THE YOUNG MARSHAL’S CINNABAR MOLE CHAPTER 1

Chapter 1: I have come back from hell and I am fiercer than any ghost

Summer, 1920. A heavy, inky rain had just passed, and the cicadas’ cries sounded weak and weary.

In Huicheng, a coastal city, the humid air clung to everything. A few small foreign-style cars sped past like wind and lightning, splashing water, and finally stopped in front of a two-story French-style building.

In the courtyard, along the sides of the path, roses nearly as tall as a person bloomed brilliantly in the mist. On the white-marble-like floor, a crowd surrounded the two men who had stepped from the center of the car convoy and walked toward the house.

At the front, a woman with reddened eyes pressed a handkerchief to the corners of her eyes and spoke to the man in the middle. “Ruojing, thank you for still remembering us and specially inviting Doctor Chen to come. Jiao’er has had a fever for three days already. I have invited nearly every doctor in Huicheng, yet the fever still has not gone down.”

The man following her had sharp eyebrows and bright eyes. His name was Zhang Ruo Jing, the second son of Northeast warlord Zhang Duxing, and now the Grand Commander of Huicheng. People jokingly called him the Young Marshal.

Although a smile rested at the corner of his mouth and he looked like a leisurely and noble young gentleman, the aura that unconsciously revealed itself from his body was enough to make people keep a safely respectful distance, causing them instead to overlook an appearance comparable to a film star.

As he walked, his long, powerful legs, wrapped in black suit trousers, were perfectly straight.

Upon arriving at Tang Jiao’s room, a dense cluster of heads filled the space. The old-style Chinese physicians and Western doctors stood clearly divided, yet both sides shared the same hostility toward Zhang Ruojing and Doctor Chen at the doorway.

The woman gave an awkward smile and personally led the two men to the bedside, causing the doctors gathered around the bed to darken their expressions.

Faint light struggled through the clouds and shone through the window onto the girl’s flushed, tear-glossed face, casting a small shadow beneath her long eyelashes. She mumbled indistinctly, trembling occasionally, while tears silently slid down to her temples.

Zhang Ruo Jing leaned casually against the headboard wall, one hand in his pocket. He seemed relaxed, yet the energy radiating from him demanded attention. The commanding presence he exuded completely suppressed Dr. Chen’s rigid authority. After examining Tang Jiao, Dr. Chen glanced at the woman with a puzzled expression. Zhang Ruo Jing’s lips curved upward. “What is it, Dr. Chen?”

His smile, like sunlight breaking through ice, revealed the subtle softness of his face. The young maid bringing tea glanced at him, blushed, and hurried out of the room.

Dr. Chen hesitated for a moment before speaking. “It should be PTSD.”

The woman did not understand what this meant, but several Western doctors who had previously treated Tang Jiao immediately disagreed.

“Madam Tang, this is impossible. How could your daughter have post-traumatic stress disorder? She is so young. How could she have suffered trauma?”

“This condition usually requires long-term observation for a proper diagnosis. He just examined her briefly. Ms. Tang, who is this person you invited?”

“Well…” the woman looked at Zhang Ruo Jing, clearly shaken by the foreign doctors’ words, hesitation written across her face.

Zhang Ruo Jing did not move. He looked down at the girl on the bed. “ Doctor Chen, are you certain of the diagnosis?”

“Certain. I dare not say anything else, but this illness, among you people, I have seen much of it.”

A strong glint of interest appeared in his eyes, partially hidden by his long eyelashes, showing no concern for the slight displeasure on the woman’s face.

“Doctor Chen is the most outstanding physician in the army. I spent nine oxen and two tigers of effort and promised heavy rewards before he agreed to come see my little cousin.”

九牛二虎之力 (jiǔ niú èr hǔ zhī lì) the strength of nine oxen and two tigers; idiom meaning: tremendous effort; exerting all one’s strength to accomplish something.

Dr. Chen stood to the side, expression indifferent, appearing ready to leave at any moment, perfectly confirming Zhang Ruo Jing’s words.

A trace of guilt appeared on the woman’s face. “Look at me… that was still…”

“Madam, please wait.”

“Madam, please take a moment to consider.”

