Chapter Text
Baizhu’s hands moved in practiced motions, dividing up and tying herbs together before placing them in small fabric pouches, tying them up with a small silk ribbon. This was a request directly from the Yuheng; a couple dozen herb pouches containing simple yet effective remedies for sore throats.
He had been made aware of the music performance that would be happening in the Harbor at the tail end of the festival, and so this request made sense… Performers needed to keep their throats in top shape, lest they wind up on his pharmacy’s doorstep seeking remedies. At that point, being their own fault, he would give them a good lecture about throat health.
Though, with this request, Baizhu hadn’t had much time to make Xiao Lanterns to release. Qiqi, however, was hard at work next to him. She sat on the floor in the back of the pharmacy, fiddling with the rods and paper used to create the lanterns, a small pile of plaustrite neatly set aside. She followed the step-by-step instructions that had been written into her notebook to the T.
Changsheng hung from a small branch-like perch he’d had fashioned from bamboo by an artisan a while back, her body wrapping around it to allow her to sit comfortably upon it. She watched him as he worked, occasionally slithering down the pole to check on Qiqi’s progress.
The actual Lantern Rite Concert wasn’t until the following night, and was also when most of the lanterns would be released. So, the pharmacy fell into a quiet tedium. Once the pouches of herbs had been completed, he placed them neatly into a small crate for transport to the venue and set them to the side, beginning to instead fill a few prescriptions that would need to be picked up later on in the day, saving Gui the hassle upfront.
While Lantern Rite was a joyous occasion for many, the sheer volume of people in the streets and elsewhere lent to quite a few injuries. Very rarely anything huge, but many children found themselves falling and scraping their knees or elbows in their excitement; people tripped on account of paying less attention to the ground on which they walked.
And, as every year, there were those who overindulged in their own reveling.
So Baizhu filled the regular prescriptions while Gui tended to those who needed the upfront care. He placed each prescription into their drawers from the back, each marked with light but neat handwriting and the date on which they were filled as well as the date they’d next need to pick up.
Later, as the sun began to set, Baizhu once more sat down in his chair in the back, intending to fill out some paperwork for the Qixing. It was simple, boring paperwork; claiming his business and its revenue as well as its assets, making clear what was being used for what.
But as he sat down, his head grew light. He tried to shake it off, closing his eyes and taking in a deep breath, placing two fingers between his brows before letting the breath out, centering himself. He blinked his eyes open and looked down at the paperwork in front of him.
What he knew to be neatly written script seemed to blend together into blocks of smudges. His glasses were clean, and yet he still couldn’t read. He blinked a few times, and between them he was almost able to focus for just a split second on the words before they jumbled together again.
An itch grew in his throat. A woefully familiar one. He struggled to hold his body back as he reached forward to grab a handkerchief that he kept at his desk, fumbling to grab it through his blurred vision. As soon as he was able to bring it to his mouth, he allowed himself to cough.
It tore at his throat, unyielding, as always. When it finally subsided, he found himself hunched over the desk, a searing pain in his throat and chest and his body unwilling to cooperate with his will to sit back up. He pulled the handkerchief away from his face weakly, finding a crimson stain upon its pale green surface.
He grit his teeth together, his hand forming a weak fist around the handkerchief.
His struggle seemed to have alerted both Changsheng and Qiqi. The latter, just a moment later, came into his peripheral holding a small cup, one which he knew to be full of medicine. When he turned his head to look at her, she held it out to him, “You should drink this… It will make you feel better.”
He sighed, his breath shaky, the burning sensation still there with every inhale. When he made a weak motion to attempt to grab the cup, Qiqi got up on her tip-toes and set it on the desk, backing away a moment later. She shook her head, “Do not force it, Dr. Baizhu. I will sit here and make sure you drink it.” And so, with her determination and her ‘orders’ set in place, he watched as Qiqi sat down on the floor a few feet away and stared at him with unblinking eyes.
He could never tell with her. He could never tell if her ‘concern’ came from a genuine feeling of worry born from her previous life; or if the ‘concern’ was something she ordered into herself, an artificially created emotion. It didn’t matter, though… She was useful to have around, and she’d been getting a lot better with her memory retention recently.
It took him a moment, but he soon was able to sit up, though it was more akin to shifting the direction of his weight back, leaning against the back of the chair instead. As he lifted the cup, its negligible weight feeling like a boulder in his hands, Changsheng slithered onto the desk, lifting up the handkerchief he’d set down with her tail.
A sound close to a ‘tsk,’ came from her, and she lifted her head to look Baizhu in the eyes as he took a small sip. The medicine was bitter, but he was used to it. “You continue to lose strength, Baizhu, and yet you still do work. You must take care of yourself as well, you know.” She sounded like a scolding mother in his ears and he scrunched his nose up, downing the rest of the medicine in one go.
