No More Bad Karma

I had seen Father injure himself several times before. Once at his forge, his hammer accidentally pounded his finger instead of the blade he was forging. Once at home, he tried to help Mother cut daikon, but instead he cut his own finger. And once at the market, a rabid dog chased him down, and he fell while fleeing. Luckily for him, the ruthless Auntie Pei was able to lure the dog away with some scraps. 

Mother always said that Father was lucky she was his wife. Otherwise, who would be there to treat all of his injuries? Father always laughed at this, and he never failed to remind Mother that he was the luckiest man in the four seas to have married such a wonderful wife.

Mother and I had seen Father with many wounds before, but never had we seen one so grave.

Father laid in front of us, tucked neatly under a blanket. Bandages covered half of his head, and a red circle of blood seeped from where his left eye was. As he slept, Mother ground some medicinal herbs for Father. Goldthread Stem, Gardenia Fruit, Fangfeng Flowers, Yellow Fir, and a dozen more. Mother was making Huanglian Shangqing Pills, a medicine used to reduce heat in the body and to relieve pain. 

As Mother made the medicine, I felt Father's forehead with the back of my hand. It burned. Worried, I wiped away the sweat trickling down his neck with a damp cloth.

I turned to Mother. "Is the medicine almost done?"

"Yes," Mother said, her attention not straying from the mortar and pestle. 

Although Mother's tone was curt as usual, her voice was weaker, as though it were ready to snap in half like a dried leaf. Mother's face was pale, gray, almost corpse-like. It had been three nights since Baldy Li had punished Father for helping the stowaway escape. Father had fainted upon receiving the punishment, and he had yet to wake up since. Mother tended to his wounds the moment Baldy Li and his men left, but even with Mother's deft hands and vast knowledge of medicinal herbs, his wounded eye was slow to heal and kept bleeding and bleeding. 

While Mother tried to treat Father's injury, several visitors -- merchants, sailors, and local villagers -- came to wish Father a speedy recovery, bringing with them fresh fruit and homemade dishes. Some came with the sole intention of wishing Father a speedy recovery, but others came requesting for medicine from Mother.

But she refused to prescribe any more medicine to anyone else. Even if the person was in dire need of the medicine, Mother turned them away. She did not speak as often as she did before. Instead, her attention remained solely on making the Huanglian Shangqing Pills. Even at night, she scoured through all the herbs she had, brushing aside all the herbs that weren't used in the Huanglian Shangqing Pills.

One night, as I was falling asleep, I heard Mother whimper softly to Father, "This is my fault, all my fault." She did not cry, but I knew Mother was holding back her tears. 

Father continued to sleep for several more nights, his fever still running high. Each night I helped Mother tend to his fever, changing his bandages and wiping away his sweat. When Father's fever continued to burn after the sixth night, a heavy pit grew in my stomach, as if I had swallowed a massive rock. I was afraid. What if Father never woke up? What if the fever continued to grow hotter and hotter? 

At night, I held Father's hand tightly. It was rough and calloused, the same hands that worked tirelessly at the forge. But rough as they were, his hands gave me comfort. That was when a realization dawned on me. If I were to continue worrying like this, how would Father's spirit be able to focus on recovering his health? I grasped Father's hand more tightly before letting go to wipe away the sweat from his forehead. 

He will be alright, I told myself. 

And sure enough, on the seventh night, his fever subsided, and soon after, Father woke up. Both Mother and I rejoiced. We both wrapped our arms around Father in a big hug, nearly in tears. Mother and I had spent the past week tirelessly caring for Father. We were exhausted, drained to the marrow of our bones, but in that moment, in that warm embrace, we both felt energized.

"Now, now," Father said. His voice was raspy from disuse. "I was just resting for a bit. No need to be so worried."

Mother sat back. She pursed her lips, trying to keep herself from crying. "How could I not worry?"

Father laughed his usual soft, light-hearted laugh. "This little wound isn't enough to kill me. You would have to stab my heart for me to die."

Mother lightly slapped Father's arm. "Don't say such ominous things!" 

Father continued to laugh before patting me on the head. "Zhuhua, you've gotten skinny! You have to eat more."

"But Father," I protested. "I was too worried to eat."

"You have to eat even when you're worried."

"When I'm worried, it feels like there is a stone in my stomach. How can I eat when I feel like that?"

"But are you worried now?"

I shook my head.

"Then let's eat dinner together!"

That night, we ate a hearty dinner together. Father joked around and laughed as though his injury did not exist. He seemed so relaxed and at ease that I almost forgot he was injured at all. But Mother was not so easily comforted. She barely ate at dinner, and at night, she still stirred around, getting up to grind more herbs or to find new herbs to help Father's eye.

Several more days passed, and Father was well enough to return to the forge. The moment he set foot into his workshop, he was bombarded with a dozen new requests. A new firearm, a new sword, a new spear. All of these requests came from Baldy Li's men.

I visited Father while he worked at the forge. Mother no longer asked me to run deliveries for her. Even after Father's fever had subsided, the only medicine I ever saw Mother make were Huanglian Shangqing Pills. Because of this, I had more time to visit Father at his workshop.

But the sparks that flung from the forge seemed different to me now. Before, the sparks were like fireworks, bright and beautiful. Now, each time Father's hammer clanked onto metal, I flinched. It was just metal against metal, but now that metal was frightening. Father had the ability to change this metal into something useful for Baldy Li and his men. If he did not have such a useful skill, then he would have lost his life. It was just metal, but that metal was able to determine the life or death of a man and his family.

The sparks no longer mesmerized me, so I averted my gaze to Father's back. It was large and sturdy as it always had been, but now when I watched Father work, I noticed that his back was slouched, ready to collapse. 

Not to mention, the workshop was hot, suffocating. I never noticed the heat before, nor had I noticed the smoke rising from the fire. I observed the smoke coming from the hearth, watching as it rose into the air only to be inhaled by Father, only to pollute his lungs.

Unable to bear the sight anymore, I told Father I was tired and headed home. When I arrived home, Mother was still grinding the ingredients for the Huangliang Shangqing Pills. The mortar and pestle scraped against each other, stone against stone, an unpleasant, scraping noise. I wanted her to stop. I wanted her to pack up other herbs for me to deliver. But she did not.

Someone knocked on the door of our house. It was Auntie Pei. She was holding a jug of wine in her arm.

"Little Zhuhua, is your Mother home?" she asked.

"Yes, do you need something?"

"We ran out of medicine for my husband's wart, and it seems as though another one appeared. I was wondering if your mother could prescribe us more medicine?"

"Let me ask her for you."

I turned to Mother and told her that Auntie Pei needed more medicine for her husband, but Mother shooed me away. 

"No, no more medicine for anyone else. Medicine brings us bad luck, bad karma."

"But Mother, this is just medicine for a wart. Why would it br--"

"Bad karma," Mother said, cutting me off. "Turn away anyone else who comes asking for medicine."

"Are you sure? I thought you said it was good karma to help others."

"Helping others brings good karma," Mother said, her voice weak. "But we helped the wrong people."

She stared back down at her mortar and pestle, at the medicine she had been grinding. All the herbs were ground so much that it was now a smooth paste. 

I wanted to protest further, but I knew that Mother wouldn't listen no matter what I said. Thus, I returned to Auntie Pei and told her that Mother was unwell and unable to prescribe any medication at the moment.

Auntie Pei apologized and said, "Please, still take this rice wine at least. As a thanks for all the other times you have helped us."

I turned to Mother, who was speaking to herself. "No more," she said. "No more bad karma."

Not wanting to worry Mother anymore, I did not accept Auntie Pei's rice wine.