Voices from both groups of doctors cut off the woman’s decision. Between their words, they labeled Doctor Chen a quack and, without courtesy, stepped on the other side as well.

Amid their fierce argument, in the chaotic room, Tang Jiao, already burning with fever to the point of losing consciousness, began to tremble violently. Her whole body stiffened like a rigid crucian carp flipping on the bed.

Zhang Ruojing, standing at the head of the bed, was the first to notice something wrong. “Stop arguing! Doctor Chen!”

“Hold her down.”

In the urgency of the situation, Zhang Ruojing could not concern himself with propriety between men and women. Both hands pressed onto Tang Jiao’s shoulders, yet he could not restrain her. Helpless, he half-knelt at the bedside, borrowing leverage to encircle her, his arm pressing across her shoulders.

Doctor Chen, on the other side, quickly took a syringe of sedative from his medical case, intending to inject it into the arm that Zhang Ruojing was holding in place.

The room fell suddenly silent, followed immediately by a loud uproar. “What are you giving her? Stop immediately!”

One doctor stormed forward, attempting to seize the syringe from Doctor Chen. Zhang Ruo Jing’s previously casual expression vanished, replaced by an icy killing aura.

“Someone, come here!”

Under the oppressive force of his voice and gaze, the doctor halted. In that single instant, soldiers with real guns and live ammunition ran in orderly from the doorway. Expressionless, they surrounded the doctors, the dark muzzles of their guns aimed directly at them. They waited only for Zhang Ruojing’s command, fingers resting on the triggers, ready to press down without hesitation.

Zhang Ruojing gave a soft scoff. The Longines watch on his wrist emitted a faint, cold gleam. Those teasing eyes passed over each doctor who stood like a gourd with its mouth sawed shut, and finally fell upon the anxious woman. “Little Aunt, forgive the offense. Trust me. Little Cousin will be all right.”

锯了嘴的葫芦 (jùle zuǐ de húlu) —“gourd with a sawed mouth,” figuratively describing awkward or ugly-looking face

With one injection of sedative, Tang Jiao gradually calmed down. He released his arms and slowly stood up.

“Little Aunt, you have seen the urgency of the situation. These doctors speak pleasantly enough, but Little Cousin’s fever has not gone down at all. Doctor Chen, however, is a military physician who has gone through life and death. His medical skill is used to preserve lives.”

“If you do not believe it, Little Aunt may ask these doctors which of them dares to promise that Little Cousin’s fever will subside.”

The woman’s lips moved slightly. The doctors avoided her gaze. Not one dared to give such a guarantee. She no longer hesitated, as if not seeing the guns beside her. “Ruo Jing, I leave Jiao’er in Doctor Chen’s care.”

Zhang Ruojing stepped aside. As he turned his head, he met Tang Jiao’s suddenly opened eyes. Within those misty apricot eyes lay emptiness and deathly stillness.

In the darkness, Tang Jiao’s thoughts seemed to slow by half a beat, light and ungrounded. A pain pricked the back of her hand, and something cold flowed into her veins.

When she opened her eyes again, only the slanting sunset filled the room. A bitterness rose in her throat. Her whole body felt limp and without strength. Struggling, she sat up and leaned against the head of the bed.

Her memory still lingered on Qin Qinggui’s shameless public notice of divorce in the newspaper, and the chance encounter on the road north while fleeing disaster. For the beauty in his arms, he had actually pushed her forward to block a bullet.

In that instant, she had lost consciousness. 

She must have died.

Died?

Tang Jiao’s mind was filled with confusion. By the fading light, she stiffly turned her neck to look around. On the dressing table to the left lay several French-language books scattered in disorder. At the foot of the bed stood a screen embroidered with a kitten chasing butterflies, from which hung a five-colored sachet.

The screen now stood open, leaving everything behind it visible at a glance. She tilted her head slightly and looked at the couch set against the wall, where three round cushions were placed. Beneath them lay a thick layer of sponge. Beside it stood a bookcase and a wardrobe.

Was this not her boudoir at home?

She lifted the thin quilt and, supporting her weak body, stepped down from the bed.