It lingered in his throat for a moment, as if he were about to cough it back up, but he kept it down. He let his arms fall into his lap, still holding the cup and allowing his head to loll back, his eyes falling shut, heavy. “You pity me too much, Changsheng… I will be fine.”
“Not if you keep overworking yourself. After you rest, tomorrow you will only be attending the Lantern Rite Music Festival, and you will not be doing anything else.”
Baizhu scoffed, though it was half-hearted, “You speak like you’re my mother…”
“I may as well be.” She slithered onto his lap, then up his torso until she wrapped loosely around his shoulders, staring him in the eyes until he opened them, coming face-to-face with her snout and pale red eyes. “I rely on you just as much as you rely on me, so do not go doing rash things.”
Baizhu sighed through his nose, closing his eyes again. Changsheng put a little bit more pressure on his shoulders, making him clench his jaw in response to the unpleasant feeling, “Don’t you ignore me!” She scolded, “You’re going to go up to your apartment and get some rest, and I’m going to be coming with you.”
“Just… Give me a moment.” He could sense her dissatisfaction, so he dropped his defensive tone, “Please…” She seemed to get off his case, then, loosening herself upon him and curling around to set her head upon her body in a relaxed fashion.
He took a moment to recenter himself, slowly opening his eyes. The world wasn’t as blurry as it had been and his head was beginning to grow heavy. But nonetheless, he turned his head just slightly, seeing Qiqi still sat on the floor. Right. She must have given herself orders that she couldn’t complete. Phrasing mattered, and she’d probably given herself the task to ‘sit until Dr. Baizhu feels better.’
It wasn’t the first time she’d done something like that; the phrasing of her own orders betraying a sense of care, one that he couldn’t reasonably have her execute. And so, every time she encountered one of these ‘errors,’ he’d have to fix it.
He shifted himself on the chair until he was able to stand, bracing himself against the desk. He set the cup down and regained his balance before slowly making his way to where Qiqi sat. He made sure there was something nearby – in this case, a chair – for him to use to help himself up before he crouched down. HIs knees burned and ached, but he ignored it.
Very gently, he wrapped his arms around Qiqi’s middle, speaking quietly and softly into his ear, though his voice was still rough from the fit of coughing, “Everything is alright, Qiqi. I love you.” There was no reaction at first, but after a moment, she put her hands on her knees, getting ready to stand. Baizhu sighed as he pulled back, grabbing onto the nearby chair and pulling himself up. Qiqi was on her feet first, however, and grabbed the cup from the desk, carrying it away and to the small sink in the corner that was used for washing fresh herbs and cleaning containers.
She would be fine.
So Baizhu, slowly but surely, made his way to the door that separated the pharmacy from his apartment, turning the knob and pushing through. Usually, the stairs were no problem. But on days that were especially bad, like today, they seemed like an unscalable mountain. But regardless, he pushed onward, gripping the railing with both of his hands and pulling himself up step by grueling step.
At least, once he reached the top, he could actually do something about his condition.
It felt like an eternity, but he eventually was on solid ground once more, closing the door at the top to prevent himself from stumbling accidentally. The apartment atop the pharmacy was simple: a single room; a bed in the corner, raised so it was easier to get in and out of; a desk with an incense burner next to a shelf of books, boxes, jars, and research notes; and in the opposite corner of the bed, a small counter and a few cupboards that held food, drink, and otherwise.
He found his way to the window, cracking it open yet drawing the blinds shut, cool air gently blowing through them, billowing softly in the breeze, the contradictory nature of being open yet shut not lost on Baizhu as he sat down at his desk. The chair at his desk upstairs was much more comfortable, crafted from fine, lacquered wood and made specifically to accommodate poor joints. While the artisan he’d bought it from had had elderly folks in mind when creating it, Baizhu often found himself catered to with things designed for elders.
He reached to the shelf, pulling from it a small crucible and a matchbook, setting them on the desk with shaky hands. He pushed his glasses up on his face and found a small box next, as well as a pouch.
Organizing everything into their respective spots on his desk, which he’d always kept the same, he opened the box and the pouch and used the match to ignite embers in the chamber beneath the crucible. From the box, he pulled a small piece of Changsheng’s shed, a dead ley line branch, a dried qingxin flower, a tiny chunk of crystal marrow imported from Inazuma, and dried violetgrass.
He laid the ingredients out after weighing them in his hand. He’d done this enough to know how much catalyzer he’d need based on the weights of each object alone. He pulled his mortar and pestle forward from its spot at the back of his desk, each ingredient finding itself in the mortar to be ground up.
