Chapter 111: Lin Xiaodou Heals the Sick

For a while after that, Lin Xiaodou hardly went out at all.
During the New Year break, no one worked in the fields; everyone was meant to rest until the fifteenth day of the first month. Outside, the snow fell and the cold was sharp, so there was no reason to brave it. It was better to stay by the brazier and read.

Her private store of knowledge still held many medical books, and she could study at her leisure. Whenever Lin read, Liu Yan’er would come running over and study with her. Little Golden Thread dozed against Little Brown Bear, while Little Jumping Spider hopped back and forth over the two large companions. So the days passed, warm and peaceful.

One day, Old Li came to the gate.
It turned out Old Huang, the yellow ox, had fallen ill. The barefoot doctor of the nearby village was away, and there was no veterinarian. Old Li had no choice but to ask Lin Xiaodou for help.

“Lin Zhiqing,” he said, using the name he had been told, “you said you’d once taught yourself veterinary medicine. Could you take a look at Old Huang?”

“Of course.”

She had not forgotten her old trade since coming to the countryside. After all, in her modern life she had studied veterinary medicine, and she could speak to animals as if they understood. But she had never really had the chance to practice: the only livestock in the village was this single old ox—no horses, not even a dog. So when Old Li sought her out in person, she gladly agreed.

When Liu Yan’er heard that Lin could treat beasts, she was astonished and begged to come along as well. The two followed Old Li to his place.

“Lately Old Huang’s spirit is low and his appetite poor,” Old Li explained. “I can’t figure out what’s wrong.”

Old Huang’s shed was a rough straw shelter beside Old Li’s wooden house. The snow had buried everything in a wet white layer, and inside the shelter everything was damp. The ox lay on a heap of wet straw, breathing hard.

When it saw Lin approaching, it lifted its head as if to nuzzle her, then lowered it again, too weak to follow through. Lin touched its head and examined its legs; the whole body felt unnaturally cold.

“Moo… moo…”

It gave two feeble, breathless calls. From its condition and the tone of its voice, Lin could already judge the illness in broad strokes.

“Old Huang is sick from the cold. He can’t stand the chill.”

Old Li looked puzzled. “It’s always gotten here every winter this way. Why this year?”

Lin explained softly, “You told me he’s pulled this village’s plow for ten years. He’s getting old. Like old people, he’s afraid of cold and dampness. This sort of thing has to be watched more carefully now.”

Old Li seemed embarrassed. “You’re right. I’m past sixty myself, and I do get cold much easier now.” He rubbed his sleeve across his face. “I should have thought of it. Why didn’t I realize Old Huang could be this sensitive?”

“So what should we do? I can bring him inside!” Old Li offered.

The shed was impossible: water everywhere, no warmth at all.
Lin nodded. “He needs a dry, warm place, yes. And I need to give him something warming in his blood quickly, or the disease could get worse.”
Old Li hurriedly agreed. “Yes, yes, tell me and I’ll do it.”

Without being driven, she spoke a few low words beside Old Huang’s ear, and the ox, docile and bewildered, followed her inside. Old Li and Liu Yan’er stared in amazement.

Old Li was a widowed old man. His wooden house had only two rooms and a kitchen. One room was his own, the other a storage room. He quickly cleared the storage room and settled Old Huang in there.

Then Lin asked Old Li to boil a large pot of hot water. They wiped the ox down with hot water, dried him, wrapped him in blankets, and let him lie on dry floorboards. While they worked, Lin went out and returned with a large shoulder basket.

She took out several herbs and said, “These are from the mountain where I gathered them. Boil these together and let him drink.”

In truth, most of these ingredients had come from her hidden store; “picked from the hills” was only a convenient pretext.

From the same basket she drew out a warm flask.
“Here’s some sugared tea I brought from home. Give him a little, so he can recover his strength fast.”
It was no sugared tea, of course, but glucose liquid. Old Li did not question it and obeyed at once.

After a while, the old ox that had been so listless rose to his feet and even wagged his tail.
Old Li burst out: “Lin Zhiqing, your medicine is amazing. I truly can’t thank you enough.”
Liu Yan’er, eyes bright with devotion, looked at Lin in open admiration. She had already decided her sister-in-thought truly could do anything.

“Lin Zhiqing,” Old Li said, “how much do I owe for treating Old Huang? I’ll tell the brigade leader.”

Old Huang belonged to the production brigade, so his medical expense should naturally be covered by the brigade.
“One yuan,” Lin replied.

In truth, the real value was much higher, but the brigade leader was her foster father, and she meant to help him out. She didn’t mind the money, but if she said it was free, he might not accept it anyway.

Old Li nodded. “Fine. I’ll ask the brigade head to settle it.”

She added, “There are still some herbs left. Please boil them for two or three days, once a day.”

With instructions delivered, she and Liu Yan’er went home. Somehow, whatever Old Li said the next day, the brigade leader sent her two yuan.

“Child, you must take this,” he insisted. “You protected our brigade’s property. You are truly our benefactor.”
She gave only a small smile and accepted. “All right.”

Soon after, her foster father, Brigade Leader Liu, chatted with her for a while and then changed tone abruptly.

“Child,” he said, “do you think you might treat other illnesses too?”

Lin blinked. “Does our village have any other livestock in trouble?”

Liu cleared his throat, a little awkward. “No—that’s not what I mean. I mean treating people. There’s a little girl, granddaughter of a village widow, burning with fever. They’ve tried village remedies, but the fever won’t break.”

Usually a sick farmer would go to a barefoot doctor, but not every village has one. And the barefoot doctor from the neighboring village had gone visiting family in the provincial city and hadn’t returned. With Old Huang sick, Old Li couldn’t even use the ox cart. In deep snow, the mountain path was treacherous and risky; what is normally a two-hour route might take twice as long now. Worse, with a child ill, they could not risk walking in this weather—if she got chilled, she might worsen.

Liu continued, “After they heard you can treat animals, they came to me and asked if you would at least take a look.”

On hearing that the patient was a two-year-old girl, Lin felt compassion rise.
“I’ll have to examine her first,” she said. “I can’t promise a cure—I’m not a licensed physician.”

In her previous life she had taken a real interest in medicine and even minored in Chinese medicine. Since arriving in this era, she had spent her spare time studying medical books from her private store and had learned a great deal. Her theoretical understanding was strong, but her practical experience was still thin. Treating a human patient would be a chance to learn in practice.

Liu nodded. “Of course. I’ll warn them. If they do not agree, you won’t need to see her.”

That reassured her. After tidying up, she set out with Liu.

Liu Yan’er, her little shadow, naturally followed close behind.