Her small, white-jade-like feet touched the floor. The cool sensation made her shiver. Supporting herself against the wall, she slowly walked to the dressing table.

In the oval mirror appeared a girl with innocent apricot eyes, a straight and delicate nose, and a face still carrying a trace of baby fat. Her skin was fair with a rosy tint. Waist-length hair, like black silk, cascaded over a white lace nightdress. The gentle rise and fall of her chest made her appear all the more youthful and charming.

This face was so familiar. It was precisely her face from youth.

Her gaze lowered. Beneath a pile of disordered books lay a copy of the Huicheng Morning News. Tang Jiao reached out and pulled it free. The date printed upon it pierced her eyes: June 2, 1920.

Her slender fingers rubbed repeatedly over the black numerals “1920.” She quickly flipped through the newspaper. There were no articles mocking her. Occupying the front page was still the news of Young Marshal Zhang Ruojing’s arrival in Huicheng.

She had returned to twenty-three years earlier.

All thoughts ran wildly through Tang Jiao’s mind. She set down the newspaper, braced both arms on the dressing table, and gasped for breath.

June 1920. She should still be studying at Maria Girls’ School, tormented by chemistry and physics to the point of wishing for life yet unable to live, absent from what was said to be the most difficult examination in history because of a high fever.

That year, her mother had not yet passed away…

Pain struck her like roaring trains, crashing repeatedly against her heart, surging through her meridians and crushing her whole body.

In the mirror, strings of tears crossed the girl’s face, wetting the Huicheng Morning News on the table and blurring the three large characters of Zhang Ruojing’s name.

She and her elder brother both followed Mama’s surname, Tang. The Tang family had once produced a zhuangyuan who rose to the Inner Cabinet. For a time the Tang lineage flourished with luxuriant branches and leaves. Now, though no longer a house of ringing bells and tripods of foods, it was still considered a scholarly family.

状元爷 (zhuàngyuán yé) - imperial examination top scholar

钟鸣鼎食之家 (zhōng míng dǐng shí zhī jiā) —“a family with bells ringing and tripods of food”; meaning wealthy, high-status family

In her generation, her maternal grandfather held a modest position, but his children were all outstanding. Her mother, the youngest legitimate daughter, was doted upon by the family.

To prevent her from being bullied after marrying into another family, her father had married into her family as a live-in son-in-law.

入赘 (rù zhuì) — marry into a family as a son-in-law (become a “live-in” husband)

In the blink of an eye, the Republican era arrived. Her father was talented, and with her uncle’s arrangements he entered Maria Girls’ School as a teacher of classical learning. His articles appeared everywhere in newspapers, so her mother no longer mentioned the matterof his entering the family as a son-in-law.

Her mother’s silence did not mean her father forgot his resentment. To have a child with the surname Wang, he had quarreled with her mother and insisted on taking Lu Qianqian as a concubine.

Her mother suffered during childbirth, already physically weak. Her father’s conduct and Lu Qianqian’s constant provocations caused her grief and anger so deep that she miscarried a male fetus.

She had intended for that child to follow the father’s surname, yet the child was lost, and she herself was married far away. Under repeated blows, her mother became bedridden and at last could no longer endure.

At that time, war broke out. When Tang Jiao finally hurried home from a thousand li away, she learned only that her mother’s funeral had already been arranged by Zhang Ruojing. Her father, following Lu Qianqian’s words, had not even allowed her mother’s funeral to be held.

As for the abundant dowry her mother left behind, they embezzled it all, using the money to bribe the people of R-country and live in comfort amid the chaos of troubled times.

Tang Jiao bit down on her teeth so hard, she could feel the roots of her teeth. All these years she had thought day and night about whether her mother had truly fallen ill from anger. They had not sent her mother to the hospital, letting her fade away alive. Most likely it was for the sake of seizing her mother’s dowry.

Her hands clenched tightly, and without realizing it she crumpled the newspaper into a ball. How dared they? She regretted it. She hated it. It was she who had let the wolf into the house and harmed her mother.

“Pa!” The lamp in the room lit up. Tang Jiao narrowed her eyes instinctively. She heard footsteps approaching from the doorway, and then she was drawn into a warm embrace.