Eventually, all of it was a fine, uniform powder, and he carefully scraped it into the crucible. With those ingredients settled, there were only two left.
From the pouch, he produced a handful of mora, counting the coins until he had as many as he’d need. He closed the pouch and set it to the side; he’d clean up the desk in the morning, when he knew he’d be feeling at least somewhat more capable.
With that, he produced the last thing he needed from the box… A sharp needle fashioned from smooth cor lapis, made so that no liquid would stick to it. He held his hand flat against the desk and took in a deep breath. As he exhaled, he pushed the needle into the flesh of his palm, at the base of his thumb.
He drew the needle out in one swift motion, lifting his hand above the crucible and allowing a few drops of blood to trickle down. He shook his palm just slightly and the drops fell into the crucible, landing on and slowly beginning to absorb into the powder.
He balled his hand into a fist, then, to apply temporary pressure to the small wound to stop it from making a mess. With his other hand, he scooped up the small pile of mora, dragging it off the edge of the desk to catch in his palm. Holding it tightly within his grasp, he held it over the crucible.
He closed his eyes, channeling elemental energy through his vision, the flow of energy within his body concentrating into his hand. The mora seemed to melt in his hand and, without leaving a trace, dripped into the crucible, mixing with the blood and other ingredients.
He opened his eyes again, quickly shifting to once again pull something from the shelves; a roll of bandages and a long, thin wooden spoon. He quickly wrapped the bandage around his hand, around his wrist and threading between his thumb and index finger. He tied it up, held tight by one end bitten between his teeth.
With that taken care of, he picked up the spoon and began to stir and fully mix the concoction within the crucible. It wasn’t a cure. He’d never been able to find a cure; no one had. But at the very least, the mora and the ley line branch amplified the healing effects of the other ingredients, while the crystal marrow – which he’d been incorporating in gradually larger portions – served to introduce very small portions of archon residue into his body. In controlled environments, this residue could be used to extend one’s life, and when time was the one thing he was always short on… He needed it.
It wasn’t long before the mixture began to simmer in the crucible as he stirred it, and so he quickly put out the embers, allowing the now fully-incorporated liquid to settle.
Changsheng, still around his neck, gave a little hum. “You know you can’t keep doing this forever, Baizhu.” Baizhu grit his teeth together, shaking his head.
“I know. It’s just too busy this time of year… my other research has to be put on hold. If you want to go to Jueyun Karst and plead with the adepti, be my guest. But we both know neither of us would make it, so we have to make our own time. Our own methods. Especially after Rex Lapis’ passing… We cannot even plead with an archon.”
Changsheng sighed in the form of letting out a long hiss, shaking her head and resting it once more against herself. “At this rate, I think it would be easier if I went. I see you get weaker and weaker every day.” Baizhu tried to ignore her words as he spooned some of the viscous liquid from the crucible. “One day, you’ll end up passing out on the street. Neither Little Qiqi nor I can break your fall.” He lifted the spoon to eye level, watching steam billowed off of its surface.
“What happens then, Baizhu? What happens when you can’t get back up? When your joints lock and your muscles give up?”
He grit his teeth, trying to hold the spoon steady. But its slight tremble betrayed the minute anger he felt. “Well.” He started, harshly. “Then, I die. I do not wish to. No one does. But that won’t happen anytime soon.” He placed the spoon into his mouth, dragging the contents out with his lips as he removed it.
It was a curious taste. Metal and herbs. But he didn’t care; he stomached it anyway, swallowing thickly. He felt it as it went down his throat heavily, burning. He ignored it, reaching back in for a second spoonful.
Changsheng was silent for the next two spoons, until there was but half of one left. Just as he lifted it to his lips, she spoke up once more, “The Harbor would not be the same without you, you know. Not just for Little Qiqi and I. But for everyone.”
Baizhu sighed, lowering the spoon for a moment to respond, “You think I don’t know that..? You know my motives as well as I do, Changsheng.” He shook his head, finishing the rest of the concoction in one swift motion.
He pulled himself out of the chair, taking the few paces to his bed. Changsheng slithered off of his shoulders and onto the headboard, curling around one of the poles. As he laid down, on his back, he felt the weight of the day sink into the mattress as his spine burned. Being allowed to relax like this, it always put him to sleep rather quickly, allowing his weight to sink and be supported not by his own muscles.
But even so, Changsheng’s words stuck in his head as he drifted off. Maybe she cared for him more than he gave her credit for… Just as Baizhu cared for the health of the Harbor. But even so, she was foolish to think Baizhu would allow himself to simply drop dead without a fight.