo panted, leaning against the trunk of an old pine tree.

Lin Chen stopped and looked back.

Xiao Man lay against his father’s back, sleeping deeply, his breathing even.

“Drink some water,” Lin Chen said, handing over a military-style canteen.

Lin Jianguo took a gulp. The water was completely cold.

“Chen wa-zi,” Lin Jianguo wiped sweat and mud from his face, “what if the town doctor can’t cure him either?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there,” Lin Chen cut him off.

He drove the bamboo stick into the mud, pulled it out, and a string of muddy water followed.

“The road is still long. Don’t stop.”

Lin Jianguo looked at his son’s slight back. His lips moved, but no sound came out.

He tightened the coarse cloth straps again, straightened his back, and followed.

Ten li took them over two hours.

When the sun reached its zenith, the white walls of Qingshi Town Health Clinic came into view.

The plaster was peeling, painted with faded red characters: Practice Hygiene, Prevent Disease.

Two classic 28-inch bicycles were parked in the courtyard. Their bells were covered in rust.

Lin Jianguo quickened his pace. Mud splashed onto his trousers, but he didn’t care.

The wooden window of the registration desk was half open. Inside sat a young nurse in a white coat.

Lin Jianguo leaned against the window, his voice trembling.

“Doctor, emergency. The boy’s been convulsing all night, high fever won’t break.”

The nurse looked up and handed him a registration slip.

“One yuan. Go to Internal Medicine, find Dr. Wang.”

Lin Jianguo fished out the eight jiao. His palms were slick with sweat.

“Comrade, could we see the doctor first? I’ll bring the money tomorrow.”

The nurse frowned, then looked at the child on his back.

“Dr. Wang just started his shift. Go knock on his door. We’ll sort out the money later.”

The door to Internal Medicine was ajar. Lin Jianguo pushed it open.

The room smelled of Lysol, mixed with old newspapers and rubbing alcohol.

Behind the desk sat a middle-aged man wearing glasses, writing in a medical record.

“Dr. Wang,” Lin Jianguo said, lowering the child.

Xiao Man was startled awake and let out a drowsy whimper.

Dr. Wang put down his fountain pen and gestured for the child to be placed on the examination bed.

A stethoscope pressed against the chest. A tongue depressor checked the throat. Eyelids were lifted to examine the pupils.

“How many days has he had the fever?”

“Three days. The convulsions started last night.”

“What does it look like when he convulses?”

Lin Jianguo gestured. “Limbs go rigid, eyes roll back, white foam at the mouth. Lasts about the time it takes to burn a stick of incense.”

Dr. Wang nodded and wrote a few lines in the medical record.

“Preliminary diagnosis is epilepsy. Commonly called ‘goat madness’ in the villages. The high fever is the trigger.”

Lin Jianguo froze. “Epilepsy. Can it be treated?”

“It can be controlled,” Dr. Wang said, taking off his glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose. “We don’t have an EEG machine here. For a thorough examination, you’d need to go to the county hospital. Travel plus tests would cost several dozen yuan.”

“Several dozen yuan.” Lin Jianguo’s fingers dug into the edge of the bed.

“I’ll prescribe medication to control it first.” Dr. Wang opened a drawer and took out a glass bottle.

Inside were small white pills.

“Phenobarbital. Three times a day, half a tablet each time. Do not stop the medication. If you do, the seizures will return.”

He placed the bottle on the desk, tore off a prescription slip, and wrote down the dosage.

“Medication is eight yuan and fifty fen. With registration and consultation, that’s nine yuan and fifty fen total.”

Lin Jianguo didn’t move.

Nine yuan and fifty fen. They couldn’t even scrape together nine jiao and five fen at home.

“Doctor,” Lin Jianguo’s voice dropped, “could you prescribe just three days’ worth? I’ll sell the piglets when I get back to pay you.”

“The piglets aren’t ready for market yet,” Lin Chen said suddenly from beside the bed.

Dr. Wang looked at him.

“Seven years old, but you speak clearly,” Dr. Wang sighed. “This is a prescription drug. By regulation, we can’t extend credit.”

“The town grain station buys old paddy,” Lin Chen continued. “Fifteen fen per jin. We have half a sack of old paddy at home. About sixty jin. That’ll get us nine yuan.”

Dr. Wang paused.

Lin Jianguo turned sharply to look at his son, his eyes full of astonishment.

“The grain station isn’t weighing today. They only start tomorrow,” Lin Jianguo whispered.

“Doctor, give us three days’ worth first,” Lin Chen said, locking eyes with Dr. Wang. “Tomorrow morning, I’ll bring the nine yuan. If I’m short by a single fen, I’ll smash the medicine bottle.”

The room fell silent for a few seconds.

Only the wall clock ticked.

Dr. Wang looked at the boy, then back at the prescription slip on the desk.

He opened the drawer, took out a small paper packet, and poured twelve pills into it.

“Three days’ supply. Bring the nine yuan before noon tomorrow.”

He slid the packet across.

“Remember. Take it on time. Keep him out of the sun. Don’t let him get startled.”

Lin Jianguo took the packet. His hands trembled violently.

He thanked him repeatedly, bowing deeply.

Lin Chen said nothing. He walked to the desk and picked up the prescription slip.

His eyes scanned the text: Phenobarbital Tablets. 0.03 grams.

He folded the slip neatly and tucked it into the inner compartment of his schoolbag.

“Dad, let’s go home.”

He turned and walked toward the door. Sunlight streamed through the glass window, falling on his worn rubber-soled shoes.

The mud had already dried, forming a hard crust.

The journey back felt lighter than the way there.

Lin Jianguo tucked the medicine packet into the inner pocket against his chest. He walked with a spring in his step.

Lin Chen walked ahead. The bamboo stick tapped the ground in a steady rhythm.

The prescription slip in his bag pressed against his back. The sharp edges of the paper dug into his skin.

Nine yuan. Before noon tomorrow.

He touched his pocket. Inside was only a single five-fen coin, polished smooth from wear.

Not enough. Far from it.

But he didn’t stop walking.

Mountain wind swept through the woods, rustling the foxtail grass along the roadside.

The rumble of a tractor echoed in the distance.

Lin Chen looked up, watching the dirt road wind downward.

The road was still long. But he knew how to walk it now.

He quickened his pace. The rubber soles crunched against the gravel, making a crisp, scraping sound.