“You child, the fever has only just gone down. How can you get out of bed without wearing shoes?”

By her ear was the gentle Jiangnan softness she knew so well. At her nose was the scent of her mother she had longed for in her heart.

“Mama…” Her mind roared. Tears spilled from Tang Jiao’s eyes as she choked out the word.

“Oh, oh, oh, what is this?” Tang Dongxue lifted Tang Jiao’s face and gently wiped her tears. “Why are you crying? Are you feeling unwell, or afraid of being punished for missing the monthly examination? Do not worry, Mama has already asked leave for you.”

Tang Jiao cried until she could not speak. Shaking her head, she was guided back onto the bed. Her little feet were wiped clean and tucked beneath the quilt. Through tear-blurred eyes she gazed at Tang Dongxue. She had not seen her mother for more than ten years. No matter how she looked, it was never enough.

“This fever of yours truly frightened your mother to death. You were burning and speaking nonsense the whole time. You even bit your cousin and scolded him as a devil.” Tang Dongxue bent down, her soft lips touching Tang Jiao’s forehead. “ The fever has not returned.”

Tang Jiao wiped her tears with her hand and sniffed. “What… cousin?”

“Your Second Aunt’s adopted son, Zhang Ruojing. You must call him cousin. This fever came fiercely. Mama invited every famous physician in Huicheng, yet it would not go down. It was the military doctor your cousin brought who reduced the fever. But, Jiao’er, why did you…”

Tang Dongxue swallowed the rest of her words and lovingly stroked Tang Jiao’s hair. “You must remember your cousin’s kindness. When you meet him again, thank him properly.”

Tang Jiao gave a bitter smile inwardly. So it was Zhang Ruojing. The title “cousin” was one he had long forbidden her to use. Hearing it again after so many years stirred an unexpected feeling of nostalgia.

His kindness toward her was far more than bringing a military doctor to reduce her fever. In her previous life he had seen her mother off on her final journey. This kindness she had always remembered.

As for biting him and scolding him, it must have been because in her fevered dream she relived the time she went to mourn her mother, only to learn they had not even set up a mourning hall. In madness she had clashed with them and mistaken him for those people.

It was truly embarrassing. When they met again, she would indeed have to thank him properly.

“I understand, Mama. Only… this ‘cousin,’ I truly cannot bring myself to say it. We are not related by blood.”

Seeing Tang Dongxue’s brows draw together, Tang Jiao quickly changed the subject. “Has Father still been at the school these days? Their monthly examinations should be finished, shouldn’t they?”

A trace of discomfort appeared on Tang Dongxue’s face, as though sadness flowed within it. Forcing herself to harden her heart, Tang Jiao spoke the rest. “He does not even come home to see me. His own daughter nearly burned to death from fever.”

“You know your father’s nature. His heart is set on scholarship. He is likely at school correcting examination papers through the night.” Tang Dongxue lowered her head, speaking in Wang Baisong’s defense.

Tang Jiao could not see her mother’s expression, but her purpose had already been achieved. She would make her mother lose heart in Father little by little, and never again allow Lu Qianqian to step through the Tang family’s door.

Looking at her mother’s figure, Tang Jiao’s gaze gradually grew firm. Her mother was gentle and kind, her elder brother full of passionate loyalty. Then let her become a devil to protect them, the people she loved.

She absolutely will not fail Heaven for giving her the chance to be reborn as a person. Those who had brought her suffering, she would not spare a single one. To hell with being a proper young lady.

She and Lu Qianqian were both students at Maria Girls’ School. Now the monthly examination had passed, and the results would soon be released. Lu Qianqian would surely find another reason to come to her father for tutoring. She must act first.

“Today Lu Qianqian telephoned. Hearing that your fever had gone down, she said she would come to visit you in a few days.”

Truly, when one dozed, someone delivered a pillow. A strange smile appeared on Tang Jiao’s face.

打个瞌睡都来送枕头 (dǎ gè kēshuì dōu lái sòng zhěntou) just as one takes a nap, someone brings a pillow; idiom meaning: help arrives exactly when needed; timely assistance appears at the perfect moment.

“Is that so? I will wait for her.”

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